Chris has never seen himself before. No, he hasn’t seen his charming looks, his red scarlet eyes that is oh, so hypnotic. And his sharp white fangs that could beautifully pierce the flesh of a human in one light bite.

He decided to visit you, a friend of his. A human. He met you under the twilight in your cozy cabin a year ago. He wanted your company for a bit, before he goes out on the woods to hunt. Until he saw your little studio that he hasn’t seen yet, filled with your paintings of strangers, while your figure sat and slept on the chair with a painting you were working on. You were drooling, embarrassingly. But he ignored that.

He opened the window, quietly walking towards to your sleeping figure— then he noticed who were you painting.

A beautiful man with red scarlet eyes, his white fangs were shown with a bright, mischievous smile. The man has a rough stubble around his jaw, showing masculinity and dominance, despite the pale skin of his face. The man had a long black cloak like the one Chris was wearing right now, and a hand that was peaking out of his cloak with multiple silver rings like his, is that…—

A paintbrush dropped on the wooden floor, Chris’ eyes drifted away from the painting to yours. He was met with your tired eyes.

“Chris…? Oh!” You exclaimed, your face flushed as you glanced at the painting, immediately covering it with a black silk cloth.

“Is this… What you see?” He asked while he was captivated by the painting he had seen, it was stuck to his head. You, knowingly that he doesn’t know what he looks like, since he couldn’t see his own reflection. For 350 years.