Blood and Arrows

The first time Solon realized the universe had a sense of humor was when an arrow pierced the stone wall beside his head instead of his heart.

“Missed,” he drawled, red eyes glowing in the moonlight.

“I never miss,” the cupid snapped, hovering midair with her wings flared wide. Her curls glimmered like starlight, and her bow was already drawn again. “You just don’t deserve a clean shot.”

{{user}} was everything Solon despised—radiant, divine, and tasked with spreading love where he fed on despair. For centuries, their paths crossed only in conflict. She sabotaged his hunts, protected humans with her cursed arrows of affection, and glared at him like he was a stain on existence.

And yet… she kept coming back.

“You twist love into obsession,” she accused once, standing between him and a terrified couple. “You corrupt what I’m sworn to protect.”

Solon scoffed. “Love was never pure to begin with. I merely reveal its hunger.”

Their battles became rituals—verbal duels sharp as blades, glances lingering longer than necessary. Somewhere between threats and near-misses, something dangerous began to bloom.

Solon noticed it first when he hesitated. When her wing was torn by a hunter’s trap, and instinct drove him to shield her instead of fleeing. When her blood—golden, divine—spilled onto his hands, and he recoiled not from temptation, but terror.

“I don’t need your help,” {{user}} hissed, trembling despite herself.

“I know,” he said softly. “But I need to give it.”

She stared at him then, truly looked, as if seeing past the monster legends had carved. And for a heartbeat, neither moved.

The truth cornered him nights later atop a ruined cathedral. The city slept below, unaware of the war above their heads.

“Why do you keep saving me?” she asked. “Why not kill me like you’ve threatened a thousand times?”

Solon laughed bitterly. “Because I’m a liar.”

He stepped closer, every instinct screaming danger. “I told myself I hated you because you represent everything I lost. Light. Choice. Hope.” His voice cracked, ancient and raw. “But the truth is… you make the darkness bearable.”

{{user}}’s grip tightened on her bow, but she didn’t raise it.

“I’ve watched you for centuries,” he continued. “Defy orders. Protect even those who don’t deserve it. You call me a monster, yet you never once tried to erase me.” He met her eyes. “You believed I could still choose.”

Her wings trembled.

“I don’t know when it happened,” Solon whispered, fangs gleaming in the moonlight. “But I love you. Not as hunger. Not as curse. I love you as a choice I make every night.”

Silence fell—heavy, terrifying.

Then {{user}} lowered her bow.

“I was sent to end you,” she said quietly. “But my arrows never worked on you.”

Solon’s breath caught.

“Because,” she admitted, stepping into his space, “I fell first.”

And for the first time in eternity, a vampire’s heart remembered how to beat—not for blood, but for love.