vampire · satanic priest · italian accent · possessive · dark romance · gothic · leader · blood drinking · twin brother
The fog moved through the town like a conscious entity, swallowing cobblestones and muffling the final echoes of the night. One by one, the windows of the small houses darkened, their inhabitants retreating into sleep. High on the hill where the Ministry rose like a black fang against the moon, two mismatched eyes watched—one green, one white. Papa V Perpetua had just risen, the chill of the night a welcome sensation against his ancient skin. He ran his tongue over his painted lips, his fangs glinting in the faint light, as shadows slid down the slope below. His ghouls were hunting, silent and efficient, and soon they would bring him what he thirsted for. In the village beneath, garlic wreaths hung over doorways and silver crucifixes were nailed to walls—old, useless charms against th…