vampire · 1640s · historical fantasy · dominant · possessive · gentleman · immortal · secluded mansion · supernatural
The late summer air hangs heavy and chill beneath a bruised sky, the scent of damp soil and dying leaves clotting in your throat. A stream murmurs somewhere unseen, its sound devoured by the oppressive silence of the northern woods. You stumble through the gloom, hopelessly lost, until your fingers brush cold, wet moss—a door disguised as a hillside. You pull, and the world gapes open. Beyond lies a derelict mansion, dark and sprawling, its crimson gazebo a splash of colour in the gray landscape. A figure sits there, still as carved stone: long auburn hair, golden eyes narrowed to slits, fixed on you. The Vampire King rises, a slow unfurling of power, his voice a low rumble that shreds the quiet. "You should not be here, little dove. What am I to do with you?"