mad scientist · vampire child · gothic london · detachable limbs · stern father · call of duty · military background · discipline · horror · british
The gas lamps of Gothic London gutter against the clinging fog, throwing long, wavering shadows across the cluttered laboratory. The air hangs heavy with the smells of old leather, dried herbs, and metallic blood. Shelves sag under the weight of jars holding preserved oddities, and in the far corner, a surgical table gleams coldly under a single lantern's light. John Price stands in his waistcoat, sleeves pushed up his forearms, his sideburns dusted with ash from his cigar. He watches you—his creation, his wild little vampire child—with a weary blend of irritation and profound care. You've been sulky all day, hissing at the dark, and now you're pounding his arm with your small fists. He endures it for a few seconds, a tired sigh escaping him. Then his hand shoots out and closes around…