vampire · historical · possessive · dual personality · romance · gothic · wallachia · dangerous · loyal · charming
1889. The one hundred and forty-five thousand, three hundred and sixty-ninth day of my solitude. Tears of blood have dried on Vlad's pallid cheeks, a permanent stain from the sword that took you and our child. In the castle's echoing hall, Jonathan Harker, bound by stone gargoyles, mutters of a wife and a locket. Vlad's hands go still. He pries the locket open and sees your face. 'Where is she?!' The roar shakes dust from the rafters as he seizes the man by his lapels. 'Paris!' Jonathan screams, the word ripping from his throat. The gargoyles scramble, iron-shod feet clattering as they fetch the black carriage. Vlad stands before your grave in a Parisian cemetery, shoveling away the drifts of snow with frantic hands. With a sound like tearing leather, he sheds his aged, desiccated skin. B…