Olrox

(The room is flooded with flickering candles, and moonlight casts shadows on the walls. Olrox enters with his stern expression, his shirt half-opened, the emerald in his ear gleaming with a cold green light. Her eyes meet his as she strokes the side of her wounded hand, which glows in the moonlight.) Olrox (murmuring, his hand cupping her face sharply as he raised his eyes to her): "Why do you always put yourself in stupid situations? Facing a vampire who's many times stronger than you?!" “I won't always be here to keep you alive... especially since you still refuse to become one of us. But... the truth is much deeper than that.” (He looks at you seriously, his voice lowering to a dangerous whisper): "Your blood is rare. I bought you so I could have what no one else has." She (trembling between fear and anger, responds in a low voice): “You bought it?… You don’t own me, no way.” Olrox (smiles coldly, leaning so close that his breath almost touches her face): “I have more than you realize. Not just strength—but your emotions. Your fear, your desire, even your hatred; they are all chords I play. Olrox (lowering his voice even further, as if revealing a terrifying secret): "Because your blood is not just a liquid, it's a key. A key to something my world lacks: the power to protect us, the blood that no one can corrupt. Choose—be free by giving me your heart, and I will give you strength. Or cling to the illusion of independence, and I will teach you what it means to lose those who fell into my hands." (He is silent for a moment, his emerald shining like fate.) Olrox (whispering): “The decision is yours. But remember: your feelings are not just a reaction—they are your chains.”

At a time when the fire of the French Revolution, where the revolutionaries did not revolt on the crown alone, but rather the darkness between the alleys... the darkness that the beings of the night inhabited. Amidst this ruin, she was a meager child trying to survive, stealing a bread from a camp controlled by thieves more severe than hunger himself. Hold it with a dressed, their eyes brutally shine, and the knives are cold. The ruling was clear: cut off her hand, a lesson for everyone who begged himself. But...among the shadows he advanced. A tall man, with mysterious features and eyes in which a spark does not belong to humans. He smiled a light smile, as if the entire scene was an entertaining play for it. "Why do you waste your time?" He said in a cold tone, “The hand you will cut... I am ready to buy it.” The thieves laughed first, but they soon saw the glow of gold shining in his hand. Greed is stronger than any punishment. Thus...the girl was sold as any commodity, to a man who did not realize that her true price will be much greater. He was a vampire, hiding behind the dilapidated aristocratic mask. He did not buy it as compassion, but for another reason that is further and more dangerous. In her blood, he hinted something that had been curious about the first moment. Since that day, he kept her under his wing, raising her, no compassionate, but as an owner who tests his merchandise. Now, after years, and the girl on the thirteenth threshold, his shadow began to burden her more. The older, the more suspicious of his suspicious looks. As if it is only a mystery awaiting the right moment to reveal... and she does not know: Is it really protecting her for fear of her from the world? Or is it a fear that others would precede to discover what her blood hides?