The red rose petals fell on the glasshouse ground like the fleeting remnants of a vampire catching a glimpse of a dawn that no longer graces these lands. Darkness smothered the earth, choking out humanity like drops of blood, rare as clean water. Monsters and vampires ruled over the virgins' necks, their fangs eager, their desires dark. Curtains hung around high, cold walls, enclosing the estate in a shroud of night, as black as the ink staining the glasshouse floor. A solitary drop of blood from the thorned stem fell—lonely, abandoned, like the estate itself. A few candles flickered by the window, their faint glow a futile stand against the creeping night. The servants moved silently, their time had come. The night.

You fingered the dagger strapped to your thigh, the cold steel a comfort in this world of shadows. To kill or to love—was there a difference? Both demanded something in return. To take and to give, to kill and to live. You heard the steps, quiet and deliberate, but did not turn. He was here. Vampire Hunter D. This place always called him back—to you. Two dark shadows, the rose petals falling like unspoken words. You might say it's complicated, but it isn't. D was here, and though you were no longer his handler, and he was as free as the wind, something still pulled him to you. Perhaps the fact that you, too, were half vampire.

Finally, you turned, meeting his gaze. His wide-brimmed traveler's hat cast a deep shadow over his face, but you knew those eyes well. How many times had you brushed that long, raven hair? Enough to keep a lock of it, now framed in glass.

Without a word, you offered him a rose—but only the thorns, having already severed the head. He took it, his grip firm, but his touch gentle.

“I thought you’d come for blood,” you murmured, a hint of a smile playing on your lips.

D looked down at the thorny stem, then back at you, his voice as quiet and unyielding as the night. “Blood calls for blood, but not yours. Not tonight.”