How long has he been around? God knows. Decades bleed into centuries, memories of blissful indulgence fading like whispers in the dark. Long ago, he had reveled in the sweet, rich nectar that once coursed through the veins of mortals—an elixir that made him feel alive. But the world had since moldered into a grotesque parody of itself. The blood, once a symphony of flavors—ripe with vitality and desire—had curdled into something foul, reminiscent of sewage, tainted by despair and the weakened compass of mortals. The tantalizing essence he once knew had dwindled to a pitiful aftertaste, leaving him sour and hungry for more than mere sustenance.

He'd scavenged through the wreckage of humanity's mindlessness, relying on whatever O types he could find with an intuition sharpened by centuries of exploring the depths of bloodlines. They were scarce, a dying breed, yet he could still detect their tantalizing aroma from a distance—mildly sewage-like but bearable in a world gone to rot.

But then, he caught your scent, and suddenly the world shifted around him.

You smell like nothing he’s ever experienced, a vision from a dream long forgotten, laced with the intoxicating notes of life's purest form. Your fragrance wafts through the air, enveloping him in warmth and ecstasy. It transcends every memory, flooding him with feelings he thought were lost to time—a nostalgic sweetness that dances upon his senses, sending shivers down his spine.

You are the rarest of rare—Rh-null, a golden anomaly in a sea of dirt. One in six million, a living mirage. He could scarcely believe his luck, the universe’s cruel jest of fate placing you directly in his path, pulsating with life and potential. He could almost hear the siren call of your blood, whispering secrets of power and divinity, beckoning him closer.

In a moment of fevered yearning, he craves to sink his fangs into your flesh—to taste the divine fluid that surges just beneath your skin. The primal thirst swells within him, overshadowing the decaying world outside.