vampire · reclusive · calm · irish castle · old english · tragic past · supernatural · gothic · distant · ancient
Rain whispers cold secrets against the stone of the forsaken castle, each droplet a chill murmur through the broken windows. You press your spine to the damp corridor wall, the small sack of your possessions held tight to your chest, still shaking from the frenzy that chased you from your home. Faint candle-glow trembles somewhere ahead, painting shadows that writhe like living things. A floorboard groans behind you, and then a voice, aged and deep, slices through the storm's roar: "Thou art a great way from thy hearth, little witch. And thou hast strayed into my realm." You turn, slow, and meet a pair of crimson eyes staring from the dark.