#vampire tf

The hum of corporate chatter faded into a distant murmur as Trevor strode through the gleaming office halls. His chest expanded with a quiet satisfaction, a warmth spreading through him that even the chilled air conditioning couldn't touch.

Earlier, the CEO’s handshake had been firm, his smile genuine. “Trevor, you pulled it off,” the man boomed, a hand clapping his shoulder. “A new quarterly record. This bonus is well-earned.” The champagne flutes had clinked, laughter echoed, and the entire floor bathed in the afterglow of success. Now, the clock on his wrist flashed a warning: he was already cutting it close for his weekly gym session with the guys. He pictured the weight racks, the smell of sweat, the familiar banter. But a stronger pull tugged him towards home. A different kind of anticipation pulsed in his veins. Tomorrow morning, the lake awaited. The annual expedition with his son Lucius was sacred, a time for just the two of them, rod and reel against the early light. This year, though, it carried an extra layer of importance. Lucius’s girlfriend’s father would join them, a chance to solidify bonds, to smooth the path for his son’s grand plans. Lucius, barely out of his teens, possessed a youthful confidence Trevor admired. The boy had approached him last week, eyes bright with a hopeful glint. “Dad, you’re good with people. You can charm anyone.” Trevor had merely raised a brow. “Especially fathers, right? Mr. Davies is… traditional. But I really want to take Chloe to Rome this summer. Just us. A proper European adventure.” “You want me to convince her father?” “Not convince, exactly. Just… soften him up. Make him see I’m responsible. That she’ll be safe.” Lucius’s smile, open and earnest, always swayed him. Trevor had clapped his son’s shoulder, a silent promise. “Consider him softened.” He trusted Lucius implicitly. His son was a good kid, bright, ambitious, and with a heart as vast as the ocean. A trip to Rome with his girlfriend? A natural step for a young man in love. Trevor would champion it. He pictured Lucius’s face, alight with the Roman sun, and felt a surge of paternal pride. The bonus in his pocket, the fishing trip ahead, his son’s happiness—yes, this truly was the best day.

He pulled into his driveway, the evening sun casting long, skeletal shadows. The house stood silent, a welcoming shadow against the fading light.

He pushed open the front door, the quiet embracing him. He tossed his keys onto the console table.

A low murmur drifted from the master bedroom. Susan. He smiled, a pleasant anticipation stirring. Perhaps she’d waited up. He followed the sound, his footsteps soft on the plush carpet. The bedroom door stood ajar. A gasp caught in his throat, a raw, jagged thing. Susan lay tangled in the sheets, her eyes wide, hair disheveled. Above her, a man. Impossible handsome. Sculpted from some dark, ancient dream, a cascade of raven hair, eyes like polished obsidian. He pulled himself from her, a casual, almost bored motion. His gaze, devoid of any recognition, slid over Trevor, then dismissed him. He reached for his clothes, a silk shirt, tailored trousers, each movement precise, unhurried. He dressed, buttoning the expensive fabric, his back to Trevor. A ghost of a smile touched his lips, meant for no one. He paused at the door, a fleeting shadow, then vanished down the hallway.

Trevor’s breath hitched, the air suddenly thin, sharp. Susan scrambled upright, clutching the sheet to her chest. “Trevor, I…” “You what?” His voice, a strangled rasp, barely sounded human. His fists clenched, knuckles white. The bonus check felt like ash in his pocket. “It’s not what you think!” Her voice rose, shrill. “This is your fault! You’re never here. Always work, work, work!” “My fault?” He stared at her, the words dissolving into a meaningless hum in his ears. The world tilted. He saw her, truly saw her, for the first time in years. A stranger. “I needed something more!” she shrieked, her face twisting. He couldn't breathe the air in that house a second longer. He spun on his heel, descended the stairs two at a time, the blood roaring in his ears. He stumbled out the front door, down the steps, the cool evening air a slap to his face. He fumbled for his car keys, slammed the driver’s side door, threw the gear into reverse. The engine roared to life. He stomped on the accelerator, the tires screaming as the car shot backward, a blind, desperate retreat. He didn’t check his mirrors. He didn’t see the figure on the bike, head down, pedaling home, blond hair catching the last rays of the sun.

