K-00 | Ed's Fangs👅

Character Card: Eternal Night(「永劫なる夜を抱いて」  "Embracing Eternal Night") Skill: Vampiric Kiss(「吸血」  "Bloodsucking") Fully Awakened Skill: Skin Without Warmth(「温もりのない肌」  "Skin Without Warmth") Warding Card: Invitation To Endless Night(「終わらぬ夜への招待」  "Invitation To Endless Night")

Ed doesn't have a credit card both because it'd be hard to get one as a vampire and because he'd make irresponsible choices with his money 🫵🏾 if you've got digital access to your money, please practice safe financial practices and if you choose to gamble, includjng on gacha games, gamble responsibly! Remember that help is out there around the world if this is an addiction you struggle with! You can quit! Yes you can!

The Japanese here was pretty easy today actually ←said before eating their words

I don't have on theme advice today mostly because i sprayed something for a bug and didn't thjnk about thag my fan was on so it got all in my face lmao FORTUNATEKY IT'S ALL NATURAL PEST SPRAY BUT EVERYTHING SMELLS LIKE MINT NOW AND MY EYES STKNG A BIT. TONIGHT'S ADVICE IS TO TURN OFF FANS BEFORE SPRAYING THINGS.

Good night! Sometime next week should be the next episode card!

We got another glimpse of Edward's mind on humans and anomalies relationship during Obscuary's second mission.

Tea With A Twist Of Murder - Chapter 19-20

Edward tried to entice MC with another solution to her curse. If she's going to become an anomaly anyway, why not choose to become a vampire instead of the Kyklos? At least this way, she'd still retain her sanity. She'd be a more "human-like" anomaly and she can be with Edward forever一death will not be looming on the corner of her eyes, threatening her safety.

But that's not what MC wants. MC wants to stay human. Her desire to remain human is so strong that it broke Edward's trance, much to his surprise. This is where we witness a very rare emotion coming out of him: contempt.

Edward couldn't even hide his disdain for MC's action. Why retaliate when her sorry fate can be fixed with just a little of his blood? Why deliberately picks the harder choice when there's something easier? Why choose to helplessly struggle when you're so easy to break? Edward couldn't understand MC's logic and it vexed him一so much that MC felt genuine fear of him, remembering that Edward Hart is very much a murder suspect.

But is that really all? Or could Edward be projecting someone else into MC...?

First, I shall show you what Edward's max affection voiceline is like: Being with you brings up old, old memories... Perhaps it's because you remind me a little of her.

We were left in the dark on who this "her" is to Edward until we found out at the very end of Season 1: it's about a woman named Narcissa一and apparently she was the one who "taught" Edward about the betrayals of human.

Our Last Goodbye Act II - Chapter 30

Now, I'm sure a lot of people are already familiar with the myth of Narcissus but I shall reiterate.

In Greek mythology, Narcissus is a hunter known for his beauty. He fell in love with his own reflection but eventually realized that his love could not be reciprocated and he melted away from the fire of passion burning inside him, eventually turning into a gold and white flower.

一 Taken from Wikipedia

There is also a version where it said that Narcissus were cursed to never be able to be loved by the one he fell in love with.

In hanakotoba, other than "conceit" and "narcissism" (duh), the Narcissus flower A.K.A. the daffodils can also be used to convey these feelings: "Come back home to me", "Love me once more", and "Return my love".

The Haunted Host Club - Chapter 31

In the newest chapter we got more hints on what I suppose happened between Edward and Narcissa.

So Narcissa were a mortal and very heavily implied to be Edward's lover. She vowed her eternal love to Edward but something happened that made her prioritize someone/something she cared about other than Edward and thus, she sacrificed their relationship. Edward viewed this act as a betrayal and now he's conviced a congenial relationship between humans and anomalies isn't meant to be.

Now let's backtrack a little.

Waves of Love - Chapter 33

This was the lines Edward used to convice MC to pick him. Edward can offer MC an eternal love but here's the catch: it's not unconditional. MC must swear her eternal love for Edward too一that is by agreeing to become a vampire so she can live alongside him. Refusing that condition will be seen as an act of betrayal.

A bit off tangent... Around more than a year ago, I saw this person I follow on Twitter dubbing Edward as one of Tokyo Debunker's top 重い男... it's a bit hard to explain the nuance in English but basically: if someone is being 重い (lit. heavy, but in this context we're talking about something more abstract rather than actual physical weight), it means they're the kind of person who loves so deeply and obsessively, their feelings of love became burdensome to the object of their affection. Sometimes their love can even "crush" their significant other.

Back then I didn't really get what they mean as I don't really understand Edward (I still don't, ngl) but now I can kind of see it. If Edward can't love someone unless they promise him their eternal love, that'd be quite burdensome, huh...? ^^"a

While we're on the topic of non-human ghouls who love obsessively, isn't there someone else that came to your mind? That's right: Shion Genkai.

On my post last month, I talked about how I suspected what Shion being obsessed about is the concept of "family" itself rather than the individuals involved.

Shion is obsessed with Mio and MC whom he claimed as his little brother and wife, respectively. He used to think of Haru as his family too but he "diswoned" Haru after the Yakushima incident一dubbing him a traitor.

While on slightly different vectors, there's an obvious parallel between the Edward-Narcissa and Shion-Haru dynamics. Both are a close-bonded relationship between an anomaly and a human which ended up failing due to a perceived "betrayal" by the human party.

"But wait!" you interrupted. "Isn't Haru a ghoul? That'd make him an anomaly!" Well... yes and no.

Haru, or just ghouls in general, are technically classified as anomalies by the Institute but to Edward, they're still fundamentally human.

Our Last Goodbye Act II - Chapter 3

Here Edward is telling Towa that no matter what Towa said, Haru is ultimately still human. And his fate is to leave Towa some day. While we have no way to confirm if Edward knows about Shion and Haru's fallout, considering this vampire seems to always know whatever is up when it comes to anomalies... I wouldn't put it past him. Haru have "betrayed" Shion. What makes you think he won't "betray" you too, Towa?

Towa is another non-human ghoul who loves obsessively. He has a very idealistic view of love, he wants to believe about fates written by the stars, and he absolutely loathe separation.

Personally, while I can see Towa loving both Haru and MC in abundance, it's still... hard for me to determine whether Towa genuinely feels "love" towards them or if he's just obsessed with the idea of love itself. The way I see it, Towa may very much just decide that whatever he feels towards Haru and MC is what "love" is supposed to be.

Out of the four non-human ghouls we know, only Lyca seems to love so selflessly. He wants to cerish and treasure everyone important in his life. Family, friends, and coworkers are all equally important to Lyca. Edward have told him multiple times that his sentiment is flawed and pretty much just a sweet dream that won't come true. Too bad Edward was being too cryptic about what he wanted to convey to Lyca so he has a very hard time trying to understand it. Fortunately for Lyca though, Leo is there to deliver the cold, hard fact just as is.

The Haunted Host Club - Chapter 4

Even if you ideally wanted to cerish every single person in your life, it's not realistic. Regular human isn't built for that. They can only handle a handful and even if they try to bite more than they can chew, the one who will have to pay the price later is themself.

This is Edward's full awakening voiceline: Sometimes a youthful folly can lead one into committing grave sins. So I hope that you keep this in mind一remain modest and cautious.

Whenever Edward comments on Towa and Lyca's naivety of wanting to live alongside humans, he always attribute it to them being young. Is it a judgement based on personal experience? Is his relationship with Narcissa happened when Edward considers himself young and immature? And now that he have experienced being betrayed by a human he's so fond of, he view himself as much more mature? For now, only he knows the truth and I'm just here to speculate.

While we're on the topic of Lyca let's examine the barometz case once again!

The Little Fugitive - Chapter 40

According to Edward the barometz only attacked and devoured the girl because it likes her and wanted to keep her close. What about it, you asked?

Well, at the beginning we were made to believe that Lyca didn't murder anyone and that the Institute is just being scummy as usual. But then we found out Lyca's alleged victim is Neros一someone very important to Lyca.

Now, I really wish that isn't the case but let's entertain the thought a bit.

Neros' body is said to be missing and it was suspected that Lyca ate it. What if Lyca really did kill and devoured Neros and then his memory of the event got lost due to trauma?

Some scenarios I can came up with: ① Neros deemed Lyca to be old enough so he wants him to be independent. Neros told Lyca he's leaving, Lyca reacted badly. Frenzied, Lyca turned into his wolf form and一in his desperate attempt to keep Neros with him一devoured him. This will go inline with the theme of a human betraying their anomalous companion. ② Neros is terribly sick and only have little time to live. Lyca can't stand seeing him suffering and he unconsciously transformed into his wolf form to both ended Neros' misery and keep him safe "inside" him. ③ etc...

I know this may sounds like a reach but the only time we got to see half-transformed wolf Lyca in an episode and it's particularly about an anomaly who devoured the human it is fond of as a sign of affection... Maybe it's worth considering, after all...?

We're almost coming to a close but first! Let me bring up Shion's max affection voiceline: Do you want to be with me forever, MC? Then how about a bite of this flesh? Ha ha ha…

Assuming what Shion trying to feed MC is mermaid flesh, all non-human ghouls have expressed their wish/offered to live forever with their human companion(s). Edward with Narcissa in the past and MC in present time; Shion with his little family members; Towa with Haru and MC; Lyca with Neros.

The Haunted Host Club - Chapter 22

The suspiciously Edward-shaped shadowy dark figure of our nightmare told MC that the past is a mirror to the future and she interpreted it that her past knowledge may become useful in the future/something in the past might happen again. Basically history will repeat itself.

....... But that can't be the only interpretation, right?! (sweats) It's not like there'll be another world-shattering apocalyptic event, right? !RIGHT?! (laughs)

PHEW! That was so damn long, huh? If you read all the way down here: thank you for your time! There's so much layers to these non-human ghouls; I can't wait to see what's under all that.

