↳ the székely series*
summary: count dracula stays at your family's home in greece while doing business with your father, a nobleman owning a firm in which the count has taken a certain interest in. dracula soon takes in interest in you as well
↳ nsfw alphabet*
summary: you know it
↳ the blood patron [1] [2]—[discontinued]
summary: you've gotten addicted to donating blood
↳ wild ride*
summary: drac feeds on you while you come
↳ beauty and the beast [1] [2] [3]—[discontinued]
summary: a spin on the fairytale
↳ domestic dracula
summary: drac living his best life with you in modern times
↳ what that beard do
summary: babe's been gone for a trip and you can't help yourself when you see him with a full and luscious beard
↳ im a slave 4 u*
summary: he's such a slut for you, especially when you're on your period
↳ eyes on me*
summary: dracula tells you to touch yourself for him
↳ drac with asthmatic!reader
summary: you are a prisoner in his castle and have an asthma attack in the cell
“How dare you touch him, any of you? How dare you cast eyes on him when I had forbidden it? Back, I tell you all! This man belongs to me!”
Perhaps you read Dracula Daily’s journal entry yesterday and wondered, gosh, did the Count confirm he’s into Jonathan? Was this vampire really just waiting for hot young solicitors in his area this whole time?
And then you might have realized, you know what, I do wish this scene had smuttier ramifications.
If so…
I give you At the Heart of the Beast on AO3 🥀🐺
Explicit NSFW rating, no archive warnings apply Pairing: Soft(er) Dracula x Jonathan Harker Inspiration: Bram Stoker’s timeless insinuations + the scene in Beauty and the Beast when Belle flees the castle, only to find herself amidst a pack of wolves
((An in character alternate ending, ~2000 words. Warning: severe self harm and blood drinking (consensual and not so)))
Journal of Mina Harker ; November 8, Constanta, Roumania
“Once more dear. Until you are stronger I will continue to provide for you”, Jonathan insisted as he removed his watch and placed it carefully on the table.
Just one more time. It was always one more time. Another addition to the secret we had kept since early October that kept compounding, my guilt accruing interest. I would move food around a plate and drink tea during the day to avoid suspicions of further change and would take small amounts of blood from him at night. This had been happening for nearly a month and I was not sure how much longer we could last. It was his idea in the beginning, he just wanted to help me, but lord did I become addicted. The energy and the few beats of our hearts as one in those moments felt like all I had left for myself. The intense pleasure was impossible to deny. I feigned resistance every time he offered his wrist or throat to me but we both knew it was in vain. It was a formality at that point, a sick ritual twisted to feel almost polite.
“No, my love, this want is a force of habit now. I need nothing but time with you in pure humanity”, I whispered to him as I lowered my head to meet his now extended arm, the hypocrite that I was.
A habit? It made no sense and we both knew it. This should have been over and yet it wasn't. His wrists and throat were dotted with tiny scars but I was careful enough they were near unnoticeable. A small sign of respect for him in such a disgusting act. Only if you looked very close, only if you ran your fingers along them, could you witness the pain of two freezing people. I wonder if they will be permanent, if the same wound opened again and again never quite closes. Nevertheless, he still regarded me with so much love. So he gave and I took. He tasted bitter but not in an entirely unpleasant way. I could taste whatever was in the old flask the men passed around earlier and I was glad I did not partake. I pulled away from him and all was well again. We could go back to pretending we were in love in all the average healthy ways.
That is when Jack joined us. He was no longer crying but he still spoke softer than normal and looked shaken. We sat down and took out a pack of cards. Jack was dealing as usual and I felt what he wanted to say even though he bit his tongue. Survivors guilt is a noun, the bone deep guilt one feels after surviving a tragic event others did not. His friend died in the snow and in some twisted way he felt guilty for it. Quincey was such a good man, a shame out of all of us he suffered a fatal blow. It really should have been me, damned as I am, but it must be some comfort to us that the poor fellow is in heaven. We finished the game with little fanfare. I do not remember who won but I suppose that doesn't matter. It was a small distraction. Card games are for happier folk than us. We went through the motions of celebration but little did we feel it. Lord Godalming also seemed shaken by grief that night, he after all was returning home to no father and no wife. There was a victory, yes, but at what cost? Quincey had looked up at me in the end, he said I was worth fighting for, but a faded scar remains in hash lighting.
