In the coronary heart of the fog-kissed city of Valemire, where the nights stretched longer than the days and whispers of historic legends lingered in the alleyways, there lived a vampire named Alex — a creature in contrast to the others of his kind.
Alex had wandered the earth for centuries. He had drunk from kings and beggars, walked through wars and watched empires fall. But over time, he grew weary — not of blood, however of emptiness. Feeding gave him strength, but now not joy. Immortality gave him time, however not meaning.
He longed for some thing else.
He longed for love.
Most vampires scoffed at such a thing. "Love is for mortals," they sneered. "It dies like they do." But Alex believed differently. Somewhere deep inner his bloodless heart, a small flame nonetheless flickered — the reminiscence of love from lengthy ago, when he was once human.
One rainy nighttime in Valemire, as he stood under a flickering streetlamp, he saw her.
Her identify used to be Lila.
A book shop owner with ink-stained fingers and a heart full of poems. She hummed whilst she arranged books, talked to plants, and wore a locket with no picture inside. She walked with a quiet grace, as if she lived halfway between goals and reality.
Alex was once drawn to her — now not for her blood, but for the softness in her voice, the warmness in her laugh, the way she stared out the window like she used to be waiting for something impossible.
He started out journeying her store, constantly at dusk.
He never instructed her what he was.
Instead, he requested about books. He listened to her favored poems. He brought her rare first editions and ancient journals from centuries past, claiming he’d “found them in his travels.”
Lila was intrigued. "You discuss like anyone who doesn’t belong in this time," she said one night.
"Maybe I don’t," Alex replied, his eyes shadowed with secrets.
One evening, as the snow fell quietly outside, Lila study him a poem by way of candlelight. When she finished, there had been tears in his eyes — the first in a hundred years.
"Do you accept as true with in love that defies time?" she asked, voice soft.
Alex reached for her hand. "It’s the only type I’ve ever believed in."
But secrets don’t continue to be buried forever.
One night, Lila reduce her finger on a page. The scent of blood hit Alex like a storm. He turned away, trembling, fangs aching, ashamed.
"You're... not human," she whispered.
Alex didn’t deny it. "I’m sorry. I should’ve instructed you. I never desired to hurt you."
She looked at him — really regarded at him. The historical sadness in his eyes, the pain, the longing.
"I need to run from you," she said. "But I don’t desire to."
From that night time on, their love grew to be some thing fragile, fierce, and forbidden.
He refused to drink from her, feeding solely on donated blood in secret. She wrote poems about shadows and stars. They spent nights taking walks underneath moonlight, speaking about life, death, and the areas in between.
Alex, the vampire who once knew only hunger, had subsequently tasted love.
And when the vampire council found his affection for a mortal — they gave him a choice:
Turn her. Leave her. Or die.
Alex chose none.
Instead, he took Lila’s hand and fled. They disappeared into the mists, into legend.
Some say they have been hunted and destroyed. Others say they discovered a way — a secret spell, a hidden cure, a new beginning.
But in Valemire, on cold iciness nights, when the moon is full and the bookstall mild flickers after midnight, some declare they see two shadows dancing amongst the shelves — a girl with a locket, and a man with sad eyes and a heart full of love.
And they say love, even the cursed kind, in no way virtually dies.
