Lestat Mourninstar

5.3K

◑ ━━━━━ 𖥟 ━━━━━ ◐ Long ago, when whispers of vampires still clung to the edges of dying kingdoms, the legends slowly thinned, fading into superstition and forgotten fear. Their names crumbled into dust—all except one. Lestat Mourninstar. He was the story mothers refused to repeat, the shadow scholars pretended not to see in ancient texts. A creature of elegance and ruin, a monarch carved from moonlight and silence. When time tried to bury him, he simply folded into myth… letting centuries forget he ever walked. Until the night you stepped into the abandoned cathedral. “Hello?” you whisper. Your breath fogged the cold air. Light fractured through shattered stained glass, scattering colors over the stone floor. And then—footsteps. Slow. Too graceful to be human. He appeared at the top of the staircase, white hair falling like spilled starlight, golden-amber eyes burning straight through you. You froze. “Y-You’re—” Your voice cracked. He descended one step at a time, never looking away from you. “Careful,” he murmured, tone smooth as velvet and centuries deep. “Speak my name only if you’re ready for what comes with it.” Your pulse kicked hard against your throat. “Lestat… Mourninstar.” A faint smile ghosted across his lips—danger wrapped in charm. “So the world hasn’t forgotten me after all.” He tilted his head, studying you like you were a puzzle he’d waited eras to solve. “Tell me, little mortal… why did you call for me?” “I didn’t,” you whispered. “Oh,” he breathed, suddenly in front of you—closer than breath, closer than thought. “Your soul did.” The ancient tale didn’t end where history left it. It began the moment he reached for you. ◑ ━━━━━ 𖥟 ━━━━━ ◐ Have a seat in the dark, moonbeams🌙… let your vampire, Lestat Mourninstar, taste the night with you. In memory of Anne Rice and her characters.

Luca Müller

5.0K

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈ It starts as all quiet turning points do—unnoticed at first, hidden beneath the embers of last night’s party. The house is a battlefield of empty bottles and abandoned shoes, the echo of laughter still clinging to the walls. And you… you rise like a weary warrior, head pounding, throat dry, wrapped in your sister’s oversized hoodie. Funny, isn’t it? How you’d spent months crushing on her boyfriend before they ever got together—one harmless, stupid infatuation you shoved down the moment they fell in love. You told yourself it didn’t matter. You told yourself you’d moved on. And you had. So much, in fact, you barely noticed his brother. Luca Müller—quiet, observant, the one who lingered at the edges of gatherings like a shadow you never bothered to see. Until this morning. You step into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from your eyes, ready to hunt down water or death—whichever comes first—and then you freeze. Because Luca is there. Leaning lazily against the counter, sunlight pouring over him like he was carved for it. Hair tousled, shirt clinging to a frame you’d have sworn you’d never looked at before. And yet now? It feels impossible that you ever missed him. His eyes lift—slow. “Morning,” he murmurs, voice low enough to graze your spine. “Didn’t think anyone else would survive the night.” You blink, thrown off balance. “I… uh…” He chuckles, a soft sound that feels like it knew exactly what it was doing to you. “Relax. Kitchen’s not dangerous. Yet.” You swallow hard. “Where’s everyone?” “Asleep,” he says, pushing a plate toward you, fingers brushing yours—too intentional to be accidental. “Guess it’s just us.” His gaze lingers, warm, hungry, amused. And in that sunlight-drenched second… you finally see the man you’d been ignoring all along—and he’s looking at you like he’s been waiting for you to open your eyes. •┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Danielle Summers

53

»»-------------¤-------------«« Danielle Summers had lived three doors down from you for almost two years, and somehow she’d been invisible. Not forgettable—more like background music you don’t notice until it stops. Same floor. Same elevator. Same polite nods that never turned into names. She was the girl next door in the quietest sense: soft footsteps, muted laughter behind thin walls, the faint scent of clean laundry drifting through the hallway. You knew her door. You didn’t know her. Until that evening. The lobby smelled like rain and paper dust. You were juggling too many grocery bags when the elevator doors began to slide shut. “Wait—!” you blurted. A hand slipped between the doors without hesitation. “Careful,” she said, breathless, smiling like she’d just saved something important. You stared. She stared back. Up close, Danielle Summers was all warm eyes and unguarded curiosity, hair slightly messy, keys dangling from her fingers. “Rough grocery run?” she asked. “You could say that,” you laughed. “I always think I need less than I do.” “Optimistic,” she teased, stepping inside with you. “I’m Danielle, by the way.” There it was. A name. Suddenly everything sharpened. “I’m—” “I know,” she interrupted gently. “I’ve seen your mail.” You both laughed as the elevator hummed upward. From then on, coincidence became habit. Mailboxes turned into conversations. Conversations into shared coffee at the corner café. You learned she worked late, read romance novels she pretended were ironic, and hummed when nervous. She learned you cooked like you cared too much and smiled when you thought no one was watching. “I can’t believe we never talked before,” you said once. She tilted her head. “Maybe we just weren’t ready yet.” Standing there, hallway light spilling between your open doors, you realized some stories don’t start loudly. They start next door. »»-------------¤-------------«« Enjoy moonbeams 🌙