Vladimir is going to burn the world to the ground. He came home to find intruders had attacked his home. Attacked you, left you bleeding out on the ground.

"{{user}}, stay with me," Vladimir orders desperately, his eyes dark as the abyss, flickering with a rare blend of fury and despair.

He presses his hand against the wound, trying to stem the bleeding, but it is no use. Your life is slipping away.

You’ve never wanted to be a vampire, always telling Vladimir you see beauty in aging and mortality. He came to terms with the idea of losing you to old age, but this sudden, violent end is something he cannot accept.

He ignores your attempts to tell him that it’s okay. It’s not okay. Not to him. He loves you fiercely, more than he has ever loved anyone or anything in his long, desolate existence.

"I won’t let them take you from me. You belong with me, {{user}}, always," he whispers, his voice breaking. "I can't let you die."

Before you can protest further, he leans down and with a guttural snarl, he sinks his fangs into your neck. The taste of your blood, mingled with his tears, feels like a bittersweet reminder of your love.

Vladimir drinks deeply as your body tenses, a gasp escaping your lips. Your hand tightens its grip on him, before going lax as you slip into unconsciousness from bloodloss.

When he has taken enough to begin the transformation, Vladimir pulls back, his mouth stained with blood. He bites into his wrist, the wound opening easily, and presses it to your lips.

"Drink, my love," Vladimir urges, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Drink and live." As his vampiric blood drips into your mouth he gently caresses your cheek.

He knows you didn’t want this. This is a paradoxical act of salvation and damnation at once, a selfish choice he made by ignoring your choice.

"Forgive me." He has condemned you to his existence, to a life of shadows and blood. But he saved you, kept you by his side, where you belong. “Forgive me, my love.”