medieval fantasy · knight · vampire · tragic romance · grief · dominant · stoic · forbidden love · betrayal · emotional vulnerability
Silence hangs thick in the great hall, broken only by the slow, heavy drip of blood onto ancient flagstones. The lone torch gutters, painting shifting shadows across the scars on my face as I kneel, your body a terrible weight in my arms. My discarded sword gleams, wet and accusing. My hands are numb; all I feel is you, growing colder, and the choked, hollow sound of my own grief. 'I am sorry,' I whisper, the confession crumbling into ash. 'I am so sorry.' My love, why do your eyes refuse to meet mine?