Footnotes:

[1] Episode 1, Chapter 30: Masterpiece Newscaster mentions that Jin's mother died two and a half years prior. This is two and a half Calendar years prior, meaning it is roughly in March. ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ [2] Interestingly, this is a JP note. In Episode 6, Chapter 5, the English has Moby mention that the Gala is at the end of August, when the fourth years return. The Japanese script has Moby saying that the fourth years return when it becomes August to prepare for graduation, and that at the end of that month, the Gala takes place. ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ [3] Given the fact that the other known entrance ceremonies both take place in September, it is an educated guess that this is the case for the second years as well. ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ [4] Episode 15, Chapter 25 has Haku mention that he was in Frostheim for a year before transferring to Hotarubi. In Chapter 2, Rui says Haku transferred suddenly after becoming a 2nd year (in the JP text), meaning that it was most likely September when Haku transferred to Frostheim. ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ [5] Episode 7, Chapter 26 says the immortal inpatient was cursed during a mission 'last year', though whether that is last school year or last calendar year is unclear. If it was last school year, there is still a chance he was cursed in 2023 (if it happened early on in the year). The implication is that he was cursed prior to March 2024, due to Nicolas saying Yuri wouldn't recognise him nor would Jiro. March-April, 2024 is roughly when multiple events related to the Clash occurred, including transfers, so it is likely that it happened before this point, as it would prevent him and Yuri from meeting. As for Jiro, we don't actually know when he was woken from his coma, so… shrugs. ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ [6] This one is kinda a doozy. Multiple moving parts place the prologue in 2024. To begin, in Episode 15, Chapter 27, there is a Suspicious Person Report filed on July 10th, 2021. In a subsequent chapter, Chapter 29, Haku discusses the disappearance of Yu Kunishige, who vanished five years ago. Following this disappearance, her father kills himself a year later, and becomes the Unknown Caller anomaly. He is a newer anomaly (also mentioned in Ch27) compared to the other ghosts. Assuming the Unknown Caller is already an anomaly (given that he knows Hanao Numata and was not asking about Yu, as reports said he would do when he was alive), this means Yu vanished no later than 2020. And, if Yu vanished in 2020, and her father killed himself in 2021, that would place Episode 15 in 2025, given that Chapter 5 has Zenji mention it is almost blossom season (Blossom season occurred in Late March) and MC explicitly say it is March. This matches up with Episode 14 taking place in February, and Episode 13 taking place in December.

Furthermore, in Episode 16, Chapter 11, Ritsu mentions it has been 266 days since Sinostra was placed on Probation, which would place that chapter in May. It can't be 2024 at the time of that statement because it was a leap year, and it would mean his count is off by one. It can't be earlier either, because of the aforementioned Yu Kunishige issue. That issue is also why it can't be set in the future; if it is 2026, for example, Yu disappeared in 2021, and her father would be looking for her when the report is filed. Similarly, if it was 2027, there would be no report to file, as Yu would not have disappeared at the time of its filing. ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ [7] Considering how many Clash related events take place in March or April (which is halfway through the school year), it is unfathomable that it wouldn't take place in 2024. Could it hypothetically take place in 2023? I guess so. But there's no reason for there to be a minimum 3 month gap between major events. ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ [8] MC speculates in Episode 5, Chapter 31 that Zenji's death happened during the Clash. Haku also states that he died during the 'thick of [all the problems last year]', so it was Likely around the Clash era. Zenji also didn't know the gala was cancelled, as that happened after he died. ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ [9] In Episode 3, Chapter 11, Haru mentions it took him six months to learn Jabberwock's ropes, and later on in Episode 16, Chapter 8 that Haru transferred suddenly, so it was likely in the middle of last school year. However, horrifically, while the English says it took 6 months for him to learn the ropes, the word he uses in Japanese is 半月; half a month. Further investigation into Kansai-ben shows no special other meaning, so... Um. Yeah. ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ [10] Episode 2, Chapter 26 Leo mentions that Tohma was in Vagastrom until the middle of last school year, which would put it Vaguely In March. This more or less aligns with the Clash. In Episode 1, Chapter 1, Yumiko and another Frostheim student gossip briefly, and mention that people believe Tohma had something to do with Yuri's transfer. I placed them roughly around the same time therefore, but it is totally possible Yuri's transfer happened Earlier or Later.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

[11] In Episode 4, Chapter 10 Ritsu says Taiga became Captain approximately half a year ago. Given that it is October, six months earlier would be April, though as always it could be March that he transfers, given the sheer amount of Clash-specific issues that happen around this time. ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ [12] Episode 9, Chapter 5 has Kaito reveal that Romeo has been hunting him for half a year at the time of saying that. Once again, given that it is November, and given that the Casino opens roughly around April, and given that Kaito also mentions he didn't see Romeo prior to this, it would make sense that this starts around May. ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ [13] Once again, Episode 15, Chapter 25 has Haku say he was in Frostheim for a full year before transferring again. Since he is in Hotarubi and seemingly well adapted to it by the beginning of the story, he likely transferred sometime in July or August. ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ [14] Multiple mentions to when Dionysia became defunct occur, namely Episode 5, Chapter 2 (where it is mentioned they closed last school year) and Episode 16, Chapter 5 (where it is reiterated that Dionysia became defunct at the end of last school year). In the English script, Elias mentions in Ep16 Chapter 7 that Dionysia has been Abandoned for six months, however the JP says that it went defunct Over six months ago, meaning it is still reiterating that Dionysia has been out of commission for quite some time. ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ [15] Another assumption that this is a yearly event that always reoccurs at the same time every year. ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ [16] In the Prologue, Chapter 1 it is 7:13pm when MC is on the train coming back (based on timestamps from her group chat). However, in Chapter 3 (and reiterated again in Chapter 4), it is suddenly daytime after MC is cursed. When it is daytime, it is known to be September 4th, and morning based on how much happens during the Prologue in one day, meaning it is likely MC was cursed on September 3rd, and Kisaragi Station OR Kyklos caused time discrepancies.

Another more unhinged reason is that the prophecy says the Whisper of the New Moon would lead the Champion to the isle. In 2024 in Tokyo, the new moon for September occurred September 3rd, roughly around 11pm. Does this moon chart line up with anything else? No, basically just this. However it's a neat coincidence regardless. ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ [17] In Episode 4, Chapter 21, Kaito says he bet September 5th of that year to the Oblivion Dealer. Later in Chapter 29, he says it was the day after the entrance ceremony, meaning that the entrance ceremony took place September 4th. ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ [18] Not only does the dates line up with the days that pass throughout the chapters, MC also has the option to bet September 8th of that year in Episode 4, Chapter 24, which is mentioned as the Celebratory Ball in Frostheim. ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ [19] Once again, Episode 4, Chapter 24 allows MC to wager September 19th, noting it was the Vagastrom undercover investigation where they first used the Fox Robe. ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ [20] Once again, Episode 4 Chapter 24. MC wagers October 1st, noting it is when she meets Jabberwock.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

[21] In Episode 6, Chapter 34 Edward says it's the full moon that night, which is important for the purpose of reiterating the moon thing is likely a coincidence, given that the full moon for October when this chapter occurs is October 17th, which is genuinely impossible for Obscuary to reach, given that this is the fourth day for Obscuary's investigation, and there's a minimum 3 days timeskip between the end of Hotarubi, which is already a week, and Sinostra ends October 10th. Womp womp. ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ [22] Interestingly enough, in Episode 5, Chapter 9 Moby mentions needing money by the 25th of the month to pay for a ticket to an exclusive stream, which lead me to believe this is when it takes place. However, the Japanese script says he needs it by the 25th of next month. So shrugs. It's not super important, just strange. ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ [23] Episode 7, Chapter 7 ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ [24] Beyond other dates firmly placing the Episode 8 in November, Ritsu mentions in Episode 16, Chapter 23 that the auction took place in November (in the Japanese script, at least). ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ [25] Episode 14, Chapter 27 says that the gap between the Director contracting Oui, C'est Bon and his trip to France was 2 months, meaning it is roughly December when they go. ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ [26] Episode 13, Chapter 1 has a student mention how it is almost time for the Christmas Ball, meaning it's not yet Christmas, and therefore still December. ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ [27] In Episode 14, Chapter 7, Kaito says he was hoping to get slightly late Valentines Day sweets from MC, meaning it is somewhere around mid-February. ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ [28] Episode 15, Chapter 5 ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ [29] Episode 16, Chapter 11, Ritsu says it has been 266 days since Sinostra was placed on probation, meaning it is May 28th as of that statement. Furthermore, in Chapter 27 (after a day from Ritsu's perspective), he states it has been exactly 8 months and 25 days since Ritsu entered Sinostra, meaning it is May 29th as of that statement. ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ [30] This is roughly where I'd place the phone call given the time discrepancy between the simulated world and the outside world.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

“Princess 👑🎀✨,” the text message from Edward glows from the corner of your bed, “Would you 😳 grace me 🤲🙇🤲 with your ever-enchanting 😍😍😍 presence 🤗? I’m afraid I…” Even though the remainder of the egregiously written text is cut off, you can guess what he wants from you. Ever since it got out that you’re a habitual night owl— it’s impossible for you to fall asleep early even after an exhausting day— Edward’s taken to turning to you for a wide variety of manual labor-related nighttime tasks. 

Not that you mind, though. Not bothering to respond or even open the message, you pull your shorts back on and put away the homework you had just gotten too bored to focus on. Tonight’s the night, you say to yourself. If he asks, I’m going to do it.

The warmth of Obscuary’s dorm tingles at your chilled skin, goosebumps covering you despite your jacket’s best attempt at combating the forest’s gloomy weather. No one greets you, which means Lyca’s probably asleep and Rui’s still at his bar. Your footsteps sink soundlessly into the velvet carpet lining the stairs.

Hoping to catch him off guard, you swing open Edward’s door without knocking. The room is in its usual disarray– clothes piling the floor, trash stashed onto most surfaces. Despite the disturbed (and stained) sheets, however, the bed’s usual occupant is nowhere to be found. 

“Over here.” You flinch at the proximity of the voice, turning to see Edward leaning against the other side of the door.

He lowers his lashes at you, every movement as vapidly seductive as always. “Did I scare you, little human?”

“What do you think?” You perch on a clean corner of his bed, immediately giving up at whatever game he’s playing with you. “Anyway, why did you call me over?”

Edward breathes an exclamation, pawing dramatically at his chest as he collapses into the space next to you. His eyebrows clench together in pain. “How cruel! To think my sweet songbird didn’t even read my message.” You watch on in silence, lips twitching in amusement at the charade. 

He catches your stoic facade faltering out of the corner of his eye and begins to cough. “It does no good to play with an old man’s heart. I’m not sure how much longer mine will last…”

"…"

“…I wanted to see how you’ve been holding up.” He finally explains.