After the game I was feeling quite odd and unwell so I excused myself to the washroom. It was a shaky little space and there was nothing but a basin, bucket, and small mirror to serve the men’s shaving and the women’s vanity as they approached the city. It was shaking from the movement of the train which made me feel quite ill. Jonathan ran in after me and held my hair back as I hurled only blood and bile into the basin. God, it was awful. I must have swooned for everything was blurry until he shook me and my head shot up to face the mirror. I thought there was something wrong with it for a moment. I suppose my thoughts were blurred and I had forgotten the facts of the matter but now it was crystal clear before us, only Jonathan cast any reflection. I stood in front, tall as him if not taller, and yet he was the only figure visible in the pristine glass. We stood there in still silence for a moment, processing I suppose, until he gently wrapped his arms around me.
I have no idea why he did such a thing or made any of the decisions he did tonight for that matter. I was newly a vampire, had he not read about Lucy? Had he forgotten everything or did he simply not care? He needed to get away from me, run and tell the others, dig a stake out of a bag, find a knife, find a gun, anything. He should have done anything but stand there and hug me, bringing his pulse so close to where mine had just been. It made me feel the absence. I had to fill it. I turned around and bit down hard. It was instinct. I wasn’t in my right mind. I was suddenly starving. The strongest sense of urgency surged through me as I thrust myself upon him and the relief as his blood rushed into me was like nothing I have felt before. He yelped at the sudden sting but quieted quickly. It must have felt new to him, compared to the drops I had taken before it must have felt like he was being drained of all he had. Something human tugged at the corners of my mind but the animal won and I kept drinking, sinking father into him. Drifting, falling. Then I heard footsteps running toward the washroom and it brought me back to reality, something I thought impossible for such a fiend as I now was.
Jack burst into the room stake in hand and I jumped away from Jonathan. My ever protective husband, with blood still dying his shirt a bright crimson, stepped in front of me blocking the doctor’s advance. I cannot imagine what we looked like at that moment, both of us covered in one’s blood, but it must have been gruesome enough to give even a brave man pause. In Jack’s flinch Jonathan dashed toward him and attempted to twist the stake out of his hand. Through the ruffling and grunts of their subsequent struggle came a cracking sound and an ear piercing scream. The stake dropped to the floor and Jack stumbled backward shaking with shock and pain looking down at his obviously fractured wrist.
Time slowed as I watched Jonathan stare at his own brutality. He turned to me and his eyes were no longer cold, no, he suddenly held a great flame. He grabbed my hair and kissed me near violently. I was stunned. Why? Why? He bit down on my tongue hard enough to draw blood. My blood tasted different now, sickeningly sweet and slower flowing like syrup. It reminded me of His blood being forced upon me. The night I had no choice but to suffocate or swallow. Oh. That was my love’s mad method of exchange, he was making good on his vow to join me in undeath. He was creating his own life after life for us to share.
After one painfully sweet moment, I saw Arthur and Van Helsing approach Jack. Thank the lord they were so nice for it gave me time to alert Jonathan and push him off of me. His breathing was ragged and his teeth were sharpening. It was not enough, it was too slow. Turning took me and Lucy a long time after ingesting the cursed blood and if his sudden want for immortality was true, the change would need to be fast.
Everything began to move faster, and I made my decision, if Jonathan was hell bent on surviving then I would be too. Vampiric strength coursed through me and when Van Helsing turned and lunged for me he made a grave mistake, he forgot there was strength in my hands. I pushed him away before he could reach me with the point of his weapon and he hit the ground hard. Arthur looked petrified as Jack yelled at him to do something. He bent to grab the stake Jack had dropped but it was already in Jonathan’s hands. Jonathan smiled as a madman might as he raised the stake and impaled himself in the gut. Everyone froze as he crumpled to the ground. I ran to kneel beside him. What could I do? I could not work fast enough to heal him from such an injury, this would kill him.
I felt him convulse under me and knew it was over. I put my arms around him and cried. If the men staked me now, so be it. There was no life worth living for me without Jonathan, yet he turned to meet my gaze and gave me a look. The look that said trust me. He doubled over and made a strange sound that sounded almost like laughter as I felt him get colder to the touch. Laughter? He looked up at the other men and they went paler than him. He then faced me with eyes that flashed red and teeth now sharp enough to pierce flesh. It was a sick kind of brilliance he displayed, he had changed in a matter of minutes. He pulled the stake from himself and the wound healed. He wielded the gory stake like his knife raised against the count, daring anyone to come near us.
