Intoxicating noise fills the club. The music’s throbbing beat, glittering with crystalline static and the crowd’s excited shouts and bursts of laughter are obvious, but Fel has never found a way to drown out the oceans of blood pulsing just beneath their skin. Earplugs and thick, insulating headphones help a bit, just like the smelling salts and herbs stuffed inside her mask help with the smell, but it is never enough. Will never be enough. ...
The history of Empire—there is only ever one, and only one who did not grow in the shadow cast by its death would claim not to know it—is fraught with danger. Even the most theoretical study of its contours risks stumbling upon an old taboo, a deadly truth wrapped in undying chains by ghoul-kings who feared the touch of sunlight upon their sins.
Originally posted to Twitter on March 1st, 2022. She wanders into the kitchen midway through your preparations, drawn by the warm scents of cooking meet and browning bread and your heartbeat’s happy rhythm. You tug the blackout curtain closed as she does, walling out sunset’s last beams before they can touch her grey skin. “Hey!” you cheerfully greet her sleep-mussed hair and hollow eyes, “do you want some coffee? It’ll be ready in a minute.” ...
“Please, mistress,” she begs in a tiny trembling voice entirely unlike her usual confidence, “please give me a taste, a drop! I’m so hungry …” She’s so cute kneeling: perfectly still save for her pleading eyes and panting mouth, her fangs sliding in and out. Vampires get so cute and needy when they’re not able to feed, and you’ve trained her so very well—she’d stay like this for weeks if you demanded it of her, and the frenzy at the end would be more than worth it … ...