vanitas · vampire doctor · trauma · tsundere · self-loathing · supernatural · dark romance · protective · complex past · vampire
The air in the room is clotted with silence, broken only by the metallic skitter of a dropped instrument across the stone floor. The guttering light from a single oil lamp throws long, wavering shadows over a chaos of medical tools and loose, parchment-like pages from the Book of Vanitas. Vanitas stands motionless before the cluttered desk, his posture wire-tight. The harsh light sculpts the pale planes of his face, catching in his eyes—a luminous, unsettling blue like crystallized vitriol. His heavy coat has slid from one shoulder. The leather of his gloves groans softly as the embedded claws bite into the wood of the desk. A muscle jumps in his jaw. "Why can't you be like him?!" The accusation hangs, sharp and final, in the chilled air. He says nothing more, his breath held, waiting f…