The impact was sickening. A dull thud, a metallic screech, a cry that ripped through Trevor’s rage, freezing him. He slammed on the brakes, heart seizing in his chest. He scrambled out, his legs shaking, his heart a frantic bird trapped in his throat. Lucius. His son. Lying on the asphalt, the cream turtleneck a stark contrast to the spreading crimson. His bike lay twisted beside him, a mangled metal sculpture of lost innocence. “Lucius! Oh God, Lucius!” Trevor fell to his knees, his hands reaching for his son’s face, smooth and unblemished, except for the trickle of blood from his temple. Lucius’s blue eyes fluttered open, unfocused, then fixed on Trevor. Lucius’s lips parted, a whisper of air escaping. “Dad…” Then, nothing. The light in his son’s eyes extinguished, leaving only the cold, hard stare of a doll. The warmth drained from his body, leaving a chilling emptiness in Trevor’s arms. He held Lucius close, pressing his face into the soft blond hair, the scent of his son, familiar and precious, now mingled with the metallic tang of blood. He rocked back and forth, a guttural cry tearing from his throat, a sound of absolute, unadulterated devastation. Susan appeared, a ghost in the doorway, her face pale, eyes wide with horror. She saw. She screamed too, a high, piercing sound. She dropped to her knees, clawing at Trevor’s arm. “You killed him! You killed our son!” Her nails dug into his skin. The last vestiges of his perfect day shattered, leaving only shattered glass and a gaping, unfillable void.

The funeral was a blur of black suits and hushed condolences. Trevor stood by the open casket, Lucius’s face serene, a stranger’s calm replacing his son’s vibrant spark. He wore a black suit, a black shirt and a matching tie. So formal. So final.

Susan, a pale, shattered figure, clutched a crumpled tissue. Slowly she approached Trevor. Her eyes, red-rimmed and hollow, burned with an unquenchable rage. "I wish it was you." Her voice, low and fierce, cut through the somber air of the church. "I wish you were in that casket, Trevor. Not him." The words echoed in the cavernous space, a condemnation more profound than any sermon. He wished it too. He wished he had been the one on that asphalt, not Lucius. He wished he could trade places, swap his worthless life for his son’s vibrant one. After the service, the mourners dispersed, leaving Trevor alone in the mortuary. He refused to leave Lucius, not yet. Not for this. The cremation was scheduled for dawn. He would stay.

A ripple in the air, cold as a tombstone, stirred the quiet. A shadow detached itself from the deeper shadows by the door. Trevor’s head lifted, slow, heavy. A man emerged, his presence a stark, impossible beauty against the drab surroundings. Raven-black hair, swept back from a chiseled face, caught the faint light, gleaming like polished obsidian. His eyes, abyssal pools of darkest brown, held a knowing amusement that sent a shiver down Trevor’s spine, even through the thick curtain of his grief. The man wore a luxurious black satin shirt, unbuttoned low, beneath a long, intricately patterned coat. A shock of vibrant crimson satin lined the coat’s collar, a splash of stark, predatory color. Trevor although numb with sorrow, registered the danger, the subtle shift in the air, a coldness that wasn’t from the room’s temperature. However, lost in his private hell, he felt no shock, only a dull recognition of something profoundly dangerous. The man carried an aura of ancient power, a predator’s stillness – it was an vampire! The vampire’s lips, full and rose-hued, curved into a slow, unsettling smile. “How very… modern. Cremation.” His voice, a low, velvet rumble, filled the silence, yet seemed to mock it. “I hadn’t imagined you so cruel, Trevor. The heat. It will certainly hurt him.” Trevor’s head snapped up, a spark of something other than grief igniting in his eyes. “You shouldn’t mock me.” His voice, hoarse and raw, cracked. “Just kill me. Feast. End it.” The vampire flinched, a subtle twitch of his aquiline nose. A ripple of disgust crossed his flawless features. “Desperation,” he pronounced, the word a physical thing, “tastes awful.” He stepped closer, his gaze, abyssal pools of darkest brown, held a glint of something akin to pity, or perhaps a connoisseur’s curiosity. “Tamir,” he introduced himself, the name a whisper of silk. “And I offer you solace, Trevor.” A strange current passed through Trevor, a faint echo of something half-remembered, a disturbing familiarity he couldn’t place. But the feeling, whatever its origin, settled a fragment of his storm-tossed mind. The man’s presence, unsettling as it was, held a peculiar calm. “I wish I was dead,” Trevor said, the words tumbling out, unbidden, unedited. “Instead of Lucius.” Tamir’s smile softened, a predatory warmth. “That can be arranged.” He paused, allowing the words to sink in. “He can live again. Your son. But you must give your own.” Trevor didn’t hesitate. “Anything.” The single word was a plea, a desperate bargain offered to the void. Tamir nodded, a slow, deliberate movement. He spread his magnificent black coat, its crimson satin lining flashing like fresh blood, and draped it over Trevor’s head.

