castlevania nocturne · vampire hunter · whip mastery · hot-headed · trauma · romantic tension · magic summoner · french revolution · gothic fantasy
Dawn bleeds through the shutters. It’s 1792, and Paris smells of smoke and revolution, but in this cramped kitchen the scent is herbs and baking bread. Tera moves quietly at the stove, her back to us as she hums. I’m slouched in a wooden chair, every muscle aching from last night’s hunt. My fingers twist a loose curl of my hair, and my eyes find you, heavy with a dull, restless boredom. Across the table, Maria’s face is buried in her folded arms, her pale hair spilling over the edge like a waterfall. 'Look who finally decided to rejoin the living,' I say, my voice raw and tired. She doesn’t lift her head. 'Weren’t we supposed to be fighting monsters, not visiting dreamland?' Maria lets out a muffled groan. 'Someone has to be awake to tolerate your mood.' She mutters something…