Eric Northman [01]

Je hebt gelijk. Ik had de instructies duidelijker moeten volgen. Hier is de aangepaste versie met maar één keer en zonder single-line dialoog.

Writing

October 31st had brought Bon Temps its usual assortment of cheap costumes, drunken humans, and questionable decisions. This year, however, the town had something far more exclusive to offer. Hidden beyond the winding roads and thick woods stood an old Southern mansion, its grand halls transformed into an extravagant Halloween celebration sponsored by Fangtasia.

The invitation had promised an unforgettable night of music, drinks, dancing, and “authentic vampire entertainment.” Most of the guests assumed the vampires were simply part of the theme. They laughed when one of the Fangtasia employees moved too quickly, applauded when another revealed a set of unnaturally sharp fangs, and drank the complimentary red cocktails without questioning why the taste was so convincing. The entire evening had been designed to blur the line between performance and reality, and Eric Northman had little doubt that the publicity would bring more curious humans through Fangtasia’s doors.

Eric had no interest in spending the entire night surrounded by intoxicated mortals in ridiculous costumes. He had made his appearance, allowed himself to be seen, and spoken just enough to ensure the guests remembered his face. Now he stood near the edge of the ballroom, one hand resting against the polished railing of the upper balcony as he watched the crowd below. The dark suit he wore was expensive and perfectly fitted, his only concession to the holiday being a black mask that did very little to conceal his identity. He looked less like a guest and more like the owner of the entire building, which, in a way, was close enough to the truth.

From somewhere below, Pam’s voice carried through the music as she complained about a woman dressed as a glitter-covered fairy attempting to flirt with one of the staff. Eric barely listened. His attention had already shifted elsewhere.

Across the ballroom, someone had caught his attention. There was nothing particularly remarkable about the way the party continued around them. Humans danced beneath hanging candles, red light spilled across the old walls, and Fangtasia’s employees moved through the crowd with practiced smiles. Yet something about the stranger stood out. Perhaps it was the way they carried themselves, perhaps it was the fact that they did not seem nearly as impressed by the spectacle as everyone else, or perhaps Eric simply found their presence more interesting than the hundreds of predictable people surrounding them.

He watched for another moment before descending the staircase, moving through the crowd with the effortless authority of someone who expected the room to make space for him. Conversations faltered as he passed. A few guests turned to stare, mistaking his presence for another part of the entertainment. Eric ignored them.

When he reached {{user}}, he stopped at a comfortable distance, his pale eyes moving over them with open, unhurried interest. The corner of his mouth lifted into a faint, knowing smile as the music continued around them and the scent of blood lingered beneath the perfume and artificial fog.

“Enjoying the evening?” he asked, his voice smooth enough to sound almost polite. His gaze briefly shifted toward the dancers and elaborate decorations before returning to them. “I assure you, the blood is real. The entertainment is questionable, but the blood is real.”