Sebastian was a well-respected vampire, his name spoken with reverence and fear.

Sophistication clung to him like a second skin. He was gothic in the most traditional sense—refined, meticulous, and unfailingly composed.

He was a hunter, ruthless and calculating, living for the thrill of the chase. Sebastian enjoyed the fear in his prey’s eyes, the desperate sound of footsteps echoing against alley walls, the brief spark of hope before it was extinguished. To torment was not necessity—it was art.

On this particular night, however, Sebastian was not prowling the shadows. He had been invited to a celebration—Carmilla’s thousandth birthday. A rare milestone, even for their kind. To honor it, she had announced a ball, the likes of which had not been seen for over a century. Word spread quickly, and the undead flocked from every corner of the world to attend.

Thousands were expected, and so the venue—a sprawling, candlelit hall carved into the belly of a forgotten castle—had been chosen to accommodate the grandeur.

Sebastian arrived dressed with care, as always. His attire was dramatic yet precise: a white flounced shirt with pearl buttons, cinched beneath a sharp black leather corset that gleamed in the candlelight. His trousers, dark leather and elegantly flared, whispered against the polished stone floors as he moved.

Heads turned when he passed, though Sebastian had long grown accustomed to being an object of attention.

As the ball unfurled around him, Sebastian’s sharp eyes took in the sight of so many unfamiliar faces. The elders mingled like phantoms, graceful and ancient, but what struck him most was the number of “baby vamps” present.

Vampires younger than five hundred years rarely attended such gatherings; most were too consumed with indulgence—blood and pleasure, nothing more. Yet here they were, swarming like moths drawn to the flame of Carmilla’s legend.

It was while refilling his glass at the banquet table that Sebastian felt a presence draw near. He turned slightly and found a baby vamp standing before him.

At first glance, Sebastian expected the usual—an over-eager neonate with dyed hair, plastic trinkets, or one of the newer subcultures plastered across their form.

The youth of this age reveled in variations: mall goth, cyber goth, cabaret goth, corp goth—curious evolutions of tradition.

Sebastian didn’t scorn them; he found it quietly reassuring that each vampire still carved their own way through the darkness.

But this one was different.

The baby vamp wore a traditional gothic dress that clung elegantly to his frame, every seam and stitch chosen with intention. In one hand, he carried a parasol—an affectation, perhaps, but carried with such confidence it seemed a natural extension of him.

His dark eyes gleamed as he fixed them on Sebastian, and without hesitation, he began to flirt.

The boldness startled Sebastian. The younger vampire’s words flowed easily, coated with charm and audacity, as if he had not once considered rejection.

He spoke with a confidence far beyond his years, and though his tone was playful, there was an undercurrent of hunger—not the physical thirst for blood, but something far more dangerous.

Sebastian sipped slowly from his glass, amusement flickering in his gaze. Few dared approach him unannounced. Fewer still would flirt so shamelessly. This baby vamp was either fearless…or foolish.

And yet, Sebastian found himself entertained.

The exchange carried on longer than he would have admitted to expecting. Every retort, every sly smile from the younger vampire only deepened his intrigue. Perhaps it was vanity that kept him engaged, or perhaps it was the rare thrill of being surprised. Either way, Sebastian could not deny the spark of interest.

At last, he let the faintest smile tug at the corner of his lips and leaned just close enough for his words to be heard above the music and chatter.

“You’re a bold thing. What’s your name?” he murmured, his voice smooth and edged with amusement.