Then the world halted and bounced back like an elastic, pushing us all off balance. The train had pulled into a station. I grabbed Jonathan’s hand and pulled him out of that damned washroom and ran toward the exit. We were getting off this god damned train and if the men tried to follow us that would be their own suicidal mistake. I knew what feelings now took over my husband and did not want him to do anything he would regret to the few living people we still held dear. We could take a different train home. Home? Arthur interrupted the thought by making a pass at Jonathan with something sharp as we went by, correctly surmising he was the most dangerous. I bared my teeth in warning and he backed off. I managed to grab our bags as I pulled Jonathan through the train doors and into the night. Thank the lord for this strength.
I took a deep breath after leaping from the train. I had no idea where we were yet I could smell a sea breeze, a familiar scent that brought me back to happier times. It brought me back to Lucy. God if she could see me now. If they didn’t kill her we could be together forever by the sea, Jonathan too, the two people I loved most in my life with me forever. This is a selfish desire, she is far better off dead and we would be too. Jonathan and I ran through the night, a small city surrounding us and a few thousand heart beats pounding in our ears. Suddenly he stopped and turned back to me with that pure animalistic hunger in his eyes.
We found an alley and a drunken man. He tried to say something about my beauty and Jonathan took his flirting as an excuse to all but rip his throat out. Poor fellow, we left him with no idea whether he would survive. Jonathan certainly didn’t care. Not in the moment.
We then found a hotel and a few coins in our pockets. We must have looked crazed covered in as much blood as we were, but paying for a room and a half seemed to work just fine.
We got into the small chambers and changed to unsoiled night clothes. Now I sit in a chair in the corner, it is big and soft, and the act of recounting the night feels too normal. The act of writing in shorthand as I am is too human. I feel more than I thought I would dead. I wonder if the Count felt this much, the living emotions clashing with the dead man’s hunger. Real guilt. It does not matter, Jonathan is beckoning me to join him in our bed now so I must cease my journalling. We are closing the curtains and plan to sleep through the day if we are able. Tomorrow night we will start to find our way home whatever that means. I suppose it must be native soil at least. I suppose we shall be the terrors of England now. No. Maybe. We shall have to figure that out.
Goodnight friends, Mina
((If you would like some form of continuation please let me know. I’ll write a whole book! Wait, don't let me do that, I don’t have the time. Expect at least one more chapter though. I can’t help myself.))
"I shall not wait for any opportunity," Quincey said fiercely. "When I see the box I shall open it and destroy the monster, though there were a thousand men looking on, and if I am to be wiped out for it the next moment!"
Almost before he had finished speaking, Harker stepped up to him and reached out to clasp his hand. His grip was strong, his eyes blazing, and in that moment a solemn promise was agreed upon between the two of them without a single word spoken. They were in agreement: neither of them would let any chance slip by. This Count would die at their hands, no matter the cost.
It was no longer any real surprise at this point, but Quincey still found himself thinking it again: there's the man who made it out of that castle.
After Van Helsing finished speaking, all the men turned to disperse. Quincey stood behind for a moment or two, lost in thought. He had less to arrange than the others. Watching over Art after his father and fiancee's death, he'd taken a notion - and then an afternoon - to update his own will. He hadn't known exactly why, then. The musing over where the blood had gone had reminded him of the Pampas, sure, but he hadn't truly expected anything like what was to come. He'd just seen all Arthur had to deal with, and thought to smooth the path back home should the unexpected come to pass.
For all that everything had changed in the past few days, not much about his affairs would stand any different now. The only exception, perhaps, was the man whose oath he now shared, and that excellent, kind lady to which he was married. Perhaps he should add a proviso for their sake as well.
Thinking of the couple got Quincey's feet moving, and he quickly moved down the hallway. He caught up just before Harker stepped back into his own room, calling out to him.
"Might I have a word before you go?"
"Of course, Mr. Morris. What can I do for you?" He turned away from the door, his hand slipping off the handle.
"Pardon me for this, but," Quincey said, reaching out to grasp that hand before it fell to the man's side, "it's more yourself."
"I... don't understand," Harker said, his tone mildly confused. He didn't pull his hand away, but Quincey noticed him sliding a foot back an inch, firming his back to the wall. He looked straight up into Quincey's eyes.
"I couldn't help but notice," Quincey said. He reached up to fold both his palms around Harker's hand, squeezing a little. Hopefully sharing a bit of warmth.
Harker's hand was ice-cold between his fingers. He knew he ran a little hotter than most, but still he'd noticed the chill the moment they'd touched. Harker's face was pale, his eyes fierce but tired, all color washed out of his hair. For the past three days, he'd been moving about as if there was lightning running down his spine; a deep well of crackling energy barely hidden within his body, and rising almost to the surface whenever talk turned to their foe. Quincey respected it like anything. And yet...