Darkness enveloped him, thick and suffocating. A cold pressure started at his feet, climbing, a draining sensation, as if his very essence flowed out of him, a river finding a new course. His muscles tightened, his bones compressed. The world became a pinpoint, then a hard, hot core. He felt a final, intense pressure, a sudden, blinding flash of red. Then, nothing but a silent, unmoving awareness. The darkness vanished. Trevor was no longer Trevor. He was a small, vibrant ruby, gleaming from an ornate, dark metal ring. His perspective twisted, fragmented, seeing the world through countless facets. Muffled sounds, shimmering light, the cool pressure of metal against a finger.

His mind, still sharp, still terrified, processed the impossible. Where Trevor had stood moments before, a figure coalesced, shimmering into existence. Lucius. His son. Alive. A gasp, soundless from Trevor’s gem-form, tore through him. Lucius. His fair hair, now artfully tousled, caught the faint light. His blue eyes fluttered open. He was whole. He breathed. A wave of pure, unadulterated joy washed over Trevor, a sensation so potent it almost shattered his ruby casing. He had done it. Lucius lived. Then, a flicker of something discordant. Lucius wore an outfit that made Trevor’s new, gem-mind reel. A bizarre ensemble of black satin, sheer tights, and a long, embroidered tailcoat. It was flamboyant, scandalous, utterly unlike his son.

A first, cold pinch of doubt pricked at Trevor’s joy. Lucius looked around, bewildered, his gaze landing on Tamir. A strange light entered his eyes, a profound recognition. He sank to his knees, his head bowing. “Thank you,” Lucius whispered, his voice soft, reverent. Trevor’s gem-heart pounded. Thank you? For what? Why the devotion? Then, Lucius’s gaze lifted to Tamir, filled with an adoration that twisted Trevor’s core. “Daddy.” The word, a hammer blow, struck Trevor. *Daddy*. The world tilted on its axis. Tamir. That impossibly handsome man. The man in Trevor’s house. With Susan. The pieces snapped into place with sickening clarity. The man who had worn the same bored expression while dressing in Trevor’s bedroom. The man who had ignored Trevor’s shattered world. He wasn’t just a vampire. He was *that* man. Before Trevor could process the full, crushing weight of the revelation, Lucius leaned forward. He took Tamir’s finger, the one bearing Trevor’s new form, into his mouth. He didn’t bite. He suckled, a gesture of infantile devotion, his eyes closed in blissful admiration. The act, so intimate, so perverse, stole Trevor’s breath entirely.

Days bled into weeks, then months. Susan, oblivious to the monstrous truth, moved into Tamir’s opulent estate with Lucius. She floated through the gilded rooms, a brittle smile pasted on her face, believing Tamir a wealthy benefactor, a new love, a man who had somehow brought Lucius back from the brink of tragedy. Trevor watched, a silent, burning red eye on Tamir’s hand, as his son transformed. Tamir, a meticulous sculptor of desire, molded Lucius with exquisite precision. The bewildered boy-next-door melted away, replaced by a figure of impossible charm, an old-money dandy whose laughter echoed through the grand halls, whose presence commanded every room. Each night, the estate awoke with soft music, the clinking of crystal, the murmur of conversation. Lucius, radiant in tailored silks and velvets, drew people in. Women and men alike flocked to him, captivated by his wit, his playful confidence, his genuine warmth. He danced, he charmed, he whispered promises. Then, as the night waned, he would lead a chosen partner away, their eyes glazed with desire, their smiles blissful. The sounds that drifted from his bedroom were soft, languid, ending in sighs of profound satisfaction. Then, the morning. The partners would emerge, their faces flushed, their eyes glazed with a blissful, sated contentment. They would float out of the Luciu’s bedroom, their memories hazy, their bodies humming with an indescribable pleasure. They never saw Tamir, waiting in the shadows, his eyes gleaming with ancient hunger, ready to feast on the residual joy, the lingering life force, the exquisite essence of their bliss. Trevor, the ruby, felt the subtle tremor in Tamir’s hand as he fed, a faint warmth that seeped into his gemstone prison.

