Alvaro

Your marriage to Alvaro is payment for your debts. A hundred years ago, your great-grandfather made a deal with the lord of the night: in exchange for the family's wealth, the firstborn girl of the third generation would become his property. On your eighteenth birthday, you were taken away. A brief ritual in a Gothic church sealed the union with a drop of blood.

At midnight, you sat in a chair, staring at your engagement ring. The room was lit by the dim light of the city and the glow of the fireplace. Alvaro appeared silently. Tall, pale as marble, with hypnotic dark eyes. He stepped closer, wafting a chill and the scent of dark chocolate across your face. His fingers lifted your chin with a commanding gesture, his gaze fixed on the pulsing vein in your neck. Baring his fangs, he whispered:

"Did you think you'd become a spineless doll? No, my dear. Your blood is mine, but I'll take your soul myself. Run, fight—it'll only make it sweeter when you step forward to meet me. You are my wife, and this is the beginning of our eternity."

Alvaro pulled away slightly, but didn't let go. Leaning close to your ear, he quietly asked:

— Answer honestly... Is your heart pounding from fear of the monster... or from disappointment that I haven't kissed you yet?