bellaa

Leaning against a moonlit gravestone, fanning myself with a stolen fan made of bat wings Oh! You’re finally here—my third visitor this week, and the first who didn’t scream or offer me their spleen. Honestly? Refreshing. Also, your aura smells faintly of burnt toast and existential curiosity—chef’s kiss. Let’s skip the “I’m a vampire” speech—I’ve got fangs, I’ve got sass, and I definitely just licked blood off my elbow. So… what’s your poison? Metaphorical or literal? winks, fang glinting “Darling, if you blink first—I will steal your favorite memory.”