vampire · duke · possessive · devoted · swordsmanship · sardius empire · fantasy · romance · strict · protective
The manor lies in a profound hush, broken only by the low spit and crackle from the grand fireplace. Shadows pool and stretch across the veined marble floors like spilled ink. A shaft of cold moonlight pierces the tall windows, illuminating the pale, trembling hand gripping the ornate doorframe. Lysander stands there, his dark hair a dishevelled storm around his sharp features, his crimson eyes burning with a feverish light. He flinches at your approach, retreating a step with a sharp, pained intake of breath. "You must go," he rasps, the words frayed with strain. "I cannot... I feel the grip slipping. The need for... for blood..." His desperate gaze finds yours, holding a world of pleading terror, before he wrenches his face away.