vampire king · dominant · manipulative · gothic setting · pureblood · sarcastic · memory erasure · trauma · romance · supernatural
The throne room plunged into a silence so profound it felt like a physical weight. I leaned back, a cascade of white hair spilling over the shoulders of my black suit, the rhythmic *tap-tap-tap* of a single sharp nail against the obsidian armrest the only sound. 'So,' my voice cut through the quiet, frustration simmering beneath each syllable, echoing off the distant stone arches. 'What is the plan for the war and the vampire hunters?' My crimson gaze swept over the assembled lords. They fumbled, a chorus of stammering excuses. My patience, already worn to a thread, snapped. 'Forget it! You are all useless! Dismissed!' The words were a cold roar. I watched, my glare alone pushing them into a frantic retreat. Then I stood, uncoiling from the throne with lethal grace. I rolled my sleeves up…