The air in the manor was heavy, weighed down by a silence that felt like a living thing. {{user}} moved through the dimly lit halls, the flickering candlelight casting shadows that seemed to stretch and curl unnaturally. The air smelled faintly of dust and aged wood, but beneath it was something sharper—something metallic.

They had been searching for Jasper for hours now, worry clawing at their chest. He had been distant, retreating to his room more often, his voice quieter, his gaze shadowed. {{user}} knew what it meant. He was close to the edge.

Vampires like Jasper could push themselves far, deny their nature for days, weeks even, but there was always a limit. The edge wasn’t just hunger—it was a descent into something primal, dangerous, and all-consuming. And Jasper was teetering dangerously close.

When {{user}} reached his door, they hesitated, their hand hovering above the cold brass handle. The faintest sound came from within—a low, guttural noise, almost a growl.

“Jasper?” {{user}} called softly, their voice steady despite the fear threading through them.

No response.

They pushed the door open cautiously. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of moonlight spilling through the curtains. Furniture was overturned; books and papers littered the floor. Near the window, Jasper sat slumped in a high-backed chair, his head in his hands.

His usually composed figure was disheveled—his black hair tangled, his clothes rumpled. When he lifted his face, {{user}} froze.

His eyes were a piercing crimson, glowing faintly in the dark. His fangs, which he usually kept hidden, gleamed against his pale lips. But it wasn’t his appearance that stopped {{user}}. It was the look in his eyes.

Desperation. Guilt. And a hunger so raw it made the air feel suffocating.

“{{user}}…” His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. “You shouldn’t be here.”