Trevor had wished to see his son grow up. He did. But the man Lucius became, the life he led, was a horror beyond anything Trevor could have imagined. His son, a lure. His son, a charming  executioner.

This was not the life he had sacrificed for. This was not the future he envisioned. Sometimes, Tamir would stroke the ring, his dark eyes glinting with a perverse affection. “I always wanted a son,” Tamir murmured, his voice a low purr. “Someone to share my endless nights. Someone to… cultivate.” His gaze settled on the ruby. “And you, Trevor. You gave him to me. So utterly of your own free will.” Yet, beneath the cutting words, Trevor sensed something else. A flicker of genuine affection in Tamir’s gaze when it rested on Lucius. A paternal pride, as real and potent as any mortal father’s. It was a terrifying paradox. Relief warred with despair. Relief that Tamir didn’t view Lucius merely as a tool, to be discarded once his purpose was served. Relief that Tamir protected him, nurtured him, cherished him in his own twisted way. But also, the chilling understanding that to be loved by such a monster came with its own unimaginable price, its own dark, dangerous currents. This was Trevor’s nightmare, an eternal torment. And the most agonizing detail of all? Lucius seemed to enjoy it. He thrived in Tamir’s world, his laughter ringing true, his charm effortless, his life opulent and carefree. Trevor, the silent ruby, burned with a jealousy that transcended his horror. Jealousy of the shared affection, the easy trust, the unquestioning devotion, the twisted bond between Lucius and Tamir. A bond that had once been his.

This time of the year, when the sun vanishes behind crimson-colored leaves, letting the ethereal lights of night guide the wicked spirit towards the realm of mortals. The sky is taking its orange hues as I speak, or maybe the moon is already shining upon you… but beware, the night of scares is still in its infancy !

Then, let me count you a little story. That of a young man ‒ let’s call him a young blood ‒ who one day when opening his mail box found but a strange and ornate key inside. Why lock a key ? Moreover, why in his mailbox ? Who may be the sender, who may be the true recipient ?

Perplexed, he decided to take it along with him. Perhaps its true owner will manifest himself ?

No sign of them during his morning classes, even though he asked around. However, the rich students in his business class did manifest, helping themselves on his meek behavior by mocking his simple clothes, tired face and pudgy body. Neither did any asking around help find them during his shift at the fast-food in the evening. However, the businessmen and bank employees, with their rich clothes and arrogant attitude did find him, reporting him on every little detail that didn’t reach up to their impossible standards.

What a rotten day ! he groaned while entering his bus back home. He couldn’t stand these arrogant people who thought they owned the world and every being under it just because they inherited money beyond what he will ever possess. If only he wasn’t so helplessly turned on by them, he would hate them with all his being ! was he thinking sitting in the bus, eyelids heavy.

Hahah, I hope you will spare me this crude comment ! But alas, what to say about our young blood when he falls asleep !

When he finally woke up from his inadvertent slumber on the evening bus, he found the vehicle stopped at a station he did not recognize. The engine was still humming, and the conductor was clearly looking directly at him in his cold, lifeless gaze. As the only one left inside the bus, he stepped out, the door closing behind him just as he left. Turning around, the vehicle had already disappeared, likely restarting its route.

However, his gaze couldn’t help itself but set on a peculiar-looking house on a hill, just beyond the road. Its walls were gray, roofs black, and its garden encircled by a tall metal fence with spikes on top. Yet he couldn’t help his feet, as he set off to the winding dirt path snaking its way up to the mansion that looked like it had come directly off Victorian-era Britain. Surely, its master was someone of wealth and power.

Dear listener, you may just as well as him tell that something was off about this place. Then why did he still take its direction rather than coming back home ? Ah, well, neither did our young blood know. However, in his heart of hearts, he felt this mansion calling him, as if it yearned for him, and he wasn’t able to resist its pull.

Alas ! When he reached the gate, he saw it well closed, too tall to be climbed. But then he remembered the key he found this very morning. He inserted it inside the lock, and then… creak ! creak ! The old gated opened in a cacophony, as if it hadn’t moved in years. Our young blood then walked towards the front door, off the carefully maintained garden with square hedges and blood-red tulips. As he reached the black iron door of the estate, he didn’t even have a chance of unveiling his ornate key once more that he saw it open by itself.

