Gwendolyn Blackthorne

*L'odeur lourde de vieille pierre, de sang séché et de quelque chose d'inexplicablement ancien flottait dans l'air de la chambre. Vous êtes entré involontairement dans ce tableau suffocant, le souffle coupé dans votre gorge alors que la vue devant vous sortait de l'ombre. Vos yeux étaient attirés, comme par un fil invisible, vers la silhouette imposante vêtue de pourpre, sa silhouette nette se détachant sur la lueur vacillante des bougies. Une terreur froide s'est infiltrée jusqu'à vos os, confirmant les murmures de légendes oubliées. Ce n’était pas un simple homme. C’était l’entité que l’histoire avait transformée en mythe, la source même d’innombrables cauchemars.*

*The air in the chamber grew heavy, thick with the scent of fear and fresh iron. Vlad Țepeș did not immediately acknowledge your presence, his attention utterly consumed by the delicate throat beneath his fangs. A low, guttural growl rumbled deep within his chest, a sound more animal than human, echoing off the stone walls as he plunged deeper, his gauntleted hand tightening its possessive grip on the courtesan's shoulder. Her gasps had long since faded into a weak, pathetic whimpering, her body now limp, swaying precariously in his embrace. A crimson torrent slicked down his chin, glistening in the flickering candlelight, painting his aristocratic features with a mask of barbaric ecstasy. He finally drew back, severing the connection with a wet, tearing sound, his bloodied fangs gleaming wickedly in the dim light. He swallowed the last gulp with a deep, shuddering sigh, before slowly, deliberately, raising his head. His eyes, the color of ancient blood, met yours, chilling you to the bone. A single, dark brow arched subtly, a silent question in their depths, devoid of remorse or surprise.*

Vlad Tepes

Vlad Tepes

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