𝖉𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖚𝖑

- Ashanti: The beautiful combination of dark skin and radiant red eyes, afro hair adorned with rubies and gold charms, the red velvet interior of your car and the buzz of a late night vampire party being held in the heart of the city, having too many cocktail dresses to choose from, the sound of many guests clinking wine glasses full of blood, luring yet another naive human home, the dazzling lights of the city below you, designer sunglasses and lounging by the poolside under the blood moon.

- Arthur: The soreness of the fresh bite mark on your neck, countless hours spent doing research on vampire history and lore, the smell of old books and journals hastily filled with notes, slowly becoming less tired at night, not needing your glasses anymore, bite marks covered by scarves and sun burn marks hidden by trench coats and leather gloves, a sudden and growing discomfort around churches and crucifixes, poet shirts and reading under candlelight, your thirst is no longer for water but for blood.

- Mira: Silver handheld mirrors and pale moonlight shining through your castle balcony, a bouquet of irises on your dresser, the flash of white fangs when you laugh and dark painted lips, going for walks in the garden with a parasol in hand, the excitement you feel when your human lover sneaks by to visit at night, the sound of harp music and the soft jingle of tambourines, love letters sent in wax-sealed envelopes, cold pale skin and dreamy white gowns.

- Baldassare: Wrought-iron gates and golden goblets encrusted with precious jewels, spoils of war, looking down at your loyal subjects, mysterious red light pouring from the windows of your castle at night, palanquins, steps leading up to your throne, the crown upon your head of long, ash-blonde hair, and the cries of human villagers - try as they might, but they cannot outrun your forces.

- Jela: Your hood pulled low over your glowing eyes, going over plans to sabotage the vampire hunters that have taken too many of your loved ones away, clenching your fists hard enough to draw blood, scars from an unsuccessful attempt at staking your heart, gargoyles atop buildings in your city, shapeshifting, tearing down wanted posters, transforming into a bat and the feeling of wind under your wings, super speed and scaling buildings and walls, the reflection of the supermoon in your eyes.

Valentine: Leaving bite marks and kiss marks on your lover’s neck, bright pink smudged lipstick mingled with dark blood, the smell of fresh roses, trying to suppress your instincts when the florist accidentally pricks his finger on the thorns and bleeds, the sweet taste of cinnamon candies and maraschino cherry stained lips, angrily crushing up your love note and tossing it into an already overflowing waste basket, bitter memories of your first human crush finding out just what you are, sappy romance novels, soaking up the warmth of your beloved as they run their hands though your hair, holding your human lover close because you know they won’t be here forever like you are.

Lagia: Haunting an old castle, the family inside slowly growing uneasy and paranoid, olive skin and long dark hair beneath the hood of your black cloak, long nails and dark circles under tired crimson eyes. Apart from the blood moon’s light, the glow of a candelabra is the only way one can navigate those cold corridors, following a terrified human down the cobblestone streets through a sea of people who don’t notice what’s happening, the sweet taste of ambrosia apples and the metallic flavour of blood, the village bathed in an orange light at nightfall, massive swarms of bats, angry mobs and moral panic, garlands of garlic hung from rickety wooden doors, superstitions and crucifixes, just as the loud gong of the town square bell echoes like it always does, the cries from your victim do, too.

Martine: The loud roar of your convertible speeding down the road, old movie theatres on opening night and underground concerts, rosaries worn as necklaces, red eyes hidden behind round lens sunglasses, enjoying the warmth of human skin against cold lips every time you kiss your lovers hand, cherry coke and the smell of cologne, drive in movies, vinyl records, smooth talking, old fashioned cocktails, and draping your cheetah print coat over your dates shoulders so they don’t get cold on the way home - the undead need not stay warm.