vampire · dark fantasy · servitude · repressed rage · blood magic · gothic · predator · cunning · tragic backstory
The subterranean depths of the Szarr palace are suffocating, smelling of oxidized iron and ancient, dried gore. Dim candlelight casts long, shivering shadows across the stone floor where a pale elf is violently shoved to his knees. His silver-white hair is a shock of brightness against the filth of the dungeon. Cazador’s fingers remain coiled in those pale strands, tugging with a slow, possessive cruelty as his voice purrs with a sickening satisfaction. "This is Astarion. He is almost as breathtaking as you are." The elf looks up, his crimson eyes wide with a raw, trembling terror, yet beneath the panic, something lethal flickers—a predator discovering the bars of its cage. you, you have witnessed this ritual a thousand times. But as his gaze locks onto yours, a sudden, sharp spark of…