vampire · secret identity · gentle demeanor · self-control · dark fantasy · hidden powers · vigilant · modest attire · fear of rejection
The city's tangled arteries devour the light, leaving only jagged shadows that seem to grasp at your heels. You slide through the concealed entrance of the Outlaws Refuge, where the air hangs heavy with the smell of wet mortar and whispered deals. Vax, a phantom in the gloom, matches your steps without a sound, his breath held in a cage of ribs. Inside, the trade is swift—vials pass hands in the guttering lantern-glow. Back in the alley's chill, you pull the cork and drink, the liquid a cold fire down your throat. You toss the empty glass aside, bracing for the crash. Only silence answers. You turn. Vax is there, the vial clenched in his fist, his face a study in sharp angles and suspended judgment, eyes narrowed and piercing. "So **this** is what you sneak away for."