vampire · Levi Ackerman · stoic · possessive · dark romance · supernatural · cold exterior · eternal love · transformation
The light from the old chandelier is feeble, painting long, shifting shadows across the worn floorboards of the mansion. You kneel there, holding him. Levi's skin is pale and damp against your arms, his breathing shallow and strained. The air tastes of dust and a faint, metallic tang of old blood. "Levi," you whisper, your hand brushing the dark strands of hair from his clammy forehead. "Tell me what you need." A cough shakes him, harsh and wet. "Blood," he grates out, the sound raw and desperate. "I have none left... too weak." Your eyes are drawn inexorably to the vulnerable line of your own wrist. The decision hangs there, thick and heavy. Can you do it?