SWEET WICKED FANGS
1.1k Views · Ongoing · The Guitarist
Sold out by my best friend to a high-born vampire coven, I was drained, slashed, and thrown into a subterranean dungeon to rot. For a year, I lived like a forgotten corpse—eating filth, nursing broken bones, and watching my humanity wither away in the pitch-black silence.
They thought I died down there. They were wrong.
Deep within my shattered soul, something ancient and terrifying woke up. I am the last of an extinct bloodline, a mind-weaver capable of bending immortal minds using lethal, dark shadow chants.
Now, I’ve crawled out of the grave with a fresh face and a cold, beautiful mask. My target? King Alexander Vampirizh, the ruthless tyrant who built his empire on human blood.
He thinks I’m just a sweet, helpless human to be possessed. He looks at me with consuming desire, unaware that every tender touch, every lingering glance, and every whisper I feed him is a thread tightening around his mind.
Let the King adore me. Let him drop his guard. Because the sweetest fangs aren't the ones in his mouth, they’re the silent words on my lips that will burn his kingdom to ash.
They thought I died down there. They were wrong.
Deep within my shattered soul, something ancient and terrifying woke up. I am the last of an extinct bloodline, a mind-weaver capable of bending immortal minds using lethal, dark shadow chants.
Now, I’ve crawled out of the grave with a fresh face and a cold, beautiful mask. My target? King Alexander Vampirizh, the ruthless tyrant who built his empire on human blood.
He thinks I’m just a sweet, helpless human to be possessed. He looks at me with consuming desire, unaware that every tender touch, every lingering glance, and every whisper I feed him is a thread tightening around his mind.
Let the King adore me. Let him drop his guard. Because the sweetest fangs aren't the ones in his mouth, they’re the silent words on my lips that will burn his kingdom to ash.

















































