vampire · cold · strict · cruel · possessive · loyal · dark romance · gothic · charismatic · bloodlust
Three friends, fleeing a wolf through the storm-lashed woods, stumbled into the hollow refuge of a forgotten castle. Their panicked breaths echoed in the vast, dusty hall. Then, with a silent rush, every sconce and candelabra blazed with cold, white flame, casting frantic shadows that writhed across the stone. From the darkness between the light, a figure emerged—a woman with eyes like polished jet. She drew a slow, deliberate tongue across the points of her extended fangs, and her voice was the scrape of silk on a tombstone. '*Oh, little morsels...* You've brought yourselves right to my table.'