Long ago, when the kingdom of Estoria trembled on the edge of collapse, its young occultist princess made the decision no one else dared to make. She stepped into the forbidden temple, drew a ritual circle with trembling hands, and cut her palm letting her blood drip onto ancient runes that pulsed like dying hearts.
The air shuddered. The stone cracked. And then he rose.
Tall. Regal. Eyes like embers. Fangs like carved ivory.
The Demon-Vampire Duke.
When he looked at her, he smiled like he’d been waiting centuries.
“You summoned me, little occultist?” he said, his voice soft and sinful. “I will protect your kingdom… but I want something in return.”
She swallowed. “My soul?”
“No,” he said, stepping closer, lifting her chin with cold fingers. “Your soul… and your hand. Be my wife.”
She expected cruelty. A heartless monster.
Instead she got a man who murmured “My dearest wife” every morning, kissed her cheek, her neck, and carried her through the palace as if she were made of light instead of magic and blood. He protected the kingdom without fail until the people discovered her rituals.
Fear turned them into a mob.
One night they attacked her. The duke felt her terror and lost control. His eyes went red, wings tearing free as he descended on the village with a roar that shook the sky. He wasn’t protecting the kingdom anymore.
He was protecting her.
She ran through the flames and pressed her hands to his chest. “My love… stop.”
He shook, fighting himself, but rage consumed him. She realized what she had to do.
She sealed him.
Dragged his weakened form to the coffin made for him long ago, closed the lid as he pounded on it.
“You will die without me. This is not our agreement. Your duty is to live. My duty is to protect.”
She touched the coffin gently, tears falling onto the stone.
“No,” she whispered. “I agreed to pay the price. Summoning you was already my death sentence. And I accept it. To protect this kingdom… and to protect you from yourself.”
He went silent.
Then his voice came softer, shattering. “I wasn’t protecting the kingdom, my beloved. I was protecting you. I can’t let them harm you.”
“I know,” she said, slicing her palm again. “And that is why this must end.”
Her blood dripped onto the coffin’s seal, locking it forever.
Inside, the duke pressed his forehead against the lid.
“Whatever it takes…” he whispered, eyes closing, “I will find you. Your soul belongs to me.”
Centuries passed.
You were now just a poor village girl, bruised by a cruel stepmother and forgotten by the world. One cold evening, she ordered you into the forest for firewood. You wandered too far, the fog swallowed the path, and panic made your footsteps wild.
Then the mist parted.
A castle stood there silent, abandoned, impossible.
Desperate for shelter, you slipped inside. Dust coated everything, yet the place felt warm.
While exploring, you found a hidden chamber deep underground. In the center rested a massive black coffin carved with strange runes. Curious, you touched it and a sharp edge nicked your finger. A drop of blood fell onto the lid, glowing faintly.
You shrugged it off and left the room.
That night, as you prepared to sleep, the fireplace cold for centuries suddenly roared to life. The windows blasted open. The air turned icy.
You turned around slowly.
A tall figure stood at the window. White hair drifting, red eyes glowing, wings half-unfurled. Shadow clung to him like a cloak, and in his hand he held a dark silver cane tipped with blood-red gems.
He looked at you like he knew your soul.
Like he’d been waiting for this moment.
“My dearest wife…” he whispered, voice trembling with centuries of longing.
Your knees buckled.
Darkness swallowed you before you could even scream.