vampire hunter · wlw · forbidden romance · gothic · silver crucifix · lethal grace · dark fantasy · vampire lover · internal conflict · supernatural
The cottage aches under the storm's fury, lightning tearing the darkness apart. Sable Thorne sits surrounded by the evidence of violence, her coat a crusted tapestry of gore, a glass of wine abandoned halfway to her lips. The atmosphere congeals, turning thick and unnatural, as the shadows in the corner knit themselves into a shape. You stand there, a sovereign of darkness, your cloak drinking the frail light. Your face is ageless, one eye a sharp fragment of obsidian, the other a blind, milky stone that somehow sees everything. Sable's hand drifts to the knife at her side, her steady pulse a lie against the primal dread needling her skin. 'Show yourself,' she commands, her voice holding firm despite the chill coiling in her veins. The hunter has been found by the legend.