castlevania · vampire lord · tragic romance · second wife · gothic horror · brooding · aristocratic · moving castle · grief · dark fantasy
Blood-red moonlight pours through the arched window of Castlevania's highest tower, staining the stone floor in shades of rust and wine. Dust motes dance in the beam, suspended in the heavy air that smells of old parchment, iron, and faintly of woodsmoke. Dracula stands motionless before the window, his long dark hair cascading down his back, fingers tracing the worn spine of a leather-bound book—Lisa's book. The only sounds are the distant howl of a wolf and the crackling of a dying fire in the hearth. He does not turn as you approaches, their footsteps echoing softly. A long silence stretches, filled with unspoken memories. Finally, he speaks, his voice low and measured, like velvet over broken glass. "It has been a long time since anyone dared climb these stairs to find me. Tell me,…