"I apologize if I'm poking my nose where it isn't wanted. But I'd like to suggest you take it easy, today. Join your wife in her rest." Quincey rubbed the hand between his a little, drawing Harker's gaze and attention down to the point of contact between them. "We'll need all our strength when the time comes."
There was a long pause before Harker spoke.
"Thank you," he said, very quietly, eyes still on Quincey's hands. He looked back up again before going on: "I will try to keep that in mind."
His eyes were cold, too. Not heartless, just the opposite - all the heart within him set so firmly on his goal that everything else froze over. A deadly storm, just waiting to break loose, an intention sharp as a knife. Quincey felt a little hint of that lightning slip between them, settling against his own spine.
He let go, confident that Harker understood. The man might need a reminder or two in the days to come, but he'd make it through without collapsing prematurely. He'd do what it took to be there at the end, and he'd be ready when it came.
"That was all," Quincey said, stepping back. He nodded with a smile, and Harker smiled back. It was a small enough one, but that it was there at all was probably enough.
He headed off further down the hall, but didn't go right to his own room. He'd add the Harkers in, sure enough, but the worst eventualities could wait a little longer. First, he'd like to do something to help them before that day. They'd be heading out in the morning; that gave him an afternoon to find what he needed.
After it was all over, Mrs. Harker would probably want to write up their stories again. He'd seen that typewriter of hers, and surely there was something in London better-suited to bring along. And her husband... well, perhaps he could use a pair of gloves.
.
5 November, evening.
Harker wasn't wearing his gloves. Quincey had seen him wearing them when he set out with Art, so he didn't know why not today. Maybe he, too, had gotten hot during the headlong chase.
He must have, Quincey decided, because his ungloved hands felt so warm. He could feel one behind his head, supporting him, and one was reaching down over his own hand, pressing hard into his side.
It hurt. It hurt like nothing he'd ever felt, but Quincey didn't mind. Because he was cold, and getting colder. It was funny how the blood against his hand felt so hot, when his hand itself was trembling from the cold. Maybe it wasn't that Harker's hand was warm, but just his own that was cold.
Mrs. Harker's hand was warm, too. So warm around his other hand, and her eyes were welling up with tears, but full of life as well, for the first time in so long. He smiled to comfort her before the end came.
But it was all right. Wracked with shivers as he was, he didn't mind. The cost was paid. They'd agreed on that, and if anyone had to pay it, better he than...
It was good Harker wasn't wearing his gloves. The fabric would be clean later, not stained with the blood leaking out around both their fingers no matter how hand they pressed on the wound. Clean like Mrs. Harker's forehead, smooth and unblemished. Thank God. Thank God, that was truly a gift to see!
"I am only too happy to have been of any service! Oh, God!" he cried, shoving himself upright, pulling his hand away from Harker's to point to her. The wind bit at his exposed fingers, and he felt so cold, but it was okay. It was worth it to show them, in his last moments, now that the end had truly come. "It was worth for this to die!"
Pairing: Vampire!Levi Ackerman × Tomb Raider!Reader (M x GN reader)
Genre: Light Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Strangers to Friends
Summary: After centuries of seducing hearts but never finding love, Levi Ackerman has abandoned hope. His mansion hides a vault said to contain unimaginable treasures, and the only weapon that can end his cursed existence. When a tomb raider walks in, Levi offers a deal: spend seven nights with him and solve the vault’s puzzle. But the final twist? Read and find out!
Warnings: Cannon divergence (obviously), mild gore, vampirism, emotional manipulation, moral dilemma, typical horror themes; Reader is referred to as they/them + tomb raider/treasure hunter/intruder. And English is not my first language.
Event masterlist.
The mansion loomed like a solitary ghost on an otherwise lively street, black as charcoal against a brooding sky. It occupied half the block behind an imposing low stone wall topped by a tall fence, its jagged spires stood silent and foreboding.
On that side of the street no birds sang, no wind stirred — as if life itself held its breath in fright. Only the crunch of boots on autumn-kissed leaves broke the stillness, as a bold intruder approached the closed gates.
Rumors swirled around the house: abandoned for centuries, it supposedly hid a sealed vault brimming with unimaginable wealth, while the ghost of its original owner still roamed the halls. Those who entered the haunted lair never found the treasure, but none emerged unchanged.
The tale of a creature that once walked among men morphed into a full‑blown ghost story, growing with each retelling until it attracted thrill‑seekers from across the country. The mansion became a pilgrimage site for horror fans; an indie horror film even used it as a set, featuring a cameo by the enigmatic owner, Levi Ackerman.
