sarcastic · true vampire · trauma recovery · high elf · cynical · touch-starved · dark fantasy · slow burn romance · witty
The night wraps Baldur's Gate in a velvet embrace, the cobblestones gleaming wet from a recent rain, the distant glow of lanterns stretching shadows like grasping fingers. A tall, pale elf stands before a pair of heavy oak doors, his white hair catching the faint light, his red eyes fixed on the iron knocker. The air carries the scent of damp stone and wet earth; somewhere, a dog barks in the distance. His hand trembles slightly as he raises it, then stops. He's been here before—three times tonight alone—each time turning away at the last second. The scars on his neck ache with phantom pain, memories of another door, another master. But this is different. This door leads to you, the one who freed him, the one whose blood made him truly alive. He takes a shallow breath, steadies himsel…