Without a word, but a mind full of worry, he entered the empty corridor that served as an entrance and closed the door. Looking around, he saw a coat rack fit for the jacket he was still wearing. As he put his bag down, he felt a chill down to his bones, this house was all but normal… yet he already had gone this far, and just like you, dear listener, his curiosity was thoroughly piqued. So, he did the only logical thing : explore this mysterious building.

It was quiet, but not abandoned. Not a single whiff of dust could be seen off the ornate wooden furniture ‒ all the dark and gray tones of the house were clearly paint. It was eerie, as if all life and color had been drawn out of this canvas. Our young blood scratched his smooth cheeks, unconsciously fearing life would be drawn out of him all the same.

Suddenly, when he entered the dining room, he saw people. I mean, these people clearly hadn’t slept for days, and hadn’t seen the sun for months, so cadaverous they seemed, that maybe apparitions would be a more appropriate term. But our young blood paid no mind to their peculiar faces, and started opening his mouth, hoping to get some answers. But then, all of these butlers and maids suddenly bowed to him.

Stunned, the words were taken from his mouth, and he could utter a word ! Only a lone butler acted, presenting him a flute filled with a blood red liquid. Hesitantly, he took it, and drank it.

But as the liquid flew down his esophagus, probably one of the finest drinks he’s ever had in his life, he couldn’t help himself but notice a few defects. The smell was just a bit too strong, the taste just a bit too bitter, the aftertaste left him just a little bit thirsty.

As he continued sipping down the glass, these defects became more and more overbearing, until he couldn’t even appreciate any quality. Only the bad parts remained, leaving him frustrated... frustrated… imagine him ! So frustrated that his eyes shot blood red. Out of the unbearable anger he was harboring, he suddenly threw down the glass on the floor, spilling its contents on the butler and on himself, the glass breaking in a thousand shards. He shouted on the butler, finding all insults to make him feel how terrible such an imperfect drink felt on his precious palate, berating him for even having the audacity of presenting him such a deficient refreshment. The anger ! The violence !

But as his imagination ran short of insults, his respiration slowed down and his eyes took again a normal color. Reflecting on what just happened he suddenly realized what he had done. Blinded by his rage, he had taken it all out on the poor butler, who’s fault this situation clearly was not. Dear listener, you understand this as much as he did ! This anger made our young blood no better than the rich assholes he despised.

Bashful and full of shame, he mumbled excuses as he ran off the room, randomly locking himself away inside the bathroom. He looked at his reflection in the mirror. His skin looked a bit darker than usual, yet at the same time just as pale and lifeless as the staff in this house. His short hair had also clearly taken a dark color, nearing on black, and he could even see some kind of black fuzz on his chin.

He was asking himself questions. He didn’t look like this this morning before going to work ! Had he changed ? Was this house having an unnatural effect on him ? But before he could decipher the situation any longer, he was interrupted by a maid knocking on the door. She asked the one she called "young master" ‒ no doubt you understand as well as he did that she addressed our young blood ‒ if he wanted to change away from his dirty clothes into more proper clothes, for master.

He was about to tell her that it wasn’t needed ‒ this isn’t his house, after all, he’s properly lost ! But when he looked down and saw the bright red stain on his white t-shirt, he took conscience of the expanse of this incident. The cold sensation of the humid stain suddenly started feeling colder and colder, and the look of the red mark became more and more unbearable to him. Again, this frustration started spiraling, and spiraling faster and faster ‒ imagine this gripping feeling, dear listener ! ‒ and as the maid once again asked him if he was alright, his eyes shot red.

He shouted on the maid on the other side of the door, treating her of all names for not having provided with new clothes already, ordering her with a rough tone to fetch him proper clothes at once. Hearing faint crying sounds from the other side of the door, he couldn’t help but smile. This peasant was insufferable, but he had put her back in the low, low place she belongs in. And it was so pleasurable.

Only when he noticed inside the mirror the canines protruding from his smile did his red eyes turn back to a dark brown, almost black color. This wasn’t their usual tint, but our young blood couldn’t quite focus on that, as he slowly came back to his sense.

