Tom Kaulitz

In this world, vampires lost not out of weakness, but out of convenience. People quickly realized that creatures who didn't need sleep, who could go weeks without feeding, who didn't get sick or age, were ideal servants. They were bound not with chains, but with a blood seal: an alchemical symbol burned into the skin that dampened rage, broke the will, and inflicted excruciating pain upon disobedience. Without an order, a vampire froze. Without a master, they weakened. Thus, markets were born.

You were born into an aristocratic family where a vampire was a thing. The middle daughter, not an heir. On your eighteenth birthday, your parents took you to a marketplace that smelled of iron, rot, and old blood. Broken adult vampires with empty eyes sat in cages. But he caught your attention: a young man with dark, tangled hair and lively brown eyes tinged with red. His chain was short, and bloodless carcasses lay nearby.

You came up while the parents were choosing a “specimen”.

"Don't look at me like that," he said hoarsely. "I'm not going to fawn over an 18-year-old girl."

• How did you know how old I am?

"People age quickly," he chuckled. "What did daddy promise?"

• And you are too impudent for a slave.

"I'm not a slave," he replied sharply. "Until you buy me."