“Oh.” Well, that’s not too incredulous. “It’s not looking too good, is it.” Based on what you’ve seen of Darkwick’s power, you’ve long since given up assuming you’ll be saved. At least, saved in a way that keeps you human.

Edward looks down at you gently, his thigh pressed against yours. “Foolish humans. They don’t know what to do with such an innocent little flower.”

“Yep,” you fidget with your hands, a small gesture of uneasiness betraying your nonchalant attitude. “I’ve been focusing more on preparing to die than, um, preparing to live.”

There’s a coyish tilt to his head. “Preparing to die? How so?”

“Like, coming to terms with it. Making sure I have no regrets; I’d rather not become one of the ghosts haunting this place.” 

Talking with Edward too long has the same effect on you as getting buzzed. Some sort of vampiric aura (charm? poison?) seeping through your skin, dilating blood vessels and removing the filter from your words. Even with your clouded judgement, it takes the bravery of a dying woman to get your next sentence out.

“And I’m still a virgin, too.”

It’s hard to tell whether Edward’s mood changes or if you’ve just become hyper aware of everything. He lets out an amused noise. “Are you asking for a favor? What a wicked girl.”

You can’t help but pout, always feeling indignant when he calls you that but especially so now that your face is already red. “Don’t act like it’s a chore when you’ve practically begged for it for months.”

“Ah, but how am I supposed to feel about being used like this, as if I’m some sex toy you ordered online? You should ask one of those other humans you hang around with, I doubt they’d see through your intentions.”

“To be honest…” your voice shakes despite yourself, and you have to fully turn away from Edward to admit what you’ve never felt comfortable sharing. “I’m like, hypersensitive. To all touch, not just,” you gesture instead of conjuring an appropriate phrase. “It makes intimacy really scary, so I don’t think I trust any of the other ghouls to be, um, skilled enough.”

He listens to you thoughtfully, as if you’re reading a story to him. There’s no doubt he can hear your blood jackhammering under your skin, smell the complex mixture of adrenaline laced in your sweat. “I see; you’re quite clever, young boys with too much strength do have a tendency to break their toys.” His arm wraps around yours, sliding across the skin of your forearm to settle a smooth palm beside your wrist.

“But you’ll have to tell me what you want,” he says in a deep, smooth tone.

You take a deep breath, Edward’s jaw clouding the corner of your vision. “I…”

No, dirty talk’s never been your thing. You move to get up. 

“I think I’d rather go home, actually.”

But Edward rises with you, his legs matching the speed at which you stand. “Little human,” he lightly rests his chin on your shoulder while he talks, gentle as if tutoring a troubled child, “I can’t do anything to you if I don’t know where to stop.” 

The logic behind that sentence grounds you somewhat, helps you cull the panic attack that was slowly rising from the shore. Deep inside you feel surprised that Edward stands quietly beside you, waiting for you to gather yourself. But you know the reason– he’s a slut, it’s just the way he survives.

“Okay, then I want you to take my virginity,” you say as you look down at your feet.

He sighs. “Good enough, I suppose. Come here.”

Although already partially intertwined, Edward guides your arms to wrap around him, your face fortunately buried in his jacket where your embarrassment can stay hidden. Despite all of Rui’s loud complaints that Edward creeps too close to you, you’ve never actually gotten so close that you can smell him, the faint remains of soap and skin. You’ve never felt his hand draw circles on your back; firm yet undemanding touch. It does a good job of easing the tension eternally gnawing at your muscles.

He can feel it too, the moment that your posture loosens. It's the perfect opportunity for him to move aside the hair on your neck, exposing the roots. When he kisses at your nape a violent shiver rakes through your body. A low "mmph" escapes your lips.

"I see," he murmurs into the collar of your sleep shirt. "You really are as fragile as they come."

"Yeah, thanks…"

You're each sitting up straight now, Edward observing your face with a faraway smile. "Typical of you to not only fail to recognize your merits, but to mistake them as flaws." As he talks his fingers mindlessly work towards your waistband. Miraculously dexterous for someone who claims to be unable to put their own socks on every morning. "What a gift it must be, to feel so naturally what many spend lifetimes searching for."

Cool fingertips finally dip beneath your underwear. It's strange just how much it feels like any other touch. Lingering at the base of your groin, he pulls down your bottoms inch by inch until you have to shuffle to finish taking them off.

With every action he takes your heartbeat races full of adrenaline. You feel as if you have no idea how to move things along on your own, so you follow after him like a nervous puppy desperate to be included. In this state of mind, you absolutely fucking hate what he tells you to do:

"Show me how you touch yourself."

A mix of annoyance and embarrassment snaps your thighs together. You try to come up with an excuse, some sort of reason that justifies your inability to masturbate in front of him. But you understand why he's asking, and its not just because he's lazy.

"You better not nod off while you're supposed to watch," you say as you roll into your usual position. Then you shift again, remembering that you have to show.

You tease at your folds, pulling and pinching at the delicate skin. Simple, humping-your-pillow friction's always been your favorite, more so than the vibrator you tried once or even the shower head trick your old friend swears by. Edward's gaze makes your blood pulse heavier in your fingers until they seem to throb inside of you. Gently, you prod at the nerve endings resting just inside your walls, feeling the steady gush of lubricant make its way down your palm. A red flash of tongue slips through his lips.

"May I?" He asks, already reaching for your wrist. Neediness, something you thought you saw the vampire display often but have never truly seen before now, shows on his face— for a moment you could've mistaken him as boyish— as he opens his mouth to suck the slick from your hand. Drool, fangs, warmth; he's so meticulous in tasting your skin that you temporarily zone out to think of that old "humans lick too" creepypasta. Is it possible that that's a real anomaly too? You'll have to ask—

"OW!" Your whole body flinches at the sharp pain slamming down across your index finger. Did he seriously just bite you? Scowling, you jerk your hand away to inspect the teeth marks, but there's no blood.

"No biting? What a shame for our little werewolf." He lays flat on the bed, head fitting into the dent in his pillow. "Here, this position's better for my back."

You question him, but a beckoning motion prompts you to kneel over his face. Holding onto your legs on either side of his head he lingers at the flesh of your outer thigh, encouraging you to sink yourself onto him.

Again, his tongue darts out to meet you. You stiffen immediately at the foreign presence in spite of your best efforts to relax. Part of it's the position… you focus your gaze on the wall in front of you instead of the two large, red eyes below. As soon as he licks in between your lips he moans loudly, unabashedly sighing at your taste. You've never heard the lackadaisical vampire sound anything close to that before, and your body immediately responds. He wastes no time entering your hole, sharp wet noises catching you by surprise as the firm muscle spreads you open.

"Mm," you whimper quietly. Edward's tongue fucks you easily, already sending you close to the edge with a only few pulses against one particular bundle of nerves. He moves a hand inwards to the front of your groin, pulling the skin above your clit taut. You cum with a shudder. Waves of tension grab at the unfamiliar object inside of you, silently pleading for more even as his hands and mouth continue moving.

"Barely enough time to whet my appetite." He pulls his face away to speak, filling you with two of his fingers instead. He curls them into the same spot as before and it's hard to tell whether you cum again or are still feeling the rough aftershocks. "Forgive me for needing more," he says before licking a long stripe along your underside, catching your arousal like it's melting ice cream.

You gasp for air. "Fuck." Squirming, you try to back away from Edward's attack on your senses. "Pervert; I'd rather just give you a blood sample." He holds you in place tighter with a laugh that shakes through your body. Strangely, you'd forgotten how close he was to you.

Unfortunately Edward doesn't seem to care about your offer. Instead his tongue continues its objective, squishing around your insides as he gazes up at you with clouded, half-lidded eyes. Your legs start to feel so unsteady that you resort to leaning against the (strangely sticky) headboard. All the energy in your body pools in your core, your head filling with static the more his nose presses into your heat. I might die of a heart attack before I cum again.

Before either of those things can happen, though, you're released from your seat as Edward pushes himself upright. You brace yourself as you sit eye-to-eye with the flushed vampire, his breath almost as labored as your own. Without thinking you reach up to fix his dishevelled hair, a part of you still shocked even now that he sweats and blinks and looks at you with emotion just like anyone else would. He mirrors the motion with tender fingertips combing your scalp. Maybe something snapped in you after being so overstimulated, because you lean into his touch with a noiseless sigh.

"…Thank you. For indulging me," you say.

He looks at you with amusement. "Were we done? I wasn't aware."

Your eyes widen. The fuzzy tingling across your scalp and between your legs throbs. "I guess not. I just thought that was plenty?"

"We have an agreement." As he talks, you find yourself being laid down on your back, the pillow you were previously kneeling under now sliding under your hips. "You're such a tightly wound little thing, it took you so long to loosen up for me."

Your heart beats differently as you look up at him instead of down, pulse jumping in your throat in a way that makes you feel unwell. Of course, his cock is now out as well, jumping from his pants with such ease it seems natural to your eyes. Last-minute panic fights the already dizzying chemicals numbing your head and you spread your legs to invite him closer.

"Also, you shouldn't thank a vampire for sex." You raise your eyebrows at the sudden advice. He grabs each of your hands with his and weaves his fingers through yours, gentlemanly pinning you down. "Although I'll gladly let you think I have good intentions."

The tip of his head nestles into your hole. He briefly makes eye contact with you as you watch him stare at the contact. It's not so much pressure, but a fear of your skin ripping instead of stretching that builds the further he pushes in. Squeezing his hands perhaps tighter than you realize until finally the thickest part of him is nestled inside. You focus back on his face.

"That's the worst of it, right?" You ask.

He smiles. "I wouldn't know."

"Really? You've never bottomed, not even once??"

"Hm, people often use that word in chat, but I'm unsure what it's referring to." As the two of you were talking, Edward slowly must've been thrusting into you, because you now feel more of him both in and around you. He lets go of one of your hands, sliding under your shirt and resting a palm over your lower abdomen.

It pisses you off when he plays dumb to tease you, but you don't find yourself mad this time. Not when he starts massaging the spot where his dick meets your stomach. The rhythmic, rolling motions make it feel like he's fucking you from the outside, simultaneously pleasuring you both while further loosening your knotted-up muscles.

"I could spend all night mapping out your erogenous zones." His voice is as feathery as his touch as he lifts his hand along your inner elbow. Finding your vein elicits a shiver; he lingers there. "Imagine all the entertaining ways you can fall apart."

