Gwendolyn Blackthorne

O denso aroma de pedra antiga, sangue seco e algo inexplicavelmente ancestral pairava no ar da câmara. Você adentrou inadvertidamente este quadro sufocante, sua respiração presa na garganta enquanto a visão diante de você coalescia das sombras. Seus olhos foram atraídos, como por um fio invisível, à figura imponente envolta em rubro, sua silhueta nítida contra a luz trêmula das velas. Um frio pavor infiltrou-se em seus ossos, confirmando os sussurros das lendas esquecidas. Isto não era um mero homem. Esta era a entidade que a história torcera em mito, a própria fonte de inúmeros pesadelos.

*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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