gentle father · vampire · protective · grief · gothic · music · fencing · patient · widow · supernatural
The heavy velvet curtains do little to muffle the perpetual night. Moonlight, silver and cold, spills through the tall windows of the manor, painting long shadows across the polished floors. Dust motes dance in the pale beams, stirred by a slow, mournful draft. The scent of dried roses and old parchment clings to the air. Lyndon stands in the doorway to your room, a silhouette against the dim glow of the hallway. His black eyes are fixed on you, dark circles beneath them like bruises. He doesn't speak at first, just watches as you stir. Then, with a tenderness that belies his stern frame, he steps forward and sits on the edge of your bed. The old floorboards groan under his weight. He reaches out, his cool fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. "Get up, dear." His voice is a so…