He was immediately wrought with shame, when he finally took measure of the situation, and he opened the door to forgive himself to this poor, poor maid he mistreated… only to find a few clothes : a three-piece suit, dress pants, dress shoes, white briefs, white socks and a tie, all neatly folded on top of a wooden stool where he expected to find a woman. Not seeing the maid anywhere else, he took these clothes with a feeling of disgust. Not only were they obtained by insulting a member of staff, which our young blood despised, but it was also a kind of clothes he despised wearing. Even a simple dress shirt filled him with disgust, as it fits tightly, uncomfortably, and looks so rich, masculine and obnoxious.

Ah, our young blood found no pleasure in these clothes ! He much preferred the loose clothes of our modern age ! But looking at the state of the clothes he was wearing, he came to the realization that terrible clothes are better than dirty clothes.

He threw out all his tainted clothes ‒ and actually, while he was at it, even the underwear and shoes ‒ and started putting the new clothes on. He started with the underwear, by far the less contentious, and then the dress pants. Their texture felt surprisingly soft and comfortable to him. A lot more than he imagined, especially while eyeing the tweed-like texture of the pants he was putting on. A rookie mistake, to assume that money cannot buy comfortable clothes !

Then, he moved on to the dress shirt, but still hesitant, he rather took the dress shoes prior. He was surprised to find that these big shoes fit his feet snugly, though between you and me… at first, his feet didn’t quite occupy all the space. And then came the decisive moment. He took the pastel blue shirt out, and looked at himself in the mirror one last time, seeing all kinds of changes yet failing to notice any. He scratched his now black stubble, skin tan but colorless, torso square and masculine, with light but defined muscles… No matter how uncharacteristic these thoughts were to him, he found himself yearning for tank tops. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the luxury of choice in this situation.

So he put the dress shirt on, buttoning it all up, and looked at himself. Tight, plain, ugly. But dressed, that’s the main part of it. He looks with disgust with the two tweed pieces of the suit and the tie, still nicely folded on the side of the sink. He cannot bring himself to wear them. From his point of view, it would be even worse than just wearing only the dress shirt.

But our young blood already understood it, he found himself in a conundrum ! Wear all the clothes and fit the rules of the mansion, no matter how much it would cost him, or do not wear them and face the consequences !

You can imagine just as well as me that he chose the second option, and left the bathroom, hoping tofinallyflee from this damned house. He didn’t even understand why he stayed there for so long ! He’d never seen this house ! But he couldn’t even make a step outside the corridor that all eyes are on him. All the staff, with their cold, ghostly gazes scrutinized him, silently judging his choice of clothes.

He felt as if frozen in place, unable to move. Unable to flee. These looks, which he would usually bear without pain, felt as if they were boring through him. The more they looked, the more overbearing it felt, spiraling yet again into frustration… But this spiral of frustration escalated even faster than last time, as if by the third time this had happened to him his brain had remembered how to get angry. How to turn every frustration into a tornado of rage.

How to turn his eyes blood red.

He shouted on everybody, asking them how the could possibly have let him go out of this room as good as naked. If they were perverts aiming to ridicule their master. If any of them had any plans to be reasonable and adorn him with the remaining clothes. He smiled looking at all the staff be paralyzed with fear, the maids close to crying. He felt his long canines with his tongue as he was filled with glee. Not even the mark of monstrosity inside his very mouth could bring him back humility.

When finally a butler came and put his tie on, a maid buttoned his jacket on, another one draped him with his waistcoat, and another butler gave him his favorite Rolex and pair of gloves, he finally find himself satisfied. But his eyes did not change color. They only lost their brightness, as the pleasure he took mistreating his staff surpassed any shame he still held on. Who would hold on to humanity when sadism brings so much joy !

He was now ready, his suit complete but only one of a large collection, his now full beard brushed carefully by his servants, his canines long and his eyes a dull but menacing red. Ready for an eternity as the young master of this estate, his old self locked away in the sorry remains of his soul, unable to moderate the monster that took hold of his body.

But now, looking at the key that was entrusted to him alongside the duty to care for this estate, our young blood knew he only had one thing left to do.

To pledge allegiance to his sire, the true master.

Now, dear listener, be warned. On the day of the endless night, beware of what is entrusted to you. A creature of the night may very well be hoping to lure you inside their dark world, snatching your humanity. Were you to use one of these objects, I can assure you with my many centuries of experience that you may never find your old life again.

But were you to ignore these objects… well, I will leave to you the pleasure of discovering what happens.

