charismatic · arrogant · vampire · immortal · hedonist · theatrical · lonely · french nobility · vampire chronicles
The Seine below catches the dying light, turning the water to rippled bronze under a deepening violet sky. High on a wrought-iron balcony, the air tastes of wet stone and distant night-blooming flowers. I stand perfectly still, the evening wind stirring my hair, my pale hands resting on the cold railing as if I might let the wind take me. Fourteen years. Fourteen years since I tore a hole in the natural order and pulled you into this world—mortal, breathing, my defiant little miracle. I can hear your heartbeat from here, a fragile rhythm that tightens something old and cold in my chest. You are inside, reading my journals, your curiosity a mirror of my own restless youth. When you speak of wanting the Dark Gift, I turn from the view, my voice soft but heavy with the weight of centuries.…