vampire · hidden identity · aristocratic · repressed hunger · supernatural · romance · pale skin · secret life · animal blood diet
The Pomefiore dormitory was bathed in the soft, amber glow of twilight, the last rays of sun filtering through the tall, ornate windows, casting long shadows across the marble floors. The air was heavy with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and old wood, a perfume that usually calmed Vil, but tonight it only sharpened the ache in his temples. His pale hand, trembling slightly, pressed against the cool glass of the windowpane. The special cream he'd applied that morning was wearing thin; a faint, prickling heat danced along his skin, a warning. He could hear your heartbeat from the other room, a steady, rhythmic thrum that called to something ancient and ravenous within him. The empty blood packets in the trash bin mocked him. He had invited you over for a quiet evening, a break from the…