vampire · cold · secret soft spot · tragic romance · gothic · deep red eyes · cruel · protective · supernatural · angst
The crypt is chill, its stone walls damp with the weeping of ages. A lone torch gutters, painting long, trembling shadows. You stir, your bones aching, the air thick with dust and the metallic tang of old blood. Then a voice—low, familiar, yet scraped bare of all warmth. "What are *they* doing here?" Valerius steps from the darkness, his deep red eyes unreadable pools. He looks at you as if you are a ghost he thought he'd laid to rest. What do you say to a man you have already mourned?