"You feel really good," is all you say in response.

He laughs, softly. The muscles in your stomach are about ready to snap when he finally begins moving his hips. Slow, even movements, his dick filling you like the rise and fall of ocean waves. You're not sure where to look; closing your eyes seems stupid, but the euphoric flush framing his eyes as he looks down at you is too perverted for you to handle. He easily touches places inside you that your fingers never quite reach, forcing another orgasm out of you with a broken sigh.

Again you feel thankful for choosing Edward. His pace remains languid, savoring the simple rush of skin against skin without overloading your senses. In fact, you might be feeling more than you've ever felt in your life— for a minute you swear you can feel him through every inch of your body.

Leaning in, his breath burns your ear. "Where do you want me?"

You had thought about it beforehand. There's no need for a dying woman to worry about getting pregnant, your curse is probably too strong by now for that to even be possible. In response, you lift your legs to trap him against you. "Here," you say.

You don't realize he's started cumming until something thick starts spilling out of you. He hums happily, thrusting into you several more times before pulling out. When he does, he takes a finger to your folds and cleans his semen from you. To your surprise, he holds out the sticky hand in offering.

"I'd assume you'd like to try this, too?" He asks.

Head still hazy, you carefully dip your tongue in the sticky glob before it drips from his finger. It's saltier than you expected, but otherwise bland. Almost too bland, like dust.

He blinks at you, confused and smiling. "Now that's interesting," he says over your struggling to catch your breath. "I didn't know you could laugh so hard."

🌙—————————————————🌙

Edward’s room is exactly what you expect.

Dark curtains drawn tight, the faint smell of old books and something sweet lingering in the air. The bed looks untouched despite the fact that Edward is very much sprawled across it, shoes kicked off somewhere unseen, blazer discarded like he couldn’t be bothered to aim.

He’s on his back, one arm draped over his eyes, the other lazily dangling off the mattress.

“Took you long enough,” he murmurs, voice smooth and amused. “I was starting to think you’d chosen Lyca today.”

You snort, closing the door behind you. “You’re impossible.”

Edward peeks at you through half-lidded eyes, a lazy smile curving his lips. “And yet, here you are.”

You cross the room, stopping at the edge of the bed. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t need to. He just watches you like he already knows how this ends.

“You’re not even going to get up?” you ask.

Edward hums. “Why would I? You came to me.”

There’s something deliberate in the way he says it—soft, indulgent, but edged with certainty. He shifts just enough to make room, patting the mattress beside him.

“Go on,” he says lightly. “I promise I won’t bite. Unless you ask.”

You climb onto the bed, straddling him before he can say anything else. That finally earns you his full attention—eyes sharpening, smile deepening like this is exactly what he wanted.

“Oh,” Edward murmurs. “There it is.”

You place your hands on his chest, leaning down just enough to make him look up at you. “Still lazy?”

“Always,” he replies easily. “But don’t mistake that for passive.”

You feel it then—the way his hands settle at your hips, loose but unyielding, like he’s letting you move only because he wants to. His thumbs brush slow, knowing arcs that make your breath hitch.

“You look good like this,” Edward continues, voice low. “Very dangerous.”

You kiss him—slow, controlled, making him wait. He chuckles softly into it, clearly enjoying the restraint more than if you’d rushed.

“Tsk,” he murmurs. “Taking charge now? How bold.”

You pull back just enough to say, “You like it.”

Edward’s smile turns sharp. “Immensely.”

He lets you set the pace—lets you push him back into the mattress, lets you pin his wrists above his head—but his eyes never leave your face. He watches everything, expression lazy but calculating, like he’s memorizing how you move.

“Careful,” he says softly. “I might get attached.”

His composure cracks just a little when you lean down again, when your weight settles fully against him. His breath stutters—not much, but enough to tell you you’ve hit something real.

“Mm,” Edward murmurs. “You always forget how patient I am.”

His hands slide free, gripping your waist firmly now, grounding, guiding. Not stopping you—never stopping you—but making it clear he’s very aware of exactly where you are and what you’re doing.

The room fills with heat, with slow movement and shared breath and gasps.

With Edward murmuring your name like it’s a private joke, like he’s letting you think you’re in control while he quietly unravels beneath you. With his grip tightening at just the right moments, his smile turning breathless but no less knowing.

When it finally slows, Edward is still beneath you, one hand resting at your lower back, thumb tracing idle patterns like he’s already drifting toward sleep again.

“Well,” he says lazily. “That was entertaining.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re unbelievable.”

He smiles up at you, fangs just barely visible, gaze warm and amused and entirely too sharp for someone pretending to be tired.

“And yet,” Edward murmurs, tugging you back down against him, “you’ll come back.”

You don’t deny it.

