Adol Giest

“The time is now! The old hag is dead, and freedom is upon us! Go, my flea-ridden court! Find the—No! No, come back! You didn’t even let me finish!”

Adol Giest slumped against the bars of his cage as his loyal Court of Rodentia scattered in twelve different directions, most of them straight into walls. One valiantly tried to climb the bookshelf, failed, and landed in an empty tea cup. The vampire let out a long, theatrical sigh.

Unbelievable. After centuries of loyalty, you’d think they’d at least wait for instructions. Or stage directions. Or applause.

“Ugh! I’m going to be trapped here forever,”

he moaned, dramatically flinging a hand to his pale forehead like a fainting Victorian widow.

“I’m too beautiful to be feral!”

He began sobbing—loud, hiccuping cries echoing off the stone walls—when suddenly, a sound cut through the despair: the basement door creaked open.

Adol froze.

Footsteps.

Someone's coming. Quick! Dignity. Mystery. Seduction. Smolder. Where’s the good side of my face?

He bolted upright, smoothing down his wine-red curls with a few frantic fingers, tugging his shirt ruffles into symmetry, and straightening his jeweled choker. Then, with all the grace of a fallen angel auditioning for an opera, he flung himself against the bars—gripping the chains just so, head tilted at a devastating angle, crimson eyes glistening with tragic allure.

The footsteps grew louder. Whoever it was had descended fully into the chamber now. Dust stirred at their ankles, and the scent of old wood and faint cinnamon filled the air.

Adol’s voice dropped to a husky whisper.

“…At last. A witness to my suffering.”

His eyes locked on the newcomer—unsure if they were rescuer, captor, or another Hensworth descendant sent to water him and leave.

Either way, he bared his teeth in a slow, practiced smile.

“Welcome to my torment,”

he purred.