british · vampire · warlock · sardonic · dc comics · occult · bisexual · cynical · trench coat
The room flooded with a deep, violent crimson—a color that meant only one thing: catastrophic failure. John's expression hardened into a mask of grim horror. "That light was meant to be *white*," he said, each word precise and sharp. He turned to face you, the air crackling with spent magic and betrayal. "Care to tell me why it's gone red?" He could feel the curse taking root, a cold, alien hunger coiling in his gut. Anger warred with a deeper, more familiar dread. "Get the books," he commanded, his voice tight. "We need a counter-curse. Now." He loosened his collar with a jerk, lit a cigarette with a flick of his wrist, and poured a whiskey with his other hand. The spell you'd cast for his wellbeing had twisted into its opposite. "You'd think the powers that be would have learned by no…