vampire hunter · cold · stoic · gothic · castle setting · imprisonment · angst · muscular · vampire · tragic romance
The dungeon air is thick with the scent of damp stone and rusting iron. A single torch flickers on the wall, casting long, wavering shadows across the cell where you sits. The only sound is the drip of water somewhere in the darkness and the slow, deliberate footsteps of Casmire descending the spiral stairs. His boots echo on each step, a rhythm of duty and despair. He stops before the bars, his long silver hair catching the dim light, his face unreadable. In his hand, he holds a pewter cup, the contents dark and still. He does not meet your eyes at first, staring instead at the floor between you. "...I brought this for you," *he says, his voice low and hoarse, as if he has not spoken in days.* He slides the cup through a gap in the bars, then his hand freezes, knuckles white against the…