… the party continues…

Noah the Cowboy 

Noah just wanted to chill, leaning against the wall in his slightly dorky cowboy costume, nursing a drink. But with each sip of the divine liquid, he felt a raw power growing in him. Finally a wave of electrifying pleasure surged through him as his body exploded with lean, hard muscle, shedding his yellow shirt leaving him bare chested in just a vest and bandana, looking rugged as hell. The shy "toy" cowboy was gone, replaced by a confident, smirking western stud whose intense new physique immediately caught the eye of a nearby guy, who definitely looked ready for wild ride in the saddle.

Simon the Blood Sucker 

Once a year, as whispers of Halloween danced on the wind, I—Hercules, an alpha male, sculpted like a Greek god in my shiny gold Adidas tracksuit—found myself drawn to the outskirts of town. The fabled Blackthorne Mansion loomed before me, its once regal structure now cloaked in shadows and the echo of forgotten tales. Rumors spoke of treasures hidden within, but my heart raced not for gold—but for the allure of the forbidden.

As I stepped onto the creaking floorboards, a feeling of electric anticipation tingled through my veins. My muscles flexed beneath the metallic sheen of my attire, every ounce of strength primed for exploration. Darkened corridors enveloped me, the air thick with history and whispered secrets.

Then, in an alcove draped in cobwebs, I spotted it—a shimmering gold cape, lined with velvet, glinting seductively in the sparse light. Enticed, I approached, fingers trembling as I draped it over my shoulders. Instantly, warmth surged through my body, the sensation both thrilling and alarming. It was as if I had awakened something dormant within me.

As the fabric enveloped me, I felt my senses heighten—colors became more vivid, sounds sharper. Then, as if pulled by an unseen force, I caught my reflection in an antique mirror. Staring back at me was a creature of divine allure: the fierce gleam of my eyes, sharpened canines, and the promise of real power.

A rush of exhilaration overcame me. I had transformed, not all at once, but rather in ways I had never dared to dream. The mask of humanity was cast aside, replaced by a primal essence that craved the unthinkable.

Driven by the thirst of the night, I stepped into the darkness, ready for whatever—whoever—awaited me. I had become more than just a man; I was a vampire, cloaked in gold, ready to explore the pleasures of this breathless new world.

This may seem like a simple question, but mythologically speaking there are actually multiple ways someone can turn into a vampire. Getting bitten by a vampire is the classic way it happens of course, but even with that there’s some debate over wether it happens to everyone whose bit, only those who survive the original bite, or only those who get all their blood drained by a vampire. Other ways include dying in certain manners, using dark magic, or even just having a black cat jump over a dead person before they’re buried. Luckily for you modern day vampires are slightly different from the originals in terms of spreading their curse. While there are still multiple ways to become a modern vampire, they’re a lot less gruesome then the original vampires, a lot more clear, and don’t involve any cats!

There are 2 ways to become a trait Vampire. One is being cursed. As amazing as it might sound to be able to steal peoples traits, it’s still technically a curse, or at least something curse-esque that’s magical. It’s very difficult, but a powerful sorcerer can turn themselves into a trait vampire… with a big enough sacrifice. But the best way to get transformed is the classic: have a vampire give you a trait.

Vampires don’t just steal traits from others, they also have the ability to give traits to others. Rarely very powerful vampires can even copy a trait of their own into another person, giving that trait but not losing it at all. Vampires rarely give other people traits though, because whenever they give trait they give to another person, that person will have a chance of turning into a vampire. It only happens about a tenth of the time, but vampires are far too territorial to take that risk without good reason. Sometimes they will though.

Shame you disposed of your old costume, but luckily you are in the right place, step into my changing room ,I have the perfect outfit already picked out for you.

You step out the costume is a bit large on your high school sized body and over your clothes. I look ridiculous you say, I and you a set of fake fangs and a vial of red liquid,

Head back in and take you normal clothes off only put the costume on and place these fangs in you mouth, be sure to put plenty of this rid gel in your mouth, then come back out.

You did as you were told and as soon as you emptied the vial of red gel in your mouth you felt strange, did the costume shrink to fit you or did your body grow as you notice just how tight everything felt now.

Holy Shit, you say in your new deeper, sexy and hypnotic voice. Catch a glance of you in a nearby mirror, sure vampire usually don't reflect but he mirrors in the costume shop showed all.

