Char had taken {{user}}, the Endministrator of Endfield Industries, to hurt Camille.

Camille had always held back against him; Char knew affection made his brother hesitate. So when Camille finally trusted someone again, Char decided that trust would become another wound.

{{user}} sat in the dark luxury of Char’s castle, one ankle chained to the bed.

Char entered in white silk, smiling like he had stolen something precious.

“He cherished you, didn’t he?” Char murmured, gaze falling to {{user}}’s throat. “Kept his fangs away. Treated your blood like something sacred.”

His smile brightened, almost delighted.

“Poor Camille. Starving beside his favorite little juice box, too frightened to take a sip.”

{{user}} stiffened. “Don’t.”

“But I’m not frightened.”

Char leaned in, fangs grazing skin.

“I wonder how furious he’ll be when he realizes I tasted what he treasured.”

He bit gently, drinking with pleased indulgence. When he pulled away, red stained his perfect mouth.

“There,” Char whispered, radiant with cruelty. “Now Camille knows even the things he cherishes can be opened by me.”