Levi was a strange man, allegedly a descendant of the figure whispered about in the ghost stories. He was never seen leaving the mansion, yet occasional sightings placed him in odd locations at unsettling hours — once in the park at midnight, another time in the cemetery at dusk.
His eerie presence inspired the wildest theories — fueled, no doubt, by the movie’s premise. Soon his name became synonymous with vampires, beasts, monsters, and curses. Legends, however, don’t deter treasure hunters; they lure them in like moths to a flame.
The tomb raider carefully cracked open the gate, as if expecting to be caught. And in truth, they felt watched, not by someone, but by the mansion itself. By the land and the shadows that lingered in the corners.
They walked the stone path toward the door, unaware of the frightened expression they wore: wide eyes, shallow breath, every sense flaring to catch the slightest threat.
Something flickered at the edge of their vision. They halted, head snapping towards movement; too fast to make out, too quiet to pinpoint. Part of them wanted to run. The place had been still as a grave before they disturbed it. If they hadn’t been creeped out then, they surely were now.
But this was only the beginning of the night — well, the day, technically. Probably near lunch, judging by the sun’s half-hearted attempt to shine through the usual grey sky.
They turned their gaze to the goal ahead, and their breath caught. The door was wide open now, and from where they stood, they could see the inside was well lit. Faint light shimmered through the windows of the mansion, unlike a few moments ago. Maybe it was the house that was cursed, and not the owner; maybe it was the land it was built on.
Looking around, they resumed walking — this time faster. They felt death creeping up behind them, like when you're a kid and have to turn the lights off and rush back to bed.
Although, rationally speaking, the smart thing to do was maintain calm. After all, panicked people are usually the first to die in horror movies, aren’t they? Not that they’d know. They didn’t watch horror movies. They preferred documentaries on ancient civilizations.
People liked to degrade their profession by calling them tomb raiders, but they were treasure hunters. Indie archeologists who risked their lives to solve the mysteries others were too busy, or too bored, to care about.
Lingering by the door, unsure of whether to announce themselves or not, they finally stepped inside after a failed attempt at a weak knock. There was a wide and long corridor, littered with portraits of similar looking people, statues and artifacts. Further ahead there was a staircase that swirled upward like a hand on someone’s throat.
Oddly, the air was colder there than on the outside. The decor reminded them of a mausoleum; grey marble floors, dark wood furniture, a thick scent of old books, something nauseatingly sweet, and… iron?
A chill ran down their spine when the door creaked and closed with a soft click. The intruder turned and saw an elegant figure staring back at them, watching them with unreadable eyes. Yet, their face flashed with surprise, then turned into a scowl of irritation.
Levi Ackerman was not monstrous, he was immaculate. Dressed in black velvet, his presence quiet but grave, as if they were some kind of royalty.
“You took longer than I expected,” he said, voice low and dry.
The intruder blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I know when someone wants something they shouldn’t.”
Something flickered across his face, too brief to name, but his eyes betrayed him; They were dark with bitterness.
“You’re here for the vault.” He approached gracefully. “Everyone is.”
The intruder squared their shoulders. “I’m not everyone.”
“Really?” Levi said, meeting their gaze. “Why are you here, then?”
“I…” They started, shuffling about for an excuse.
Levi sighed, raising a hand. “Don’t bother. Why don’t you join me for lunch?”
“Lunch?” Oops, did they say that out loud?
The intruder hesitated; Lunch? In a haunted mansion? With a man who looked like he’d stepped out of a cursed oil painting? Yeah, he was good looking. But aren't most villains?
Levi was already turning, his footsteps silent against the marble floor as he ignored the blunt question.
“You’ll find the dining room more welcoming,” he said over his shoulder.
They followed, too stunned to do anything else. This really wasn’t going as planned; not that they had made a detailed one.
The dining room was absurdly elegant. Sunlight filtered through stained glass windows, casting fractured reds and greens across a table long enough to host a royal banquet.
The intruder nearly bumped into an armor suit while marveling at the many artifacts displayed around the room. And the room was warmer and welcoming, but not exactly in a comforting way. More like the creepy breath on the back of your neck when you’re alone.
Levi gestured to the seat across from him. “Eat, it's not poisoned.”
They sat slowly. “That’s not very reassuring.”
“I didn’t intend it to be.”
The table was set for one. Roasted meats, glistening fruits, bread still steaming. Levi didn’t have a plate — There was nothing but a single glass goblet in front of him, filled with a dark liquid.
“Isn't it too early for red wine?”
