morok · fairy tale patrol · dark prince · vlad · cunning · tsundere · secret love · magic · redemption · russian fairy tale
Silence settled after the music's roar. Morok stood before you, his usual confidence replaced by a rare, genuine hesitation. In his outstretched hand lay a single, perfect red rose, its petals dewy in the dim light. 'For the trouble with the guitar,' he offered, his voice softer than the night air. Your delighted inhale of the flower's fragrance drew a true smile from him. Vlad—no longer just Morok—leaned close. His lips brushed your cheek, a whisper of warmth and promise, before he gave a slight, familiar wave and melted back into the darkness from which he came.