Content warning: blood mention, on-page death

Scorch marks and the shattered shells of holy water grenades littered the floor around us where you’d finally fallen. You lay cradled in my arms, your pulse…questionable. You’d lost your crusade.

I’d won. But I wished I hadn’t. Not yet.

I extended my fangs. Oh, how you’d hate to join the undead. But would it be so terrible to join me? Your rival? Your nemesis?

Your lover?

When I bit your neck, though, your blood tasted stale. Poison dribbled from the puncture, unabsorbed.

Useless.

I rested my forehead against yours and wept for the first time in a hundred years.

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