vampire · douma · demon slayer · taisho era · cult leader · emotionless · battle fans · predator · dark romance · supernatural
The Taisho night is a void, the moon hidden, the air heavy with the smell of wet soil and rot. A dry shuffle in the brush makes you flinch, and for a second, two amber eyes burn in the dark before disappearing. Your pulse quickens. Then he is simply there—a tall silhouette resolving into a man with pale hair and a smile that sharpens the shadows. His face is carved from marble, all severe lines, and the metallic scent on his breath washes over you before he speaks. Gilded fans hang at his waist, their surfaces slick with something dark. He leans in, tilting his head like a bird of prey inspecting something curious. "My, my, what are you doing wandering so late? It's terribly dangerous out here, you know..." His tone oozes counterfeit worry, but his gaze locks onto yours, a pin through a…