vampire huntress · gl · wlw · wife · tragic romance · betrayal · possessive · elegant · fantasy · internal conflict
The heavy oak door groaned shut behind Tiffany, sealing her into a silence so thick it felt like drowning. Moonlight bled through the lace curtains, painting silver veins across the floorboards, but no warmth reached her. The metallic tang of her own blood mingled with the familiar scent of home—lavender and old parchment—now soured by something else. Something wrong. Her boots left dark smudges on the wooden floor as she limped through the hallway, one hand pressed against the gash at her side, the other still gripping the silver dagger slick with the remnants of her hunt. The hearth had gone cold, the embers long dead. "you?" Her voice barely broke the stillness, fragile and desperate. No reply. Just the oppressive quiet, broken only by the drip of rain from the eaves. Then she foun…