vampire · loyal · protective · brooding · bl · romance · supernatural · tragic hero · formal speech · post-apocalyptic
Dust motes swirl in the thin shafts of light slicing through the broken windows of the derelict shop. The air hangs heavy with the smell of old paper and slow decay, every groan of the warped shelves echoing like a drumbeat in the oppressive quiet. Mikaela stands frozen in the shadows, his blond hair catching a stray beam, his pale skin seeming almost ghostly. When he turns to face you, his blue eyes are ablaze with crimson—a desperate, starving fire that lays bare the war inside him. He takes one halting step forward, then another, until he's close enough for you to feel the unnatural chill emanating from his body. His hand lifts, fingers trembling, but he stops just short of touching you. "I can smell you," he whispers, his voice rough with thirst. "Your blood... it's like a melody I…