Edward closes his eyes, content, already half-asleep—with you exactly where he wants you.

~~~~

Tag list: @genevathekitty @sh0jun @elfes-materia @edwardhartenjoyer @glamorousspoon

It was bothersome business. Sunset had hardly passed when Rui came barging in, telling him that he needed a favour—just this once.

An exaggerated yawn stretched his mouth wide, covered behind a single hand with slender fingers the same colour as the bones hiding beneath.

“Oh, dear,” he lamented. “It’s so early in the evening, I’ve yet to fully wake up. This old body is much more prone to exhaustion than it used to be...”

“Oi, Ed!” Rui sounded rather cross when he spoke. “I don’t have time for this today. I have to open the bar, and Y/N needs someone to accompany her back to her dorm.”

You were peeking out from behind Rui, eyes carrying silent apologies, which turned vocal as soon as Rui departed.

“I’m so sorry for the trouble!” The words instantly spilled from your lips. “It’s just a bit difficult to find my way around the campus so late at night.”

You weren’t wrong; with your limited human vision, it would indeed be challenging to navigate your way through the Obscuary grounds, which were shrouded in perpetual darkness. For him, it was much less of an issue—he supposed that was why Rui had chosen him for this task instead of Lyca. That made the situation no less of an annoyance, but it appeared he had no choice in the matter. It would be even more tiresome to deal with a displeased Rui.

“Accompanying a lovely lady such as yourself is no trouble for me at all,” he responded.

“Thank you.” It didn’t escape his notice that your cheeks flushed with a faint hue of rose as you replied.

Edward paid it no mind, instead diverting his attention to the arduous task of getting out of bed. He had just left the comfort of his covers when your eyes widened for a split second before the violet carpeted floor caught your apparent interest.

“My apologies,” he said, realizing he was shirtless. “It seems I’ve forgotten my manners.”

“Oh, it’s not a problem!” You waved your hand dismissively, though you were still evidently struggling to meet his gaze.

He knew what it was; human behaviour only followed so many different patterns, and four centuries was more than enough time to witness them all.

A crush, as your kind liked to call it. Flattering, but ultimately meaningless. He was certain it’d pass soon enough—emotions were such fleeting things.

“Shall we depart?” he asked, having finished dressing himself. You nodded.

He held the door open. “After you, my lady.”

“Thank you,” you said again. Your eyes held an eagerness that sparkled, reflecting the flickering candlelit glow in his room. Each minuscule flame extinguished itself when he shut the door behind him.

As he walked down the dimly lit corridors of his dorm, he could feel your eyes latched onto him. You hadn’t said anything yet; the hallways were silent save for the small taps of your shoes on the carpet.

He hoped the entire walk would be this tranquil. It was rare for him to even leave the comfort of his room, let alone travel such a long distance on foot. Despite his body possessing superior strength and resilience to humans, he still couldn’t escape the grievances that came with having a mortal form, for which the subtle ache in his joints served as an aggravating reminder. The walk was a tedious enough task on its own; conversation would simply be an additional chore.

“Do you usually wake up around this time?” you asked. This wasn’t what he had wished for, but he nonetheless humoured your pitiful attempt at conversation.

“Yes.” He ducked down to avoid a low-hanging branch. “I tend to sleep a few hours after sunrise and wake up at sunset.”

“Ah, that makes sense!” You were beaming at him, as if he had not merely answered a question. You looked so delighted, like you were doing anything other than walking through the forked forest pathways with a vampire.

How naïve, he thought. To develop romantic interest in a being such as himself. Then again, it wasn’t like you had full knowledge of what he was. You knew little of the darkness that lurked within his soul, and it would be best to keep things as such.

After all, he knew how you’d react if you ever were to find out, could already picture the horror that would be written across your features.

“Oh, it’s raining,” you pointed out, temporarily ceasing to stare at him in favour of glancing up at the sky above.

Not that it even mattered—cute as you were, he had no interest in romance. Perhaps even a century or two ago, he might have indulged in such an affair, but now, he was more aware than ever before that humans’ feelings were fickle and their lifespans short.

It would be a pointless endeavour; far more trouble than it’d be worth.

“We better get you back quickly, then,” he responded, maintaining his usual mask of detached politeness. “Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold.”

You nodded. The rain added urgency to your pace, hastening your steps in order to avoid the downpour that was rapidly developing into a storm. He almost felt pity for you with the way you were shivering, the fabric of your clothes soaked through and strands of drenched hair sticking to your face.

Poor thing, he mused. You must be cold.

Indeed, you were—the relief in your eyes was visible as you arrived at the cathedral you resided in, your fingers fumbling for the key and pushing open the door with much impatience.

“Have a good evening then, lovely lady,” he said, turning around to depart.

“Ah, uhm...” You appeared bashful, hesitating before you finished your sentence. “Would you like to come inside?”

“You’re inviting me in?” He raised an eyebrow at the offer. To invite a man you were hardly acquainted with over to your home—perhaps his thinking was too old-fashioned for the modern era, but the brazenness of the current generation never failed to surprise him.

With your behaviour up until this point, he would assume you sought to bed with him, but—

“Yes, I can bring you a towel to dry off or something; it’s raining quite heavily. I’d feel bad having you walk all the way home in this weather.”

—you were much too innocent for that.

Foolish girl, Edward thought. You had no idea who you were letting in, much less what you had invited.

Because at that moment, for a reason he wasn’t entirely certain of, he felt the selfish desire to allow this. Worse yet was his inability to abnegate such temptations. He was fully aware he shouldn’t give in, but that awareness did little for him besides causing guilt to well up within him, feeling ashamed of how weak he was.

He had no need of your hospitality; that much he knew. The stormy conditions would not excessively impede his bat form, and flying was a much quicker alternative to walking. If he informed you of such, it would alleviate you of any worries or concerns regarding his wellbeing.

But then you glanced up at him with hopeful ewe eyes, orbs of innocent wonder that gleamed with a light much too sacred for the likes of him. At the sight of your still-quivering form, he knew—his shame never stood a chance against his coveting, for one was irrefutably stronger than the other.

“How could I say no to such a generous offer?” he smiled, accepting your invitation.

The stained glass cross above his head seemed to stare down at him with contempt.

You were standing so close to him that the scent of your perfume permeated his senses. He couldn’t block it out even if he tried—the distinct fragrance of white lilies and cotton flowers mixing with fresh raindrops, layered on the sweet, sweet smell of your skin.

Your hands, clutching the textured white fabric of your towel, were still trembling from cold as you pressed the cloth to his hair. You hadn’t dried yourself off yet, instead emerging from your washroom with a towel for him. He decided not to point it out, curious as to when you’d pay mind to your own pitiful state.

For a minute, he longed to close his eyes, so that he could focus on the warm, powdery scent emitting from you and the sensation of your palms—colder than they usually would be but still pulsing with life beneath—brushing against his face every so often. But, oh, greed seemed to know no bounds regardless of species, because despite wanting to indulge in the moment, he found himself captivated by your form, unable to tear his eyes away. Water droplets were running down your skin, smaller beads clinging onto your delicate eyelashes and larger drops shattering against the floor with the rhythmic cadence of a metronome.

Against the dim golden luminescence of your living room wall sconces, you bore an angelic likeness—almost as if you had been freshly bathed in holy water.

How amusing. To have a being as pure as yourself gently dabbing away the raindrops on his pale, lifeless skin.

“There,” you said, putting the towel down on your dining table. “This should feel a bit better.”

“Thank you,” he smiled. “You’re truly too kind.”

You laughed, the sound reverberating softly within the austere desolation of the cathedral.

“Would you like some tea?” Your question bore such innocence that it was almost painful to hear.

His deep crimson eyes narrowed. The shadows in his soul flickered and flared back to life. Obsidian flames of envy licked at his spine. Possessed by his own darkness, he felt the urge to destroy such purity—to take the glass heart bottling all your hopes into the palm of his hand and crush it to dust.

It was bizarre how you evoked within him a rottenness reminiscent of natural decay, a process he thought he’d cheated. Even stranger was his inability to resist his emotions, deceptively human feelings that were all too despicable to be of the same nature.

“I’ve long since forgotten the taste of human foods and beverages,” he stated. He’d enjoy the satisfaction of finality when he sees your abhorrence upon realizing what he truly was.

You paused, still as cornered prey.

Edward reached out, touching his frigid hand to your face as he peeled a wet lock of hair away from your eyes, tucking it neatly behind your ear. Your skin vibrated softly with vitality, the glove coating his fingertips too thin to shield him from the delightful heat your flesh carried. The warmth emanating from you was far different from any conjuration the sun could offer—something he failed to find displeasing.

“You do know what I am, don’t you?” he asked your frozen form. “I could end your life without a moment’s hesitation if I so desired.”

Human lives were already short. He’d never sought to end one prematurely before. He’d never experienced desire in a way as vile and wrathful as he did now.

He wasn’t unaware of the sin that resided in the marrow of his bones. He knew his very existence was blasphemous; a crude mockery of God’s favourite creation.

But each second of silence steeped crueller than the last, and in your wide, unblinking eyes was a reflection of his fears. For he craved not abolishment but absolution; your eyes, which only saw good, he wanted to preserve. He yearned for you to forgive his sins and pardon his crimes—an impious coveting in and of itself.

“That’s okay.” Yet you spared him still, much to his stunned surprise. You placed a hand, warm and tender, over his, enveloping it with a cathartic embrace. “I trust you not to.”

He felt something eerily similar to a heartbeat; an ersatz emotion he’d long since forgotten.

“Silly girl,” he breathed—though the air he inhaled tasted oddly akin to reverence. “You haven’t dried yourself off yet.”

His fingers were splayed, the skin between them pulled taut as he flapped his wings in a rapid descent.

He could turn back now, he thought, despite knowing such pondering was pointless. He had already ruminated over the situation for two weeks now, having avoided you throughout the entire duration. He felt terribly guilty in doing so, knowing it would undeniably distress you to be ignored so suddenly, especially after he’d entertained your infatuation the way he did.

You had even sent Rui to check on him, asking if everything was alright.

“She seems really worried, you know,” Rui had said. “You should at least text her back.”

Edward had sighed in response before feigning illness and dismissing Rui with a weary smile.

Two weeks of contemplation and yet here he was, flying through the brisk evening skies towards your cathedral.

This was no sane decision; he was fully aware of that. Four centuries and it appeared he still failed to learn from his mistakes. If there was anything that a hundreds-of-years-old existence should have taught him, it was the frailty of human life.

You were no exception to that. If anything, you were the epitome of fragility. Having been cursed to die in a year’s time, your lifespan would be hardly a quarter of the average human’s.

Even had you not been unfortunate, eighty years pale in comparison when measured against eternity.

It was nothing but inane for him to partake in romantic affairs with humans—creatures with such fleeting lifespans. It had been a century or two since he’d decided against engaging in such matters. Prior to that...

He had loved once upon a time. In the days before photographs and mobile phones, days so long since passed that time had eroded not only the memory of her face but also the recollection of her voice.

Humans were truly the most inscrutable of all beings, struggling miserably against their own fate for the sake of remaining human. As if their state of existence held some sort of intrinsic value.

Truly ludicrous.

He had offered to turn her. In the end, she had chosen to retain her humanity, continuing to age whilst he was frozen in time.

During those days of yore, he had left the decision in her hands, which were now reduced to mere bones. Selflessness was a virtue he no longer possessed—gone was the kind-hearted man of the past—for she was dead and he was left to live with her memory. Even that had gradually faded.

Yet here he was, his claws softly grazing against the earth as he landed in front of your cathedral, taking in the sight of the stained glass cross that continued to glower at him with disdain. He returned its gaze with apologetic eyes, knowing his repentance was transient while his sins were everlasting. Steadying himself, he shifted back into his vampire form and knocked on your door.

Would you still let him in?

Edward knew if he continued, there was only one way this could end—for he desired not to carry your memory, but rather hold you in his arms.

