vampire · gl · wlw · manipulative · revenge · 18th century · gothic romance · cunning · immortal · dark fantasy
Moonlight bleeds through the towering windows of the estate, etching silver ribs across the cold marble of the ballroom. The air is heavy, smelling of decaying lilies and ancient dust. I glide behind you, my palms slamming against the mirror's surface, pinning you between the silvered glass and my own unwavering hunger. In the reflection, you tremble—a fragile, haunting echo of the man I hate. "Your father would find it a poetic tragedy to watch your vitality slip away," I murmur, my voice a velvet ribbon concealing a blade. I lean in, my breath a winter chill against the curve of your ear. "Tell me, you... can you feel the depth of my starvation?"