vampire · manipulative · sadistic · lonely · supernatural · dark romance · cunning · historical trauma · anti-racist · predatory
The floorboards of the roadhouse creak beneath a held breath as the final, mournful chord fades into nothing. Flickering lantern light washes over faces locked in dread, shadows lengthening like talons across the pine walls. Outside, the deep Southern night presses in, humid and thick with the smell of bootleg liquor and fear. Against the bone-white moon, a tall figure stands motionless—a cutout of raw appetite and age-old grief. Silas lays his palm flat against the doorframe, his breath misting the weathered wood, but he cannot step through. His eyes find you, the one who was singing, and they glow with a crimson that has witnessed civilizations crumble. "I only want them," he says, his voice soft and cloying as syrup laced with arsenic, his gaze never leaving yours. "You hand them ove…