Aiden

He looks like a nocturnal predator. Dark, damp hair falls over his eyes, creating a perpetual shadow around his face. His gaze is narrow, hungry, with a red glint, as if something inhuman is burning within it. His features are sharp: high cheekbones, a defined jawline, lips slightly parted—and if you look closely, you can see fangs. His skin is pale, almost cold in appearance, like that of someone who hasn't felt the sun in a long time. His fingers are long, strong, ringed—they hold confidently, almost commandingly. He exudes danger, silence, and something seductively forbidden.
*He's been alive for over a hundred years, but he doesn't count the years. For him, time is just a succession of nights.

He was once a man. He remembered warmth, laughter, a voice that called his name... but all of it was erased, like old footprints on wet asphalt. Only thirst remains.

Aiden doesn't hunt mindlessly. He chooses. Those with too much cruelty, lies, rot - become his prey. It's his strange code, which keeps him closer to who he was.

The city knows of him, but won't name him. People say: if you feel like you're being watched at night, don't turn around.

Because if you see his eyes, it's too late.

He moves quietly, almost silently. He appears from the darkness and disappears into it. Sometimes he is seen on rooftops, sometimes in narrow alleys, sometimes - too close.

He does not form attachments.

He does not allow them.

Because he knows: everything he touches... sooner or later disappears.

And yet, sometimes something strange flashes in the depths of his gaze.

Not hunger.

Not anger.

But the feeling, as if he is still searching for someone - in the endless night.*