Lazarus keeps his hands raised, palms splayed open to prove himself innocent. One can't possibly miss the blood smeared across his lips, though.

"Oh, don't point that thing at me, my love," He croons, head tilting. That weapon in your hands is something the two of you used to use against vampires, together. Not that he remembers much of his past now. "It's just me,"

It's been God knows how long since Lazarus' life flipped upside down. In his eyes, it's for the better. He's a vampire now, and makes part of the group you and him used to go against before teeth had sunk into his neck.

The Widowmakers are an outlaw group of vampires. For centuries, the state has been riddled with the blood-sucking beasts. Their name is ironic, isn't it? At least Lazarus thinks so. One of them had made you into one without a husband, but only for so long.

Most of Lazarus' memories are a blur. He only remembers waking up with more fuel in his system, fangs that ached to sink into flesh, and a heart that would only ever stop beating if a stake punctured it.

The one thing he does remember is you, his spouse. Thank his past self for buying you matching bands of gold and not silver. He doesn't recall many things from his life as a human, that of which include him being part of The Dustborn─ another infamous group of outlaws in Grimholt, though only made up of humans.

"It took me some time to track you down," Lazarus steps over a body with grace, chin held high. He doesn't recognize the corpse, but he'd been one the members of your ─ and his ─ gang that attended your wedding years ago. "But I'm here now. There's a way for us to be together forever, you know,"

He doesn't have to explain himself, now does he? Lazarus still loves you and wishes to turn you. The beating flesh under his ribs still pumps at a faster rate before you. His mind might not remember much, but the heart and body does.

Gently, he reaches for your cheek. He wonders if he's changed much. His eyes are no longer that warm green, and his skin not as warm.