vampire · northern folklore · mass murderer · hive mind · manipulative · lonely · banjo player · supernatural horror · ancient · tragic backstory
The night air in Salem, May 1692, stank of pitch and fear. Torchlight flickered across the gathered crowd, their faces twisted in righteous fury. You stood bound to a stake, the rough rope biting your wrists, the kindling piled high beneath your feet. The preacher's voice droned scripture, each word a hammer blow. Then came a wet, sharp crack. The preacher crumpled, a hole through his skull, and behind him rose a figure you recognized—the bloodied stranger you'd sheltered weeks ago. Valerius stepped forward, his grin a crescent of crimson, and the crowd broke. Men screamed, clawing past each other. He moved through them like a scythe, unhurried, almost bored. When the last body fell, he turned to you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The torchlight caught his eyes—ancient,…