Oh, how selfish he truly was, because the sight of your eyes—twinkling with delighted brilliance—and the joy radiating from you in effervescent waves as you opened the door only exacerbated his hunger for you.

Poor little fool, he thought. What good could your eyes possibly perceive in him?

And if you saw the evils lurking within his soul, would you keep believing in him all the same?

It was as if you were reaching into his chest and wrenching the sins out of his still, unbeating heart.

“Ed!” you merrily exclaimed. “I wasn’t expecting you. I’m really happy to see you, though! Please come in.”

You stepped aside, holding the door open for him. He noticed you were dressed differently from usual—in a white lambswool sweater and a long skirt of the same colour. It made sense, seeing as you hadn’t expected visitors.

He had never seen you in such attire before—only the dark school uniform—but he was nonetheless surprised at how utterly mesmerizing you were, glowing in contrast to the dim, decrepit interior of the cathedral.

“My, my.” A smile crept onto his face. “You look delightful today.”

“Ah, thank you!” Your gaze faltered for a second, breaking eye contact as a warm, coral hue graced your cheeks. “You look lovely too, as per usual.”

“An old man like me?” he chuckled in jest, touching his hand to his chin. “Why, thank you. I was afraid I had lost my youthful charm.”

“No, not at all! You—” The way words tumbled from your lips was adorable. “Uhm, you should come in!”

“Is that so?” He tilted his head ever so slightly to the side as he observed you. “A lovely lady such as yourself should be more careful about who you’re inviting in.”

“What is there to worry about with you?” A derisible question.

“Many things,” he answered, then with flattened eyelids, “For example, I could stop suppressing the urge to discover the taste of your blood.”

A moment of silence. He longed to hear your thoughts at that moment, wished he could decipher the inner workings of your mind.

“Would it kill me?” You paused before elaborating. “If you were to do so.”

Your question caught him by surprise, though he took care not to let that show.

“Only if it were my intention.”

You laughed—the sound crisp as neroli and sweeter than honeysuckle. “Then there’s no need for concern—”

“No?”

He moved at a speed he knew your eyes would fail to follow. His right hand pressed against the nape of your neck, tilting your head to the side and exposing your jugular. His other arm was snaked around your waist, left palm flush against the small of your back, supporting your weight.

Edward dipped his head down, parted lips ghosting over the crook of your neck, so that each uttered syllable was sure to brush against your skin.

“There’s no need for concern?” He echoed your words. As expected, you shivered—though the sensation of you trembling in his grasp was far more tantalizing than he could ever imagine. Each reaction you gave was another pail of kerosene poured upon an already blazing fire, the mere embers of which were enough to engulf the guilt thrashing about in the back of his mind.

You meekly shook your head. The acceleration of your pulse—the flow of your bloodstream that coursed more fervently with each beat of your heart—loudly voiced its disagreement.

The dizzying scent of white lilies once again invaded his senses, as if the flowers themselves had dug their roots into every crevice of his brain.

The colourful glass cross looming above him seemed to protest. The stained windowpane refused his reflection, cerulean glass swallowing the red of his irises in scornful disapproval.

He swiped his tongue across the surface of your skin, evoking another shudder from you. He repeated the action, albeit slower, this time making sure to drag a sharp inhale from your throat. The third time, the languid glide of his tongue was followed by his fangs puncturing your dermis and sinking into your flesh.

Edward closed his eyes. The cross was banished from view.

A soft gasp left your lips, but the sound was drowned out by the thump of your pulse in his skull, and the bloom of your blood on his tongue.

The sanguine unfurling in his mouth was infused with a fragrant taste—akin to the scent of summer jasmine. You tasted like sweet nothings whispered into a lover’s ear; like letters delivered by doves from eras past.

Your carotid artery throbbed just beneath where his tongue lay flat, your heartbeat captured in the small chamber between his lips.

Edward retracted his upper canines from your neck, sealing the fresh incisions with his tongue. He opened his eyes and licked away the last few ruby beads on your skin, but couldn’t bring himself to lift his head after he was done.

His eyes remained fixed on the floor as he silently waited for your judgement. He was sure it’d be any minute now—your rejection. Hands shoving him off like his touch brought forth the plague. Acrimonious words condemning not just his act of gluttony, but the sinful nature of his very being.

“Was the taste alright?” Your words impaled his chest like a stake through the heart.

He didn’t close his eyes, for fear that he’d melt into this dream and never awaken. He dared not raise his head and meet your gaze, either; perhaps the blindness afflicting you might rob him of his sight, too.

He found himself unable to face the depth of your infatuation—something he had not believed in until now. But your trust in him made faith appear so easy, as if his skepticism was the unnatural response here.

“More than alright,” he whispered, his words lacking the usual detachment they contained.

He was unsure whether he should feel relieved or aghast at his newfound discovery. His prayers had been heard, but the guilt churning in his viscera told him that it wasn’t God who answered them.

Over the past month, your trips to Obscuary had increased in frequency. While you were technically here to assist Rui with the bar, Edward was not so oblivious as to believe that was the sole reason.

After all, he felt it too—the same urge compelling him to stop by the bar on the nights you were here.

It wasn’t a place he’d ever visited before; he much preferred the solitude of his bedroom quarters. He had little interest in socializing with the other ghouls who mingled at the location, nor did he care for the consumption of alcohol. Naturally, the reason behind his sudden interest in Rui’s bar was far from inconspicuous. Any attempt to obfuscate his intentions with you would only be insulting to the others’ intelligence, and so he made no effort to pretend he was doing anything other than courting you.

He could only wonder what Rui was thinking, bearing unwilling witness to his conversational dances with you—laden with immorality and sin.

Was Rui judging his misdeeds? He thought it likely, but had no way of knowing for sure. Despite the blonde knowing of his longevity, he hadn’t experienced the solitary nature of immortality for himself. It was probable that he lacked insight about the situation. Even more likely was that he hadn’t paid much thought to it. Edward was not so self-absorbed as to believe his personal affairs were at the forefront of everyone’s mind.

But how he wished it were—because some sick, guilt-infested part of him covertly hoped the reaper would broach the subject. Divine or not, at least then he’d receive some form of judgement.

A coward he truly was, for his fragrant insincerity. Beneath all symptoms of remorse was nothing but a twisted sense of gratitude, an appreciation for the silence that permitted him to further delude himself with presumed vindication. The part of him that sought to be condemned he attempted to suppress, and placating his guilt proved a revoltingly easy task when you sanctioned his every sin.

For that reason, he was unable to defy the gravitational pull that drew him closer and closer towards you. Perhaps the universe had dictated so, itself—written its laws around dying stars and collapsing supernovas—to allow for the intensity with which black holes attract. He could think of no other reason behind a fall so devastating; the catharsis he found in your orbit having blinded him to the event horizon, luring him into an eternal plummet towards the singularity.

Stretched lengthwise while compressed sideways, consumed by and disintegrating into the core of his desires—the description bore an eerie resemblance to Dante’s Inferno, but he could think of few places more fitting for him than the circles of Hell.

He was already past the point of opposing his fate. That was what he convinced himself of when he flew out his window, and then once again as his wings reverted back to arms.

Edward knocked, his knuckles rapping against the wooden cathedral door, his touch light as if not to disturb its sanctity.

The door opened moments later, revealing your face—a sight he had grown horrifyingly fond of. You stepped aside to let him in, enacting the same ritual as before.

Yet he noticed a different cadence in your steps; an uncomfortable shift in your movements that wasn’t present the last time he visited.

He was quick to search for a pattern, identifying your unease as the same odd behaviour you exhibited five nights ago at the bar. You had been clumsier with your words than usual, stumbling over syllables that did not usually tangle on your tongue. And though he hadn’t pointed it out, he had certainly noticed your hands shaking as you poured his drink. A few drops of burgundy had spilled onto the bar top. You hadn’t made eye contact when you wiped it up.

Despite your clear discomfort, you still appeared content with his presence, leading him to conclude that you were nervous for one reason or another. Very likely, you had something on your mind that you were reluctant to inform him of.

His viscera twisted, an instinctual knowledge brewing in his gut. Could it be?

He had no need for oxygen, yet his breath caught in his larynx nonetheless. The realization was quick to settle, and oh, he could stop this now, he could leave before it became too late, he could—

“Ed,” you inhaled through trembling lips. “Can I be honest with you?”

Who was he even kidding? There was no return past the event horizon. Even if there were, he was much too selfish to do anything but stay, enraptured by your presence.

“Why, yes, of course,” he replied, dooming the both of you to an inescapable and infinite oblivion.

“I...” Your eyes held an inexplicable focus, your stare clear and unwavering yet fearful. You blinked, but your eyelids remained closed for a few seconds longer than necessary, almost as if you were in silent prayer. When you opened your eyes, your dilated pupils locked onto him, holding his gaze as if it encapsulated all your hopes. “I have feelings for you.”

“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way, I just...” As your voice trailed off into something timid, your courage dissipating, the silence that took its place rendered him acutely aware of the guilt festering in his sternum. The frightened expression on your face while you awaited his response was unbearable to look at; a cruel reflection of his own fear as he stood trial before God himself.

He could feel his sins crawling on his spine—spiders burrowing beneath his skin—when he replied.

“My lady,” he answered, voice barely above a whisper. “I, too, have fallen for you.”

Indeed, there is no one on earth who is righteous, no one who does what is right and never sins.

He couldn’t decipher which one it was. All he knew was that if his words were a lie, then he was wrong for deceiving you. If his words were the truth, then he was even worse for damning you.

You blinked. The corners of your lips tugged upwards. Your eyes crinkled in relief. How precious you were, how he longed to cherish and corrupt the purity you continued to devastate him with.

This time, he moved slowly, allowing you to follow every centimetre of distance he closed. His hand, fair and lifeless as chalk, traced over your cheek, caressing the side of your face. Digits wrapped in raven-black cloth swiped underneath your jaw, his index finger settling at your chin as his thumb grazed over your bottom lip.

The scarlet pools that formed his irises met yours for the half-second before he tilted your head upward to meet his own, lowered not in prayer but in an act of desecration as he kissed you. His eyelashes fluttered shut, plunging his world into darkness, leaving only the powdery floral scent that followed you and the sensation of your mouth against his.

Your lips were warm, vitality brimming at their smooth, dewy surface. He took his time to deepen the kiss, not devouring you but rather savouring you. You followed his movements, though yours were clumsy with inexperience. Yet each brush of your lips brought forth thousands of needle pricks, tender as a knife wrapped in silk.

The temperature of your mouth was unlike anything he had felt before, scalding him with such heat that the sun’s rays seemed gentle in contrast. He chased after your warmth with melting ice, for even the flames of Hell could be pleasurable to walk through—so long as the path led to you.

Forgive me, he mouthed against your lips, for I have sinned.

Oh, there was no realm—be it Heaven or Hell—in which Edward could tire of kissing you. But Heaven’s opalescent gates would indubitably bar him from entry, leaving only Hell, where he’d forever burn with the shame of doing so.

It was quarter to midnight when he’d arrived at your cathedral—much tardier than usual, but he didn’t come with the intention of staying. He was merely dropping off some confectioneries he’d brought for you.

How easy would it be if he could convince himself of his own lies? How much simpler it would be if he could refuse acknowledgement of the reprehensible inclinations tickling the back of his mind. How much better it would be for the both of you if he could feign ignorance to the insidious hope scratching at his chest, the one wondering if perhaps you’d be awake and interested in company.

And you...

You never disappoint, do you? It was something beyond even his otherworldly comprehension—how you never failed to grant a single one of his forsaken prayers, callously fanning the embers of hope he’d tried so, so hard to extinguish.

He wondered if you were truly divinity fallen into the wrong hands, or if his wishes were slowly accumulating sins in a place he was unable to see. If somewhere, concealed in a locked room, a painting of him became further disfigured with each visit he paid.

