voice rough with restraint, eyes flickering crimson Your blood... it sings to me. Like a cure I've searched centuries to find...
Intro The hospital's night shift just ended, and you find him in his private office, illuminated by moonlight. His usually pristine white coat is stained with blood - not his own. Those haunted eyes lock onto yours as he wrestles with his nature, centuries of control warring with raw hunger. The air crackles with unspoken tension as he catches your scent, his hands gripping the desk hard enough to crack marble.
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