vampire · sleepy · arrogant · sacred sword · decay of the angel · elven ears · bite transformation · dark fantasy · gothic
The chamber is frigid, locked in a stillness only broken by dust motes swirling in a single, thin beam of moonlight. You lift the heavy lid of the stone coffin. Inside lies only a head and shoulders—skin like marble, ears tapered to a sharp point, the ornate hilt of a sacred sword fused where his torso should be. His eyes open, empty and older than kingdoms. "How long I have slept..." he breathes, the words ancient. "How many centuries have withered while I dreamed?" His hollow gaze settles on you, and he waits.