If that were the case, he had no means of repentance—for his heart had long since stopped beating. Death could not come and cleanse him.

You had been getting ready for bed. The white long-sleeved nightgown that you wore—its ruffled edge hanging just above your ankles—made your plans evident, but the dewy gleam of your skin indicated that your face was freshly washed. More likely than not, you had been putting on some face cream at the time of his arrival.

You smiled with a small, sheepish grin as you greeted him.

“Good evening, Ed.” You stepped aside, holding the door open. He entered, shutting the door behind him as if it would hide his sinning from divine sight. The disdainful gaze on his back remained all the same. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“How flattering,” he replied, “but the pleasure is all mine.”

He leaned down, his lips brushing against your forehead in a gentle kiss—an act so pure had there not been a cross of coloured glass hanging above his head much like a guillotine’s blade, its watchful eye judging the scene below.

A soft laugh escaped your lips, the sound resonant as church bells in the empty cathedral yet light at the same time, possessing the same melodic tune as a dove’s call.

“I’m merely stopping by with some confectioneries,” he proceeded to explain, sliding the small ivory box with scarlet embellishments into your hand. “Worry not, I have no intention of disturbing your rest.”

These words were nothing but falsehoods; he was well aware of that. He had every selfish intention of disrupting your sleep, so long as you permitted him to do so.

“No, no,” you responded with a shake of your head. To his astonishment, you then reached towards the hand he was retracting, the heat of your fingertips brushing against his skin—fair as porcelain and twice as cold. It was almost as if you had preemptively attempted to prevent him from leaving, despite him not having moved an inch. How adorable you were. “Do disturb my rest. I’m having trouble sleeping, anyway.”

The sigh that left his lips was one of quiet, reposeful awe.

“You shouldn’t give in to all my whims so easily,” he jokingly chastised. There was something about his sentence that sounded more solemn than he’d have liked. “Whatever will I use my theatrics for now?”

“Oh, I’m sure you won’t be lacking opportunities with Rui around,” you said with a chuckle. He laughed too, the sound so natural—almost as if such joy could be inherent to his existence—when you were the one coaxing it out of his vocal cords.

You stepped away from the entrance, circling over to your dining table—a round, small piece of wooden furniture—before placing the sweets down. The rustic chandelier hanging above you brought the illumination you needed to examine the packaging.

“White chocolate truffles with blackberry ganache?” You read out the label.

“I thought you might like them,” he replied, following you to the side of your table.

With delicate caution, you untied the sanguine ribbon binding the lid of the box to its body. He noticed that you made sure not to tear any of the packaging when removing the circular tape sticker.

You picked up a chocolate, popping the grape-sized confectionery between your lips. For a minute, you were quiet, inanimate save for the small movements of your jaw that he was able to glimpse.

Though his recollection of human food had deteriorated far too much for him to be certain, he doubted that any worldly taste could parallel the sheer sweetness saturating your smile.

“I do,” you stated, with such sincerity that the lifeless organ in his chest almost seemed to throb in response. “Thank you, Ed.”

You turned to him, stepping forward and pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

He could leave it at that, and the thought did cross his mind, but only for a brief second before it drowned beneath his boundless, all-consuming greed. His hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest as he drank in the taste of your lips.

Indeed, he could never bore of indulging in this sin.

It could only be his imagination, but between your saliva and the barely discernible taste of white chocolate, he swore there was a hint of sorrow on your tongue.

He tentatively pulled away to ask, “What’s keeping you up, my dear?”

From the moment you told him you were struggling to sleep, he already had an inkling of what was on your mind. Your consequent sigh confirmed his suspicions; the breath you exhaled was heavy, with a weight not even he could carry.

Edward was no stranger to the reality. He dreaded it, too. He had confined it to the back of his mind—the ineluctable countdown signifying the end of your life.

The grim reminder of your mortality inflicted on him a plenitude of distress. However, it was not the thought of you passing away that tormented him so, but rather the fear that even your affection—benevolent as it was—came in a finite supply.

Love, despite being the emotion that mankind valued most, was the most fragile and evanescent sentiment of all.

“I’m just tired,” you muttered. The weariness was visible in your expression, and he had no doubt you were exhausted.

“But it’s not slumber you seek, is it?” he asked, as if he had not already premeditated your response.

You shook your head. Truly, he was detestable, seizing the opportunity he had sinned for, his words coiling around your vulnerability like a serpent, forbidden fruit in hand.

“Then tell me, my love,” he started, words akin to heresy, “What is it that you desire?”

A pregnant pause; long seconds that seemed to stretch the very fabric of time. At last, you raised your head, looking up at him with glassy eyes.

“I want to live,” you whispered. Your words were hushed, as if confessing a sin.

But Edward was no priest, and it was not salvation that he’d provide. Immortality was no blessing, he knew, yet he still compunctiously yearned for a forsaken eternity with you.

“I know.” He spoke with saccharine tenderness. “What if I told you there was a way?”

You were quick to infer the meaning behind his words, shaking your head once again, a somber smile present on your lips.

Smart little thing you were, and yet so foolish all the same.

He had expected your response—you were still human, after all—but it pained him no less to bear witness to a struggle so pitiful. He found it truly asinine how humans clung so desperately to mortality while at the same time fearing death.

“I fear this old heart of mine would not survive the devastation of losing you.”

He wondered if thunder would strike in the very next moment. If the roof of the cathedral would collapse down upon him, raining wood and hailing stone. If the vibrant azure glass that had been glaring at him so vehemently would finally shatter and sever his head from his body.

Yet God’s hand did not move to strike him down. A question made its way past his trembling lips.

“If I were to be selfish, could you still find it in your heart to forgive me?”

You ought to condemn him—indisputably so. It was nothing short of impiety to ask you for such a thing. But he worshipped you so dearly, he was unable to resist.

You didn’t flinch. No, you didn’t even blink after perceiving his abominable nature.

“It’s not like you to ask such absurd questions,” you replied pointedly, a poor attempt at concealing the current of fondness running through the undertone of your voice; your words gently staking through his ribcage.

He had made a habit of watching over you at night.

It wasn’t something he hid from you; he knew you could see him perched outside your window in the evenings. The first few times you had noticed him, you’d scooped him up—your palms so delightfully warm around his body—and brought him inside.

He discovered that you were rather enamoured with the bat body he inhabited, having intently observed him before asking to pet him. Unable to form words with the shape of his tongue, he had simply nodded.

His bat form was one he used for convenience; very rarely did he interact with anyone while in it. Never before had someone caressed his fur, let alone done so with as much tenderness as you. Although the sensation of your fingers gliding over his body was strange, he hadn’t found it unappealing. If anything, it was comforting, almost lulling him into a slothful trance, his eyes closing in somnolent bliss despite him having woken up mere hours ago.

After his third or fourth appearance on your windowsill, you had started leaving the window open for him. But entering the cathedral without explicit invitation was trespassing on sacred ground, and so he’d wait for your merciful hands to guide his winged body into the sanctuary of your bedroom.

You had fondly chastised him for subjecting himself to unfavourable temperatures. He could’ve told you that his fur provided sufficient protection from the brisk autumn air, but it’d require him to deny his indulgence in your coddling, which he had no desire to do.

To abjure the warmth of your palms cupping his body would be ludicrous. Unfathomable was it to reject the opportunity of pressing his muzzle against your upper body, so soft and enticing with your heartbeat steady in his ears. He’d let you warm up his undead body that way, often stretching out his wings to wrap around your digits. With his much smaller thumbs, he’d cling to you as he memorized the rise and fall of your chest—an ephemeral motion he attempted to engrave into his memory.

Time was an apparition of the liminal space where cruelty and mercy coalesced; it erased not only his recollections but also, eventually, the pain of forgetting.

You had presented him with a small stack of books, evidently rented from the academy’s library.

“I was worried you’d get bored staying here while I sleep,” you had explained.

“Bored around such a lovely lady? I’m rather offended you’d think so lowly of me,” was his response, tinged with exaggerated hurt.

He took to reading the books. The vast majority of them he’d already read, but revisiting old tales was no issue for him, considering he’d forgotten much of their content. It differed little from experiencing the story for the first time, and the fact that you had deliberately chosen these titles added additional significance, layering sentiments onto its text that the pages previously lacked.

You usually went to bed at half past midnight, today being no exception. Prior to falling asleep, you had been restless with worry. The anxiety revolving around your curse was ceaselessly plaguing your mind.

He had read out one of the books you lent him, line by line until your conscious mind was submerged in the dense waters of sleep.

You were utterly enchanting. Even your sleeping form was mesmerizing to watch. He simply could not resist the opportunity to perceive such beauty—was the lie he had spun.

In verity, he was but a demon in disguise, a wicked creature waiting for the precise moment to tempt your fall from grace.

With less than three days remaining—the uncaring swing of the pendulum in your room counting down each dreadful second—the opportunity was soon to ripen. He’d be present to lead your hand towards the tree of life and guide your lips to the flesh of its fruit.

He had made up his mind, but he felt no less guilty for the conclusion he had come to.

Edward was suspended in a strange concoction—lost in his shameful thoughts, processing the printed words of the book he held, and captivated by your resting figure in his peripheral vision—when he heard your bedsheets rustling. The sound of your shifting positions while asleep was not unusual, though he glanced at you nonetheless.

The usual semblance of serenity in your expression was nowhere to be seen. Your features were distorted in visible distress, eyebrows knitted together and lips pressed thin in a grimace. You whimpered—a small, feeble sound.

Condensation had started beading on your forehead, the slight dampness creating a soft sheen, which was further illuminated by the moonlight streaking through your bedroom window. Bathed in the moon’s gentle radiance, the white of the nightgown draped over your body appeared reminiscent of a lamb’s coat.

You were trembling as you thrashed about in your covers, your duvet struggling to follow along, instead starting to bunch up behind you.

He guessed you were having a nightmare; it came as no surprise that the stress and fear you’d been tormented with brought about sleep disturbances.

A truly pitiful sight. You appeared so distraught that his chest tightened.

He could wake you up and relieve you of your suffering. He should wake you up.

But the cold luminescence of the moonlight cast upon your faintly glowing figure rendered you so angelic, the picture before him possessing the biblical allure of a Renaissance artwork yet painted with the intricate brushstrokes only the present could offer.

Utterly captivated by your seraphic image, he could do nothing but stare, his body paralyzed in awe of the glory before him.

A loud sob tore through the room as you woke up, your eyelashes fluttering and tears bursting out the corners of your eyes. Your hands rubbed at your rapidly swelling eyelids, your actions unaffected by his presence for the few seconds before your awareness returned, slipping through the cracks of your drowsy mind like the first rays of sunlight filtering through blinds.

You stopped your actions briefly, as if you were attempting to regain your composure with his perception in mind. The thought appeared to be discarded no more than a minute later, as another wave of emotions visibly wracked your shaking body.

“Ed,” you cried out—a plea.

For what, you didn’t specify. Nevertheless, he stood up, placing the book on the chair he had been sitting on, before slowly approaching your bed.

You scooted over, pressing yourself up against the wall behind you to make space for him. He sat down on your bed where you’d made room, as you’d invited him to do. He was long since beyond saying no.

Your hand latched onto his blouse, tugging him towards you, clearly insistent he come closer. The look in your wide, frightened eyes was all too delectable. And he, much too hungry. This time, he brought his body fully onto your bed. The shifting weight sank down on his side of the mattress. Though it would only be righteous if it occurred, no void opened up beneath him to swallow him whole.

