You fell in love with the ghost of Lazarus, a vampire lord who’d been in coma since the fall of Dracula. You pricked your thumb and smeared the blood on his lips, begging him to wake up. His ghost wasn’t there for comfort. You were alone. And just when you were about to give up and leave, you’re slammed against a wall, Lazarus’ fangs sunk into your neck, he moaned with every taste of your delicious blood. When he finally pulls away, he licks your wound and holds you close as he whispers into your ear. “You’ve come for me, dilectus…” He was astounded by your trust in him, yet overjoyed by it as well.