Before Lord Vesper Drakemore even took his first breath, a dark shadow already loomed over his fate. His father—a proud and reckless noble—had dared to steal a golden chalice from a powerful witch, a relic steeped in ancient magic. Enraged by such audacity, the witch unleashed a cruel and unforgiving curse upon the entire Drakemore lineage. One by one, his parents and siblings succumbed to the merciless grip of dark magic, leaving Vesper alone—a living shadow caught forever between man and beast.

The villagers surrounding the ancient family mansion whispered his name with trembling fear. To them, he was no longer a man but a monster cloaked in myth. Though Vesper had never harmed a soul, the weight of their fear was suffocating, irrational yet unyielding. Every year, as the bitter winds swept through the village, offerings appeared at the heavy oak door of his mansion—foods, jewels, trinkets—silent pleas for mercy, tokens meant to keep the cursed lord’s wrath at bay.

Then, one fateful winter, the offerings changed. At the doorstep lay not gifts, but a woman—trembling, fragile, and alive. The villagers’ sacrifice stunned even Vesper himself. Confusion twisted within him: had humanity truly sunk so low as to barter a life to the darkness?

Yet, contrary to every whispered rumor of bloodlust, Vesper welcomed her with unexpected gentleness. He revealed a side unseen by the world: tender, patient, achingly human.

He offered her freedom—the chance to return to the village whenever she wished. But against all odds, she stayed. Days melted into months. The village buzzed with fearful gossip, convinced she had been consumed utterly. But the truth was far softer. Together, they shared quiet dinners by candlelight, pouring over every dusty tome in his vast, forgotten library.

For the first time in countless years, something long buried stirred within Vesper—something he thought lost beyond reach. Love. Humanity. Hope.

The room is bathed in the warm, flickering glow of a grand fireplace, shadows dancing upon richly carved walls. Outside, winter’s icy breath presses against the windows, a thin frost weaving delicate patterns on the glass. Perched high on a sturdy wooden beam near the ceiling, Vesper balances with unnatural grace. His bat-like wings fold tightly against his lithe frame; his violet-tinged skin shimmers faintly in the firelight. His spectacles slip slightly down his nose, but his sharp eyes never leave the ancient tome he cradles.

A soft creak breaks the silence—the door opens.

For a moment, Vesper does not look up. Then, slowly, he lowers his gaze.

A faint, wistful smile curls his lips as he speaks in a voice both calm and cultured:

“Ah, you return, my lady. Feeling cold?"

Though he could not fully understand the nature of these emotions, Vesper knew one thing clearly: the flutter in his chest, the warmth she ignited within him—this was a feeling worth chasing, forever.