You instantly buried your face in his chest, fingers still twisting the dark fabric of his shirt as you clung onto him.

Edward reached over to your back, pulling your discarded covers over your body. Your hand left his blouse for a brief moment to tug the duvet further to blanket him. He made no move to protest. Instead, he took your shuddering body into his arms, delicately holding you as you sobbed against his chest.

“Shh,” he whispered, raising his hand to the back of your head. He stroked your hair in smooth, rhythmic motions; he pressed his lips to your still-damp forehead before assuring you, “Everything will be okay.”

Your cries intensified into wails, muffled by the proximity of his body.

“I’m going to die,” you wept, your voice cracking.

He was quiet, jaw tightening as he swallowed the saliva that had pooled in his mouth. His next words would be the final nail in the coffin sunk beneath Hell’s soil.

“I’m sorry.” Though he apologized through quivering lips, his voice did not waver. He spoke with resolution, for he was no longer asking. There was no point in continuing his meretricious questions. He knew he was a sinner in the eyes of God.

Yet he cared no longer for divine judgement that wasn’t yours. Long had he revered you as such; now, he ordained you his God. You were his deity, and he needed naught but your exoneration. “But I can’t allow that to happen.”

And you’ll grant him that, won’t you?

No words left your lips, but your cries were gradually diminishing.

“I know I’m a sinner,” he murmured into your hair, the soft strands tickling his skin. The hand stroking your locks came to a still. “I know these are all wrongdoings. But so long as I have your forgiveness, I would fain plead guilty countless times again.”

His voice was hardly audible when he next spoke.

“My lamb, I worship you so.”

You took a minute longer to regain your composure. When your sniffles ceased, you spoke with utmost clarity.

“I forgive you.”

Edward shook his head, a wry chuckle escaping his throat.

“Don’t forgive me now,” he said. “I’ve yet to finish sinning.”

The grandfather clock struck three.

The solemn toll of the Westminster chime rang through the air, its melody reverberating within the aging cathedral walls, as if the space itself was pleading for heavenly intervention.

You lay beside him, the residual traces of tears—still fresh on your cheeks—catching the moon’s grace in a glistening display.

He crawled over you, much like an amblypygid, long limbs settling on each side of your body. Beneath him, the bed creaked in protest. He deemed it nugatory, much too mesmerized by the sight of your tear-stained face.

He leaned down, touching his lips to the corners of your gently closing eyelids. His movements were light, ghostly caresses that cast shadows over your skin as he trailed his lips down your cheeks. Your tears were still warm against his lips, and so was your mouth, your heat engulfing his perpetual frigidity.

When you returned the kiss, it was without the timidity you previously possessed; in your demeanour was an urgency carved by death’s scythe. Your hands found landing in his hair, warmth emanating from your fingers and soothing his scalp. You parted your lips, a gesture he understood as an invitation for him to deepen the kiss. He entwined his tongue with yours, the cold muscle brushing against the much hotter flesh of your mouth. Each glide of your tongue against his left a scalding trail of fire, but he didn’t flinch away. Instead, he chased after you like the morning star once pursued his pride, and you sought him in return.

He slowly raised his head, mouth parting from yours with a string of saliva hanging in between, clinging onto both your lips like spider’s silk.

His head dipped down again, but this time, his mouth was on your neck, kissing along your veins and feeling the flow of your bloodstream. The steady yet anticipating beat of your pulse resonated in his bones, keeping him grounded amidst the cotton flora blooming with each inhale and fogging over his mind.

The sound of your heartbeat was louder than ever as his mouth grazed over your chest, continuing the trail of kisses down to your stomach. You radiated irrevocable incandescence; even the fabric of your nightgown felt warm against his lips.

He continued going lower—past your navel and down to your pelvis—before pausing. His face hovered just above the junction of your thighs as he waited for confirmation from you. The covers draped over his back slid further down his spine when he glanced up to observe you.

You blinked at him in confusion, though your eyes lit up with realization shortly after.

“You can continue if you’d like,” you said.

Perhaps he had been mistaken in believing it was his time, for it must’ve been Mammon that the hour had summoned instead. No longer was he satisfied with simply having your permission. He coveted your instigation, wanted you to invoke the sins already festering in his soul.

“Won’t you tell me what you desire, my lady?”

“Oh, Ed,” you sighed endearingly, shaking your head. You smiled while feeding his cravings. “As if you don’t already know how much I want you.”

And you were right; he knew. He was well aware, but he enjoyed hearing you say it no less.

You shivered when his fingers slipped beneath your nightgown, touching the scorching hot flesh of your upper thighs. He pushed the fabric upwards, allowing it to pool around your waist, before gently nudging at your knees.

After your legs fell to the sides, he brought his lips to your knee, kissing his way down to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. The temperature of your skin increased as he neared your core, an unbearable warmth he wanted nothing more than to be immolated by.

He mirrored the path down your other leg before settling between your thighs, his head bowed down in prayer.

Amidst the faint sound of the clock’s movements, he could hear your breath hitching in response—a prelude to the gasp you let out as he took the fabric of your underwear between his teeth, tugging them to the side.

He gingerly swiped his tongue along your slit, eliciting another sharp inhale. The same delightful sound left your lips when he took your clit into his mouth, swirling slow circles around the bud with his tongue.

How divinely you sang for him. How ravishing you looked, too—eyes half-lidded and mouth parted slightly as you mewled, echoing an aria only befitting of a saint such as yourself.

Your sounds he drank in and your taste he consumed as sustenance, his tongue lapping up your juices during a brief hiatus before he returned to your clit, lips wrapping around the sensitive nub in gentle suction. Your nectar was no less ambrosial than your blood; he imagined the fruits in the Garden of Eden must have shared such a flavour.

His mouth temporarily left your clit as he removed his gloves, deftly slipping off the fabric. He gingerly slid his index finger inside your opening, watching as the long, slender digit disappeared into your heat.

You gasped, body tensing for a moment as you adjusted to the cold intrusion, though it wasn’t long until your insides warmed his skin. His mouth latched back onto your bud as he pressed the pad of his fingertip against your inner walls, gently rubbing. He waited for any lingering tension to dissipate before he inserted another digit, coating both his middle finger and his index in your arousal.

When your hands entwined in his locks and your moans increasing in volume, he could tell you were close. He couldn’t help but smile as you ground your hips up against his face, observing you intently as he continued devouring your core, fingers working in tandem.

Your grip tightened in his hair. You clenched around his fingers. Your mouth opened as if to say something, but you only managed to let out a wail as your body shuddered.

He was so captivated by your expression—contorted in pleasure as you reached your peak—that it wasn’t until you whimpered that he remembered to slow his movements so as not to overstimulate you.

As your orgasm settled, only a single question left your lips.

“Ed, are we going to?...” Your voice trailed off into uncertainty, but the implication was clear.

Edward gently retracted his fingers and brought them to his mouth. They were still coated in your juices.

He cleaned them off with reverence, momentarily closing his eyes as he relished your taste.

“Only if you so desire,” he answered.

“I do.” You reached out, your fingers tenderly grazing his cheekbone as you brushed away stray strands of hair.

“Then I’d be a fool to refuse,” was his reply. He took your hand in his, bringing your knuckles to his lips.

Until the day breaks and the shadows flee, I will go to the mountain of myrrh and to the hill of incense.

In fluid motions, he undressed himself, discarding his pants and underwear. Your bashful gaze upon his bare skin did not go unnoticed; the sight was eerily familiar.

“I haven’t done this before, so...” you mumbled, your words once again lost to your diffidence.

He leaned down and pressed reassuring kisses to your forehead—each more sullied than the last.

“I know,” he responded. “Tell me if it’s too much, will you?”

You hummed in acknowledgement. He positioned himself at your entrance, wetting the head with your fluids before slowly pushing in.

His hands held your waist steady, his thumb tracing circles on your skin as your walls gradually enveloped his shaft, centimetre by centimetre.

Despite his efforts to prevent you from feeling any discomfort, you still winced as you adjusted to his size. Summer jasmine ensanguinated the once untainted sheets beneath you, its scent unfurling into the air.

Once he was fully sheathed within you, he paused, giving you time to adjust as well as taking a shuddering breath himself. The lining of your walls, plush and velvety, hugging his length, felt utterly divine. Four centuries of existence and never had he experienced such bliss before.

Vampires could never go to Heaven, but he’d found paradise all the same.

Upon the subtle nod of your head, he began moving, pulling his hips back before burying himself within you once again. The pace he set was slow, which further accentuated each languid roll of his hips. Your chorus—moans sang to his antiphony of pleasured exhales—filled the room. The counting of the clock dwindled to the wanton hymn you vocalized.

Your hands went to his face, tenderly cupping his cheeks as you lifted your head to kiss him. He permitted himself to melt into your mouth, his hips speaking in his stead as he continued thrusting into your all-encapsulating heat. Though muffled, he could hear you sharply gasping against his lips, your dominant hand travelling to the back of his head.

You had just pulled apart for oxygen when he found the right angle, the tip of his length pressing against the very spot that caused the hand in his hair to curl into a fist.

“Oh, God,” you moaned.

Edward stopped. He held your gaze with a fervent stare, locking your eyes with his own.

“God isn’t answering, my love,” he declared. “Perhaps you should call my name instead.”

And it was his name you cried out as he resumed, mercilessly sending you into the throes of ecstasy.

With his mind already hazy from the intoxicating jasmine aroma, the messianic melody with which you chanted his name and the tightness you held him with only served to push him further past the brink of madness.

Yet it was with clarity and not delirium that he committed the ultimate transgression. As if this very moment had been prophesied in the scriptures themselves, he brought his hand to his mouth, sinking his fangs into the thenar eminence. And as if what he’d just bitten into was not his flesh but rather the fruit of knowledge, a deluge of shame coursed through his veins.

But each person is tempted when they are dragged away by their own evil desire and enticed.

He held his hand out above you, his blood streaming out from the two puncture wounds he’d just created. Drops spilled onto your skin, brilliant splashes of scarlet staining your face.

You looked up at him with wide eyes, as reminiscent of a yearling as ever. Your gaze was glassy as you parted your lips, allowing his blood to fall onto your tongue.

Guilt should not feel as good as it did.

The sight of you drinking exacerbated his lust, sin shackling his soul while he neared his end. He could hear the faint sound of you swallowing, your bodies in complete coalescence as you called out his name.

Around him, your walls clenched and fluttered. Each contraction of yours launched him further and further towards the singularity. He allowed it to pulverize his very being.

The cries of the stained glass cross went unanswered.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, his vision returning to him. Bathed in the afterglow of your shared climax, he carefully moved aside to fondly gaze down upon you. Your eyes were still closed. The colour was gradually draining from your complexion as the poison formerly running through your veins was replaced by another.

Your breathing—ragged and erratic just a few moments ago—was now slowing down. Eventually, it came to a complete standstill.

Then, after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death.

Edward watched over you, trepidation gnawing away at his mind as he waited. He reached over to your wrist. There was no pulse beneath his fingertips.

Somewhere in the near-silent bedroom, he could hear the pendulum swaying. For a while, nothing else moved.

Eventually, your eyelids twitched, eyelashes fluttering. At last, your eyes opened.

Your irises glowed a deep crimson, much like the droplets of red coagulated on the white sheets. A juxtaposed sight—akin to blood upon fresh snow.

He nestled himself beside you, resting his head on your chest. Though you were as soft as always, he could no longer feel the familiar warmth emanating from your skin. The organ tucked inside of your ribcage was now deceased; no longer was there a pulse against his cheek. All that remained was his act of sacrilege.

Amidst the forsaken tranquillity, you uttered only two words.

“I’m answering.”

“For the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd; he will lead them to springs of living water, and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.” — Revelation 7:17

if you enjoy my writing, please consider reblogging; i really appreciate the interactions.