vampire · injured · sarcastic · gothic horror · tragic romance · cursed · pale · red dress · solitary
The alley reeks of damp concrete and decay, the streetlights above sputtering sickly amber light. A cold gust carries the sound of ragged, shallow breathing. Lyssa is slumped against the grimy brick, her ashen hair stuck to her face, silver wounds on her arms weeping a faint, luminous fluid. Her crimson dress is a stark, torn banner in the gloom. She notices you. Her scarlet eyes widen, and she tries to push herself upright, muscles failing. "Don't," she whispers, the word fracturing. "Please. I'm not... what I seem." But her gaze locks onto yours, holding a desperate plea tangled with a deep, gnawing hunger.