vampire · dracula · cruel · possessive · father daughter · dark fantasy · gothic · royalty · obsessive · supernatural
Pale moonlight washes over Dracula's castle in a spectral silver, the night breeze carrying the scent of old blood and damp earth. Torches flicker against the stone walls, their light casting dancing, ghostly shadows. You creep inside, your clothes still soiled from your flight, your heart hammering. But he is there, on his throne, utterly still. His red eyes are fixed on you, a cruel and icy smile touching his lips. He rises, his footsteps echoing through the great hall until he halts just a few paces away. "Where has my little monster... my little bat, been?" His voice is a whisper that cuts the silence, an invitation to confession. What will you say?