When Night Comes

1. 𝓥𝓮𝓷𝓲, 𝓿𝓲𝓭𝓲, 𝓪𝓿𝓪𝓭𝓲.

Dorian de Beauvoir was an old soul. Something people would often never notice. After all, with his youthful features, no one would think he was past his thirties. He was attractive and he knew it. Blonde with blue eyes, the duke was often approached by ladies and gentlemen. Most encounters didn't end well for these people. If only they knew. If only they knew what he really was. Because behind all this pleasant — and perfect, dare he say — exterior, hid a monster. Dorian was a vampire, a creature of the night lurking in the shadows, ever watchful for unsuspecting victims to sate his unholy hunger.

This, in fact, was exactly what he was doing this afternoon. While he had a chevalier ring, shielding him from the effects of the sun, his preference was to hunt under the veil of night or during overcast days, when more humans ventured into these forests under a less harsh daylight.

Among these sunlit wanderers was a young maiden. Dorian could hear her footsteps and the faint hum of a tune as she ventured into a woodland clearing. Her attire, a simple woolen dress with an apron, bore the marks of labor and grime. It didn't take long for him to discern her as a peasant girl, no older than fifteen. With a determined expression, she foraged for mushrooms, collecting them diligently in her wicker basket.

She didn't notice him, too focused on her task to pay mind to anyone else. She was young. He typically avoided feeding on children, and yet, he found himself unable to look away. Still, Dorian observed from a distance. He himself wasn't sure why. Perhaps it had been because of the gaping hole he felt in his chest. Loneliness. A curse many vampires were accustomed to.

Once she was done with her task, she sat on the grass. Closing her eyes and sighing, she seemed to be exhausted by the work. The sun had set not long ago and Dorian questioned whether she intended to return home at all.

His decision was made, he left his vantage point and approached her quietly. "The sun has set," he spoke, causing the young lady to jump with a start. "Do you not have a place to be?"

She appeared surprised. Vampires had this ability to creep up on mortals without them noticing. The girl stood up abruptly.

"I— Yes," the peasant confirmed before beginning to walk away quickly.

"Let me accompany you." He followed her and soon caught up to her. "A young girl such as yourself shouldn't walk alone at this hour of the day," he commented, justifying himself as he added a pleasant smile. 

"That won't be necessary," assured the girl, "my Lord," she added, noticing his expensive attire.

"I insist."

And that was that. He had spoken with conviction, showcasing how he wouldn't change his mind. She looked tense, but didn't dare to refuse.

"Do you live nearby ?" He asked after a long moment of silence. She nodded mutely.

His attempts at small tasks proved to be fruitless, but he didn't mind too much. Nevertheless, the journey proved brief, as they reached a small cottage at the forest's edge within a quarter of an hour. Dorian's reaction was immediate—a derisive sneer contorted his features as he regarded the humble dwelling with disdain.

This... thing wasn't even the size of his wardrobe. It was a humble structure, its thatched roof weathered by time and rough-hewn wooden walls bearing the scars of years. The simplicity of the cottage's design and construction was an eyesore to the noble, who was accustomed to the grandeur of opulent manors and palaces. The dichotomy was painfully apparent.

A light chuckle escaped Dorian's lips as he surveyed the unimpressive abode. "This place?" He inquired almost rhetorically, his tone unimpressed by the humble dwelling.

The girl's demeanor stiffened visibly, and her response came with a touch of defensiveness. "Yes, it's my home," she almost snapped, a trace of pride in her voice.

His smile wavered, an odd sensation settling in his chest. It seemed as though she didn't quite belong here, amidst such simplicity. He looked down at the little mortal. He felt as if she shouldn't be here.

The door cracked open, a woman that looked quite similar to the little girl came out. Her mother. He narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw.

"(Y/N)," called the woman with a relieved smile. She put a hand on her hips and pointed at the young girl. "You were supposed to come back before the sunset, young lady," she scolded her with maternal authority.

(Y/n) appeared sheepish. "Sorry, mom," she said, a bit embarrassed. "I ventured a bit farther than I usually do. On the bright side, I found more mushrooms."

The mother sighed good naturedly before turning to Dorian. She now looked uncomfortable. "I apologize for my daughter, my Lord," she hastily said, her hand moving protectively to grasp her daughter's arm. "I hope she didn't cause any trouble."

The man's indifferent face shifted into a charming smile. "I can assure you she didn't," he answered. "I simply found this young lady alone in the woods and suggested bringing her back home."

The peasant woman expressed her gratitude with a touch of hesitation before they exchanged pleasantries and bade each other farewell. Dorian continued on his path, returning to his hunt, but his thoughts lingered on the girl. He couldn't help but wonder if this chance encounter had left as indelible a mark on her as it had on him.