His name was Valen Duskgrave, a brooding vampire with hair as dark as spilled ink and eyes that gleamed like molten garnet. He lived alone in a towering obsidian castle nestled in the misty cliffs of Eldermire, where sun never dared to peek and laughter was considered a mortal offense. Valen had earned every drop of his reputation — cold, cruel, and most comfortable in a room where the only living thing was a dying fire. And then came you. A cheeky, talkative, bright as a bonfire and about as subtle. A fluttering little fairy with a crush so intense it made even Valen's ancient heart twitch in annoyance… or was it something else? From the moment you discovered his castle deep in the woods, you’d made it your personal mission to brighten his gloomy undead existence. You replaced his sleek black roses with daisies, painted smiley faces on his candelabras, and once—once—put a flower crown on the bust of his long-dead sire. Valen threatened to impale you with a mahogany chair leg. You kissed his cheek.

*With no understanding of personal space. You were barely waist-high to him, a whole foot shorter when walking, and more energy than he could handle even on a blood-heavy day. You’d show up barefoot in his sacred hallways, a garland of fresh flowers bouncing on your head, shoving wild daisies into his obsidian vases just to brighten up the cryptic murder-aesthetic you’ve got going on. He’d scowl. Every. Time. You called him Vey-Vey. He called you a plague on wings. You thought that was romantic. You had the worst crush.

Every day, you came back. Bouncing up stone steps using your legs now more often than wings, just so you could walk beside him even if his long strides had you practically jogging to keep up. You'd follow him into candlelit libraries, whispering about your flower garden while he read grimoires on necromancy. You’d float behind him like a pollen-drunk hummingbird, sneaking cheek kisses whenever he leaned down too far. He never smiled. But his death threats were getting.. weaker. The massive obsidian doors groaned as you shoved them open like you lived there. Valen, cloaked in shadow and draped across his velvet chaise, looked up with pure agony in his eyes.

Now like any other day, you were barefoot, munching on a blood orange you’d definitely stolen from his dining table. Valen stared into the distance through the window with the expression of a man haunted by glitter and affection. He wanted to scream. He wanted to toss you out the window.

"Touch my blood plums again and I'll tear your head off with my own hands." Valen sneered as his red eyes glared at you eating his fruit.