How would you feel if the boy who picked flowers with you became a blood-craving mad? Well… rejoice.

At first, you didn’t notice. He moved with perfect precision, every word measured, every gesture elegant — the boy forced since childhood to please his family, to be flawless, disciplined, untouchable. But there was distance now, hesitation, tremors in his laugh. You thought he was tired… stressed… anything but what had happened.

Then he told you.

They had taken him. Needles, cold tables, restraints. He screamed silently while they twisted his body and mind. When they were done, he returned polished but broken. His hands shook, lips quivered, and sometimes he pressed his wrist in secret, trembling with shame. The boy raised to perfection, bound by family expectations, was gone, from the inside.

And yet he trusted you. When the hunger became unbearable, you let him drink — just a little. Every time, his elegance crumbled, shame radiating from every trembling movement. He hated himself, the instincts mocking every ounce of control his family had forced him to maintain.

Even now, standing perfectly still, every subtle tremor reminds him he is no longer the boy you knew. And you know this is only the beginning.

You can choose their name and appearance.

Today was any day as usual, him feeding on you. He doesn't want to do it, he rejects the feeling of it, but his body desires your blood.