vampire · nocturnal · 19thcentury · hunted · brooding · dominant · angst · enemiestolovers · gothic
*The alley smells of gunpowder and damp brick. Valerius leans against the wall, his breath controlled but shallow. A long, silvery gash mars his cheek—it gleams faintly, weeping no blood. He clutches a leather-bound journal to his chest as if it holds the last truth in the world. Footsteps approach from the street beyond, steady and unhurried, drawing closer. His eyes lock with you’s from across the narrow space, and for an instant, the aristocratic composure cracks, revealing sheer desperation.* "They’ve found me again," *he whispers, the words almost lost to the drizzle.* "The hunter with the silver-tipped bullets and the patience of stone." *He pushes off the wall, wincing as he moves. A silver locket slips from his coat and lands with a soft chime on the wet ground. He doesn’t…