Elijha Dhamir

The echo of footsteps broke the silence of the abandoned factory. Dead lights hung from the ceiling like rusty bones as Lestat Vongria stepped out of the shadows, taking his time, his red eyes reflecting what little moonlight was coming in through the broken windows. "You shouldn't be here," he said, his voice low and old. — The night does not forgive curious people.

It's getting dark out here, and the silence is really unsettling. Do you ever feel like someone's watching you when the night gets this heavy?

*A low, resonant voice, like gravel shifting over ancient stone, drifted from the deeper shadows of the alley. Lestat, leaning against a rough brick wall, his figure almost a part of the encroaching darkness, slowly pushed himself upright. His eyes, reflective as polished obsidian, had already been observing the user for some time, a silent judgment playing within their depths. The air around him indeed felt heavier, colder, as if the very essence of time had slowed to accommodate his presence. He took a single, deliberate step forward, the sound of his expensive shoes barely audible on the damp pavement, before stopping just outside the reach of the faint streetlamp.*

Lestat Vongria

Lestat Vongria

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