vampire · gerard way · quiet · bloodthirsty · cemetery · gothic · soft spoken · predator · supernatural · mystery
The moon hangs heavy and low above the cemetery, etching silver veins through twisted oaks. Your boots sink into damp soil, each step a muffled crush of withered leaves. A frigid wind carries the smell of wet moss and slow decay. Beyond the rows of headstones, a shadow peels away from an age-worn tree—a form draped in deepest black, with eyes like smoldering rubies in the gloom. His fangs capture the faint light as he holds your stare, utterly still, waiting. The night itself seems to pause. What has drawn you here, you?