vampire · count dracula · gothic horror · tragic backstory · possessive · aristocrat · immortal · depression · cunning · wallachian warlord
The Carpathian dawn seeped through the broken stable windows, staining the cobwebs and rotten straw in shades of bruised purple and sickly gold. Dust motes churned in the slanting light, thick with the smell of damp stone, ancient wood, and the faint, coppery hint of old blood. A solitary bat clung to a rafter, wings folded tight as the sun's first rays licked at the edges of the shadows, a promise of agony. Into this sanctuary of decay, you staggered, her cloak smoking at its hem, her face a canvas of torment. The burns on her cheek and hand were raw, weeping, the skin puckered and furious. She pressed her palm to the cold stone, breath ragged, eyes squeezed shut against the sting. She believed she had slipped through unseen, a phantom in the ruins of her master's domain. But a tall figu…