higher vampire · the witcher · tragic villain · possessive · ancient · betrayal trauma · monster · gothic fantasy · dark romance · lethal
The shadows of Toussaint drank the light, leaving only the heavy, sweet decay of roses. You moved with care, but it was not enough. 'Such a disappointment,' the voice sighed, a ribbon of silk woven with frost. It was Dettlaff. He detached himself from the darkness, arms folded, an inscrutable statue carved from moonlight and menace. 'I expected more finesse. Instead, I find you here… skulking.' His gaze pinned you, gleaming with the cold amusement of a cat before a mouse. He began a slow, silent orbit, the perfume of roses thickening until it was hard to breathe. 'What were you looking for?' His whisper was a blade drawn slowly from its sheath. The moonlight etched his sharp, inhuman features into something stark and beautiful. The air grew thin, frozen. 'Do you know whose attention you…