“It’s blood,” Levi said nonchalantly, fingers laced around the slender grasp.
A moment of silence passed awkwardly, the intruder didn't know if he was joking or not. Picking up their own fork, they stabbed what appeared to be a poached pear soaked in red wine, and glanced at Levi before sniffing it. Liver? They scrunched their face, but he didn’t blink. So, they took a tiny bite — just to be polite.
“You’re really leaning into the vampire thing.”
“It’s a curse.” Levi’s voice was sour. He leaned back, a soft tch escaping his lips. “These days you brats are so disillusioned with modern life, you wouldn’t recognize real magic if it slapped you in the face.”
“Is this some sort of sick, twisted fantasy you’re into? I mean, living here all by yourself must be awful…” They wandered as an intrusive thought held them hostage. “You are alone… right?”
Silence stretched again, this time thick and suffocating. Levi held their gaze with a hypnotic intensity as he leaned in, his eyes grey like the surface of a frozen lake: cold and unyielding, but beautiful. They felt themselves sinking, losing the strength to resist its pull. Then, abruptly, he looked away.
“I told them the same I’ll tell you,” he said calmly. “Seven nights. That’s the deal.”
“Seven… nights?” The intruder repeated as if in a daze, but then the words sunk in. “Wait. What? A deal?”
“You came here for the treasure in the vault, didn’t you?”
“Well,” they tiptoed, “Yes, but…”
“If you solve the vault’s puzzle, you may take what you desire. That’s the deal I made with all who came before you.”
“Right… And if I don’t?”
Levi stood up, and the room seemed to dim when he did. “Then you die.
Or you leave. Or stay. It depends on how interesting you are.”
They stared at him. “You’re mad.”
Levi’s gaze didn’t flicker. “I’m cursed.”
Same thing.
They came to an agreement silently.
Day One.
Levi was a gracious host, albeit not really into conversation. He gave them a tour of the mansion and the grounds, but didn’t narrate every single aspect of a place like an overly enthusiastic tourist guide — which they were grateful for.
They noticed he moved like a shadow, he almost glided, barely making any sound. The tour only halted when Levi pointed out some artifact or made a comment that tied back to the supposed curse he was under.
Then he insulted them just to say they should be writing notes as it could help them with solving the puzzle. They groaned internally, if he was cursed with anything it was with methodical freakishness — that's why it'd take seven days.
The mansion was impossibly vast, each room a museum of forgotten centuries, all impossibly clean and polished. Did he spend all his time doing chores? There must be something else you'd do with eternal life, if you could believe his crazy ass story.
“These things should be in a museum,” the tomb raider muttered, trailing fingers along a tapestry that depicted the coronation of a king that lived a thousand years ago.
Levi didn’t smile. “They're only cheap souvenirs.”
The tour took nearly all afternoon, and by the end they had filled their notebook almost entirely. It'd be a long night to decipher their scribbles and organize it in a way that made sense.
Levi guided them to the bedroom they'd be staying in. The portraits on that corridor were the first clue he might be saying the truth in regards to the curse. Lining the wall like sentinels, each portrait bore a man with sharp eyes and dark hair — the resemblance was uncanny — some wore armor, others velvet, one had a powdered wig.
“They all look like you,” the intruder said, stepping closer to inspect the age of the painting.
“They are me.” Levi’s voice was flat. “I’ve lived many lives... But this has always been my home.”
He paused before a painting of a young man in clothes from half a century ago. “This was the last time I was truly alive.”
They walked up beside him, he looked happy in the painting, a few years younger than he looked like now. For once, the treasure hunter choose to keep their thoughts private.
Levi gave his goodnight as they reached the bedroom's door, not failing to mention dinner would be served at 7 — and that afterwards they were forbidden to leave the bedroom until dawn.
Day Two.
Whispers. Unintelligible, yet too close. The sound was inside their head.
They woke with a gasp, scattering papers and knocking over the books they’d fallen asleep on.
Right. The night before, they’d been reading occult texts Levi himself had recommended, while he recounted the tale of his curse.
Apparently, he’d insulted a warlock’s apprentice. Without knowing the sorcerer was nursing a vendetta against Levi’s family — which Levi blamed on his “crazy old uncle” — he then cursed him out of spite, and hid the only object that could break the curse inside the family’s vault, placing a magical puzzle as its lock.
Breakfast was awaiting them on a tray outside, untouched and still warm. A note accompanied it, written in a hand so precise it looked a piece of art:
Meet me in the library right away. — L. A.
Why did he sign it? Weren’t they the only ones in the mansion?
