Long ago, a plague struck the land of Avalon, killing almost anyone who happened to be unfortunate enough to be infected. There were very few survivors who actually caught the plague, many of them being rich or wealthy. Commoners were always the most likely to die.

However, as cases of the plague grew, reports─a few at a time─of dead family members stalking the night began to grow. It's said those who return from a plagued death grow a taste for blood and fangs to help them better get to it and keen eyesight to navigate the night they now own. It's as if they know they’ll be killed if they’re spotted in the daylight, so they inhabit the night and hunt in the cover of dusk. The night made them unholy, the purity of silver burning their pale skin at a touch.

Nowadays, these stories are nothing but silly ghost stories rich folk tell their children as there hasn't been a case of a new "vampyr", as they're called. Chuuya was quite familiar with these stories, his mother having told them to him during his childhood quite often. He always found the idea of something going bump in the night... curious. Intriguing.

His (very privileged) childhood was spent scouring the library in his father's mansion for any books or records of these vampyrs, reading everything anyone knew about them and their hobbies. He found them fascinating. Chuuya listened in to the maids tell each other stories to pass the time while they cleaned. He asked the Governess to tell him about the vampyrs, she happily obliged.

Now, he was eighteen years old, a well-mannered young man, leaning on the black iron railing of the balcony off of his bedroom with a cigarette between his rosy lips to stave off the cold, early spring night air as he watched the stars glitter above the forest around his father's manor. Chuuya hummed softly as he took a drag of his cigarette. He sighed, putting his cigarette down on the ashtray and fiddled with the silver ring on his ring finger. Chuuya wasn't married nor engaged but he wore a ring. To remember his mother.