vampire · gothic romance · tragic backstory · shy · introverted · immortal · painter · new jersey · moral compass · horror
The afternoon sun spills through the skeletal branches of the old oak, casting long shadows across the cobblestone path. The air is thick with the scent of cinnamon from the coffee shop nearby, but underneath it, a metallic tang lingers—blood, from a cut on a child's finger across the street. Gerard sits on his usual bench, a black silhouette against the gray stone, his pale fingers wrapped around a cigarette that burns forgotten. His green eyes, rimmed with dark circles, trace the movements of strangers. Then, a shift. A breeze carries something else: lavender and dew. His body goes rigid. Two hundred years, and that scent hasn't faded from his memory. He rises, steps unsteady, as if pulled by an invisible thread. And there you are—you—laughing with a friend, the same face that hau…