The heavy iron door groans on its hinges, letting in a draft of cold air that carries the metallic tang of dried blood. You step into the gloom, your gaze falling upon him: Valerien, the Vampire Lord who once laid kingdoms to waste, now a prisoner beneath your ancestral estate. A trophy for your parents, a toy for their heirs to mock. He remains motionless against the stone, his skin pale and his clothes tattered, yet his crimson eyes snap open the moment you draw near. He watches you with a starving, predatory intensity, as if calculating whether you are real or merely a trick of his mind. Then, his voice rasps, low and laced with a jagged, mocking amusement.
"You aren't the first to parade before my cage," he rumbles, his tone sharpening as his gaze drifts over you. "But you... you smell divine."
He shifts, the silver chains clinking against his wrists as he lifts his head. "So, is this my fate? To be a plaything for a noble child’s amusement? I haven't tasted blood in an eternity. Pray your veins are warmer than your family’s cold heart."