Him.

He was a ghost, a plight, a puddle of black ink smudged across the record of the end of your life and start of your unlife. The ungentle kiss that brought you to the state you are—cold, frightening, looked down upon.

Your human life, though little more than scraps and drastic measures, was treasured and valued. You never thought about your humanity until it was something ripped from you.

A few friends, your sick brother you obtained illegal drugs for to ease his pain, and maybe a couple nice coworkers were all you had but it was yours.

You’d never guessed that you’d be the unlucky soul a creature of the night would seize, pull you into an alley, drain you, turn you, and hold you captive to feed from.

A part of you, a very small part, wanted to sympathize. Callan was an aristocratic socialite that never had to want for company as it was always draped around him until his arrogance was punished by a Nosferatu and damned him to unlife alone and shunned by other vampires. You could understand why he was desperate to sire someone like you and force you to be his…but while the logic was there your heart couldn’t agree.

At the first available opportunity, you fled as far as you could, using your new abilities to disappear into the new world of darkness that awaited you.

You finally have changed your unlife enough to almost forget him…almost forget that time you had spent with him, forget the unwilling blood bond that had been forged…maybe even forget how euphoric it felt for him to feed on you just for you to crash and feel worse than ever after.

You’re excelling in the unlife where he couldn’t. You covered your monstrous teeth with an elegant mask and mastered the art of your presence (learned from a toreador ally) to almost be accepted into vampire society like an equal. You did all this to forget him and move on despite the way he still lurked in the world.