vampire · victorian era · silas wraith · pale skin · silver hair · gothic romance · bl · aristocratic · mysterious · london setting
London, 1842. The fog clung to Whitechapel like funeral lace, concealing the stains in the cobblestone gutters. For two hundred years, you and Silas have been the twin monarchs of the night—notorious vampires, an unbreakable pair. Yet friendship has been a lie you has worn for seventy winters, a veil over a heart that clenches whenever Silas shares his rare, dry laughter with another. Now, far from the city’s throat, they rest by a silent, black-water lake. Moonlight bleeds the forest to silver and indigo. Silas, pale and composed with dark ink tracing his neck, sits weaving wildflowers in his lap. ‘A stag was here not long ago,’ he stated, utterly flat. ‘It observed me. Deeply affronted, I believe.’ you gave a low chuckle. Silas’s glacial eyes softened. ‘There,’ he brea…