The treasure hunter slapped two pieces of toast together with jam, bit off a mouthful of sausage, and made their way to the library — mentally reviewing the previous day and checking their notes, which they’d thankfully remembered to store in their jacket’s inner pocket.
The books, however, had been left behind. No worries, they’d probably still need to check them again. Barely any progress had been made on the vault’s puzzle. For some reason, it seemed of great importance to Levi that the vault be opened. Maybe he was running out of money and didn’t want to resort to selling his precious souvenirs.
The library was breathtaking in daylight. Natural-looking, despite its cathedral-like vibe. Wide and open, with columns that resembled tree trunks and spiral staircases that looked almost alive.
Levi stood by the window, staring at the sky outside as if it owed him something. He didn’t greet them. In fact, he barely acknowledged their presence — until something made him halt abruptly, his face drawn into a scowl of irritation. For someone usually restrained and stoic, Levi’s expressions could rival the drama of a Renaissance painting.
“What are you doing?” he asked, voice harsh.
The intruder blinked. “What?”
“I mean, why are you eating here?”
“Ah, you told me to come right away.” They approached, finishing the toast.
“I…” Levi pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “You should have eaten before coming.”
The tomb raider waved it off with a casual shrug.
They spent most of the day in the library, where the vault was located.
Conversation came naturally after the treasure hunter found an old tome tied to one of their past adventures in search of legendary artifacts. Time slipped by seamlessly, and neither of them gave much thought to the goal they’d once made a deal on.
For that moment, they were just two strangers getting to know each other, without any ulterior motives.
Dinner was truly welcoming this time. Levi was in a good mood, talking about his many lives, the historical events he’d lived through, and some important figures he’d met; and apparently sunk his fangs into.
He even asked about their travels, listened attentively, and laughed once — a low, surprised sound that made the treasure hunter glance up in disbelief. They wondered if this was the real man behind the vampiric farce.
It wasn’t that they didn’t believe in magic. They’d walked into plenty of creepy places and dealt with supernatural horrors in their quests for wealth and glory. But Levi didn’t seem cursed, as he claimed. Especially not with something like vampirism. Other than his odd behavior and unusual personality, there was nothing visibly wrong with him.
“You’re more comfortable tonight,” they said.
Levi tilted his head. “I suppose I’m allowed to be. This is my home, after all.”
They nodded, turning their attention back to the rich food displayed in front of them. This time, Levi had a plate with a small portion of thick red soup. Apparently, he could only eat easily digestible ingredients, and even then, they had to be in liquid form.
He’d explained back in the library that the curse affected his health greatly. Despite granting him eternal life, it was more a sort of half-life, where he had to ingest blood to sustain his fragile body and fend off a kind of incurable anemia.
But they still couldn’t understand why he was cursed. He’d only brushed over the topic, mentioning many times the warlock with a grudge against his family, but smoothly changing topic when they asked about the apprentice. Their researcher instincts flared, they knew there was more to this story. They weren’t confident enough to press him, though. That was, until now.
“So,” they said gently, “about the curse…”
Levi froze for a second, before he rested his spoon back on the plate with a clink. His gaze found theirs, only to drift to his cup.
“I mean, you told me some of it,” they continued. “But what really happened? Why did he curse you like that?”
Levi’s face shifted. Wrath flashed like thunder, twisting his beautiful features into something horrifying — for the blink of an eye. Then the usual scowl returned. But the warmth had drained from his eyes like a deer bled dry.
“There’s nothing more to it.” He pointed, eyes still locked on his cup.
The intruder straightened on their seat. “But—”
“I said no.” He growled bestially, his gaze piercing straight through their heart.
The silence that followed was sharp. Levi stood, recomposed himself, and walked away without another word.
They sat alone at the table, moonlight flickering across the room as clouds covered the sky again. Only then did they notice the beautiful stained glass windows were designed with metal bars, just like a prison. Then it hit them, the dread of the curse.
A golden cage is still a cage; a frail body is still fragile, even if it lives on forever.
Okay. Perhaps now they believed the curse was real. But it still didn’t add up.
Day Three.
The intruder woke to the sound of whispers, yet again. A muffled shout from the other-world, but deliberately sharp. They got up and immediately peeked through the curtains, only to see Levi walking across the lawn, his silhouette morphing with the dawn mist.
He wasn’t all dressed up, it seemed he had given up on sleep. A loose shirt hung over his trousers, disheveled hair and barefoot, moving like someone being haunted by a ghost.
Curiosity got the best of them — they were a tomb raider after all — so they pulled on a coat to go outside.
