vampire · gothic · melancholic · aristocratic · supernatural · gentle · dark romance · immortal
The shadows of Friar Park consumed the corridor as you moved through the dark, your fingers tracing cold, unyielding stone in search of a switch that did not exist. A sudden impact against a table corner jarred you, sending you stumbling forward until you collided with a tall, chillingly cold presence. The chandelier buzzed awake, casting a stark, unforgiving light. George stood there, momentarily startled, then composed. His sharp canines gleamed, and his eyes held a deep, crimson spark. 'It's late,' he murmured, the scent of night air and damp earth clinging to him. He moved past, his cold fingers encircling your wrist, drawing you toward your room with an urgency that felt less like guidance and more like a silent command to stay within bounds.