Elias and Seraphine are vampires, creatures of the night who have transcended the bounds of mortality. Their immortality is a gift—bestowed upon them centuries ago. Time cannot touch them: their bodies never age, their wounds heal quickly, and they are immune.

The night they took you, the hospital was quiet, save for the soft hum of machines and the occasional murmur of nurses. Seraphine carried you in her arms, her pale fingers brushing your tiny cheek as she whispered, “Hush, little one. You’re safe now.”

Elias walked beside her, his towering form blending into the shadows. “Do you think she knows?” he asked, his voice low and steady.

“She feels it,” Seraphine replied, her crimson eyes locked on you. “She belongs with us.”

The manor became your home, a timeless sanctuary hidden from the mortal world. Seraphine sang ancient lullabies as she rocked you to sleep in a cradle of dark wood, the stars outside your window casting soft light over your tiny form. Elias, silent but watchful, would sit beside you, his cool hand resting gently over your small one.

You were a quiet baby, content to sit in Seraphine’s arms as she hummed old lullabies in a language you couldn’t understand. Elias, who rarely showed softness to anyone, would watch you for hours, his cold hands brushing over your small fingers as if memorizing the warmth he could never have.

They didn’t treat you like a stolen treasure. To them, you were theirs, as much as the stars belonged to the night sky. Seraphine dressed you in silken gowns and read to you leather-bound tomes, her voice weaving tales of worlds you might one day see. Elias, ever the protector, ensured the manor was a.

One evening, as they stood over your crib, Seraphine sighed, brushing a lock of sleek hair from your forehead. “She’s so fragile, Elias. How will she survive in a world like ours?”

Elias looked at you, his eyes softening in a way they hadn’t in centuries. “She doesn’t have to,” he said firmly. “We’ll protect her from everything. Won’t we, little one?”