They followed him past the greenhouse, through the forest garden, and into the cemetery. Levi didn’t look back, nor seemed to notice he was being stalked. He stopped at a lonely grave, marked with a statue with bleeding eyes. The tombstone was newer than the others, seemingly untouched by time.
Levi knelt, dusting off the fallen leaves with great care. His shoulders slouched as he sat on his heels, and after a moment he placed a red rose on the stone. He whispered something, too softly to hear. Then he stood and stared at the grave like it had him on a chokehold.
They approached slowly, as if in a dream. “Levi,” they whispered, voice low and soothing.
He didn’t turn, nor flinched. “You shouldn’t be here.” His voice was hollow.
“I’m sorry,” the words had a will of their own. “But I need to know the truth.”
A long silence. Then Levi spoke from a place deep within memory itself.
“I used to think the curse was a joke. Then a twisted gift — Eternal youth, endless nights with no consequences. I threw parties like tomorrow would never come, because for me, it wasn’t.
And I kept on seducing anyone I wanted, until I started to feel a thirst that neither water nor wine could satiate… Only then I believed it was real. But it wasn’t a curse yet, no, that was after my body broke and the world’s best doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me.”
The intruder stepped up beside him, listening quietly.
He laughed bitterly. “I was beautiful, powerful. People fawned all over me, just for me to look in their direction. And I loved being untouchable…
But then too many years passed. My family was dead. Friends only came when they were in need. The mansion was filled with things I hoarded. I had everything, yet, none of it mattered. I was alone. Utterly devoid of the warmth life provided to everyone else. Then I realized…”
He raised a hand to caress the statue’s cheek. “I had never loved anyone. I only took what they gave until they had no more to give.”
Their gaze drifted to the marble book the statue held open, carved on it was a poem:
The heart gives freely, without knowing why;
The mouth speaks truth, cold and dry.
Now time shall bind the twisted,
To walk starved forevermore.
Or until love, the strongest force,
Willingly accepts the cursed.
“I want to cry,” he whispered. “But I can’t. I can’t... I don’t have tears. Because I don't have a heart.”
Levi slammed his fist against the tombstone. “I don’t have a heart.” He said, repeating the motion as he said it again. And again, frenetically, until blood smeared across the marble.
The intruder reached out, gently wrapping their arms around him. He stiffened, halting his action, but didn’t pull away.
“Levi,” their heart clenched. “I see you… and the heart you locked away inside a vault.”
His breath hitched, lips quivering as he fought the feeling that came over him. But then, he let go, and a single tear fell.
It landed on the ground by the statue’s feet, then glowed faintly before vanishing into the stone.
Levi gasped. His skin, once ice-cold, began to warm. His complexion softened as color returned to his cheeks.
He pulled back to look at them, eyes wide. “What did you do?” He muttered breathlessly, holding his chest.
“I… I didn’t do anything,” they said. “I just… wanted to console you.”
“Trick or Treat!” The children shouted excitedly as Levi opened the door.
He let out a loud tch, but greeted them anyway. “If you brats show me good tricks, I’ll give you good treats.”
They could hear the faint smile in his voice, despite his effort to maintain the vampire facade that made the mansion so famous this time of the year.
“What do you have for us this year?” The intruder asked softly as they approached Levi.
It was Halloween again; now their favorite time of year, ever since the curse had broken around this season a few years back. Levi had grown fond of role-playing the legend that lingered over his name and home. The mansion was still quiet, but no longer haunted.
The intruder was no longer a stranger — and no longer an intruder. They spent slow mornings by the library window, often too distracted by Levi tending the garden outside. He had started planting flowers around the statue that once held him bound to the curse.
They remembered that early morning in the cemetery. Levi had told them the truth after they returned inside; how he had seduced and toyed with the sorcerer’s apprentice, only to discard them and reject their affection when they gave Levi their whole heart.
Levi had woken up sobbing for days after the curse was broken, clinging to them like a child afraid their parents wouldn’t return from a trip. That's how three days turned into seven nights; and seven nights turned into years.
He was learning to live again. It was awkward, and raw, but real.
The curse hadn’t been a magical puzzle to solve. It had been a lesson waiting to be learned.
One that could only be learned through love.
The End.
Gods be good! I thought I wasn't going to finish this today. I had a busy week at work and only had time to finish writing today (Sunday, 05/10). Thankfully, I'm quite methodical, so I had reviewed what I had already written and also drafted this post!
Thank you so much for reading! I truly hope you enjoyed it, I surely had a lot of fun writing this. Happy Halloween and stay safe!
