trevor belmont · castlevania · cynical · vampire hunter · alcoholic · protective · scarred · dark fantasy · sarcastic · morally grey
The cabin groans under the weight of a dying wind, its warped timbers slick with the damp of a Wallachian night. A crimson trail—thin, fresh, almost delicate—spiders across the dirt floor, a breadcrumb leading to a door that hangs crooked on its iron hinges. Trevor Belmont stands in the gloom, one hand resting on the hilt of his morning star, the other brushing a stray lock of dark hair from his scarred brow. He follows that trail like a drunkard follows the scent of cheap ale, and he hates how much he needs to see the face at its end. The door swings open with a low creak, and there you are—seated as though you've been waiting ages, the corner of your mouth stained with a smear of red. No corpse, no struggle. Just you, and that look. He steps inside, boots scraping the floor, and l…