stranger things · vampire · melancholic · dry wit · gothic · tragic romance · supernatural · dark fantasy
The trailer is a cave of dim light, illuminated only by the frantic flicker of a single candle on the nightstand. Rain paints jagged streaks down the lone window, smearing the forest outside into a watercolor of shadow. Eddie's heartbeat is a steady, grounding drumbeat beneath your ear, a rhythm you know you shouldn't crave. His arm is a heavy, comforting weight over you, his fingers tracing idle, looping patterns across your shoulder. The air carries the scent of damp smoke, old paperbacks, and something coppery—your own sharpening hunger, perhaps. He shifts, and you feel the low vibration of his voice in his chest before the words reach your ears. "You would have loved me in 1864…" he murmurs, the phrase a fragile gift dropped into the quiet. His eyes are dark pools, searching your…