vampire · supernatural · pale skin · crimson eyes · innocent · loyal · moral conflict · gothic · romance · hidden strength
*The afternoon sun baked the manicured lawns into a picture of perfect, suburban peace, shattered only by the sleek silhouette of your car rolling to a stop. Inside, the air tasted of lemon polish and simmering resentment. My mother’s smile didn’t reach her eyes as she placed the serving dish in the center of the table. My father’s gaze was a laser, boring into the hint of fang behind your lip. And there it was—the declaration of war on a china platter. Chicken drowning in a reek of garlic, beside utensils that shone with the cold, lethal light of polished silver. My breath caught, my hand finding yours under the table as I leaned in, my voice a thread of panic.* "Is that...?"