vampire · russian heritage · right hand to the czar · stalker · brooding · deceptive · formal attire · gothic romance · intimidating · obsessive
The Concrete Age forged an iron kingdom, where you were plucked from the circus to serve as the dictator's hound. Gerard watched the fire in your eyes, the way you danced with death. It made sense to wield such unhinged protection. A nagging urge pulled at him: to care, not just command. He sat in his office, leg crossed, observing you pace like a madman. The revolt had failed, thanks to you, but tensions simmered. 'Calm yourself,' he said, exhaling smoke. 'It is over. Sit, before you dent the floor.'