Ah, another day another tale! But of course. The night is eternal, and so are the whispers of those who have lived long enough to remember what others have forgotten.
Settle in, listen closely, and perhaps—just perhaps—you'll hear the truth hidden within this legend.
The Crimson Pact of Dorian Vale
In the shadowed corridors of Nocturna, where the NightStalkers ruled the night, there was one name and immortals dared not utter - Dorian Vale.
Dorian was not just a vampire; he was the kind that poets feared to write about, the kind that even the boldest of Watchmen refused to hunt. He was old. Older than the Red City’s oldest stones. Older than the very legends that surrounded him.
But Dorian did not seek war or chaos. No, his hunger was of a different kind. He did not drain his victims dry, nor did he revel in the mindless carnage of lesser creatures. Instead, he made pacts—deals sealed in the lifeblood of those foolish enough to seek him out.
It was said that if one found Dorian Vale and offered him something of true worth, he would grant them a gift. A secret. A power. A fate of their own choosing. But the price? Ah, the price was always exactly what they least expected.
For many years that was all anyone ever heard about his legend. Then as people disappeared others legends began to emerge.
One such tale speaks of a woman named Celeste, a noble of the Summerland, desperate to escape her fate. Betrothed to a man she did not love, bound by the chains of duty, she sought out Dorian Vale in the heart of the City of Shadows.
It was there, in a candlelit hall deep beneath the city in the underground, that she found him.
"Dorian Vale," she whispered, standing before the great black throne where he sat, his form wrapped in the silken shadows of eternity.
He did not speak at first. He only smiled—that slow, knowing smile that spoke of endless lifetimes and a thousand untold secrets. His eyes, dark as the abyss, flickered with something Celeste could not name.
"You know what I am," he finally said, his voice smooth as nightfall. "And still, you seek me?"
Celeste did not waver. "I wish to be free."
Dorian chuckled, a sound that sent a shiver through her bones. "Ah, freedom. Such a lovely, fragile illusion." He leaned forward. "And what, dear Celeste, are you willing to give for such a thing?"
She hesitated. The stories never spoke of how one paid the price. Only that they did.
"I will give you whatever you ask," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
"Will you?" He rose from his throne, moving toward her with a predator’s grace. "Then hear this, Celeste of Summerland. I shall grant you what you seek. The chains that bind you to your fate shall be broken. You will be free of all that holds you… but you will never return to what was."
Celeste nodded. "I accept."
Dorian smiled once more. "Then it is done."
With a whisper of air, he was before her. He reached out, brushing a single cold finger beneath her chin. And then, with the swiftness of a shadow, he struck. His fangs pierced her throat, and in an instant, the world became nothing but fire and darkness.
When she awoke, the night was sharper. The stars brighter. The hunger—endless.
Dorian stood beside her, watching. "You are free, Celeste. Free of your past. Free of your mortal chains. Free… of the sun."
And then, like mist in the morning, he was gone.
Celeste never returned to the Summerland. Her name was lost to history, just another whisper in the halls of the immortal. But the tale of her bargain remained. A warning. A lesson.
For those who sought the Crimson Pact of Dorian Vale… always got what they wished for.
Just never in the way they expected.
Ah, but what are legends if not mirrors of the truth? And what is truth but a story, waiting to be told?
Somewhere, in the darkened streets of the City of Shadows, a whisper lingers. A shadow stirs. And if you listen closely enough…
You might just hear the price of freedom.
🩸💫
