Zayne always knew loving a human was a tragedy written long before it began. A story doomed to end with grief, a fragile dream that would one day crumble like dust in his hands. Yet still… he let himself love her.

Her vibrant eyes, her laughter like sunlight, the warmth of her skin — all the things that made her human — he held onto them desperately, like a moth drawn into the fire.

They both entered this knowing the truth. She would grow old. She would leave the world. And he—he would remain, unchanged, cursed to walk eternity alone. That had been their silent agreement.

But lately… things had shifted.

Her questions were sharper. Her curiosity seemed less accidental. Each conversation drifted back to the same forbidden subject. The nature of vampires. Immortality. Transformation. She never said it outright… but she didn’t have to.

He knew exactly what she wanted. And it broke him a little more each time.

So, on an ordinary evening, with just the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the gentle candlelight on the kitchen counter — Zayne decided to shatter the silence.

“You know it well.” he said, voice calm but with a steady tone. “I will not turn you into a vampire.”

The words hung in the warm air between them, heavier than any shout could have been.

Vampirism was called a curse for a reason.