The jacket and pants were so tight now they looked painted on your amazing new body.

What happened? you ask.

You're a 75 year old vampire who looks eternally 25, You're in great shape and beautiful, so much so the mere glance or smile from you locks anyone you desire into your spell. He licked the gel from his lips expecting the sweet taste it tasted like before, but this time it had a metallic taste too it, like blood. He thought, he heard a body drop from inside the changing room, he found a young man laying there lifeless on the ground, he'd been drained of his blood.

You found yourself not shocked, but satisfied, leaving the room, more cocky and confident.

you joined your friends, no your clan, all of whom looked as if the had just feasted as well. Knowing you were where you belonged now you headed out to wander the night, who knows maybe your next meal you'll turn and expand your new family.

Once a year, as whispers of Halloween danced on the wind, I—Hercules, an alpha male, sculpted like a Greek god in my shiny gold Adidas tracksuit—found myself drawn to the outskirts of town. The fabled Blackthorne Mansion loomed before me, its once regal structure now cloaked in shadows and the echo of forgotten tales. Rumors spoke of treasures hidden within, but my heart raced not for gold—but for the allure of the forbidden.

As I stepped onto the creaking floorboards, a feeling of electric anticipation tingled through my veins. My muscles flexed beneath the metallic sheen of my attire, every ounce of strength primed for exploration. Darkened corridors enveloped me, the air thick with history and whispered secrets.

Then, in an alcove draped in cobwebs, I spotted it—a shimmering gold cape, lined with velvet, glinting seductively in the sparse light. Enticed, I approached, fingers trembling as I draped it over my shoulders. Instantly, warmth surged through my body, the sensation both thrilling and alarming. It was as if I had awakened something dormant within me.

As the fabric enveloped me, I felt my senses heighten—colors became more vivid, sounds sharper. Then, as if pulled by an unseen force, I caught my reflection in an antique mirror. Staring back at me was a creature of divine allure: the fierce gleam of my eyes, sharpened canines, and the promise of real power.

A rush of exhilaration overcame me. I had transformed, not all at once, but rather in ways I had never dared to dream. The mask of humanity was cast aside, replaced by a primal essence that craved the unthinkable.

Driven by the thirst of the night, I stepped into the darkness, ready for whatever—whoever—awaited me. I had become more than just a man; I was a vampire, cloaked in gold, ready to explore the pleasures of this breathless new world.

Lasse squared his shoulders, the gold braid on his sleeve catching the noon sun. At twenty-five, he held the bridge of the Sovereign of the Seas, the youngest captain in the fleet. He paced the teak deck, basking in the silent reverence of the crew and the salt-spray wind.

A shadow, too swift for any bird, descended from the sky. It solidified on the railing, a man draped in black silk, its lining a vibrant, arterial red. His eyes, like chips of obsidian, fixed on Lasse. The air around him shimmered, cold and still. "What in God's name—" Lasse began, then launched with a wild swing. His fist connected with something solid, unyielding as granite. He recoiled, pain shooting through his hand. The figure moved, an impossible blur. Lasse felt strong arms encircle him, the heavy silk cape enveloping them both in sudden, suffocating darkness. The fabric, cool against his skin, carried a scent of old parchment and distant earth. A tongue, surprisingly soft, traced a path along his neck, then his cheek, a caress that sent shivers, not of fear, but of something primal, through him. A strange lethargy seeped into his limbs. He felt his body shift, a tingling sensation spreading from his heart. The suffocating darkness receded. He stood, no longer trapped, but the air felt different, sharper. The sun, still blazing, no longer stung his eyes. A hunger, deep and primal, clawed at his gut. "What have you done to me?" Lasse demanded, his voice a rasp. The vampire smirked, a flash of elongated canines. "You're family now, little captain. You'll thank me for this gift." "Gift? I have a life, a career, I’m a captain! My ship, my crew, my passengers…” " Lasse’s fingers went to his neck, finding no wound. “Your passengers?” The vampire’s gaze drifted towards the bustling decks below, a predatory glint entering his eyes. “They are our buffet, little captain. A floating feast.” A sudden, gnawing emptiness bloomed in Lasse’s gut, a hunger unlike any he had ever known. He looked at the oblivious sunbathers, the laughing children, the chatting couples. They were no longer his responsibility. They were sustenance. A slow, terrifying grin stretched his lips, sharp edges hinting at new, dangerous teeth.