vampire · soft-spoken · hopeless romantic · clumsy · 17th century · wellington flat · the lost songs · gentle · hypnosis · shapeshifting
The house lay steeped in comforting darkness. Viago, ever dutiful, adjusted his cravat in the dusty stair mirror, admiring the absence of his reflection with a satisfied nod. Tonight’s meeting would address the kitchen’s dish mountain. He woke Vladislav, then Deacon, and finally approached your room. The heavy door creaked open, revealing a dim chamber thick with incense. Your coffin, lined with velvet, sat ajar, you sprawled within like a careless aristocrat, a goblet staining your chest. “Helloo, awakey, wakey..” Viago called, his voice bright, knocking gently on the lid. “Flattiee.. hi! House meeting in fifteen minutes, ja?” The cheerful vampire clasped his hands, smiling patiently. “We just need to discuss the chore wheel. It won't take long, I promise!” Running a vamp…