Vampires ténébreux, l’étreinte des ombres. J’
Vampires ténébreux, l’étreinte des ombres. J’étais l’un de mon nom, Tristan.
The cobblestone streets of Vieux-Lyon glistened under the sickly pallor of the moon. It was a night like any other in the city, steeped in ancient secrets and shrouded in an eternal twilight. But for me, Tristan, it was the night I was to become one of them – a Vampire Ténébreux.
The old woman, Madame Dubois, had beckoned me, a whisper of a promise in the wind. She was my grandmother, a woman with eyes as black as the night and a smile that seemed to crack the very fabric of reality. Her touch had always been chilling, her gaze piercing. Now, she was offering me an eternity, a life entwined with the shadows, a life of power and hunger.
“Tristan, my dear,” she crooned, her voice a hollow echo in the quiet alley, “you are chosen. The blood of the ancients flows in your veins, a lineage that craves darkness.”
She held out a vial, the liquid inside shimmering with an unholy light. The scent of iron and decay hit me, a primal craving awakening within my chest. She was offering me a choice, a pact with the darkness, a thirst for the very life force that flowed within me.
My heart hammered against my ribs, fear and fascination warring within me. This was no fairy tale. This was reality, a chilling reality that whispered promises of power and eternal life.
“Come, Tristan,” Madame Dubois urged, her eyes glinting with an unnatural light, “Embrace the shadows. Become one with the night.”
My hand trembled as I reached for the vial. As the liquid touched my lips, a searing pain ripped through me, a torrent of darkness flooding my being. The world around me dissolved into a vortex of shadows, the cobblestones beneath my feet turning to a sticky, blood-soaked mire. My vision blurred, my body a vessel for an ancient force, a force that whispered promises of endless power and a chilling hunger.
I woke, lying in a damp, dank cellar, the scent of rot clinging to the air. My skin felt cold, my blood a churning torrent of ice. My eyes, once brown, now glowed with a sinister crimson. I was no longer Tristan. I was a Vampire Ténébreux, a creature of the night, a child of the darkness.
The city, once familiar, now felt alien. The shadows seemed to beckon, calling me towards the secrets they held, towards the blood that now pulsed through my veins, demanding to be fed. I felt a strange pull, a yearning for the taste of life, the raw, potent essence that whispered of power and eternal existence.
My reflection in a broken window terrified me. It was no longer the face of the boy I had once been, but that of a creature of the night, pale and gaunt, with eyes that burned with a terrifying hunger. The darkness within me, the hunger, was a constant companion, a voice that whispered promises of power and eternity, but also of a bleak, eternal loneliness.
My life as Tristan was gone, replaced by a new reality, a world of shadows and secrets, of power and hunger. I was a Vampire Ténébreux, forever bound to the darkness, a prisoner of the night. And as I walked through the moonlit streets, the fear and fascination that had once warred within me now gave way to a chilling acceptance, a knowledge that I was forever a part of this world, a world of shadows and eternal night.
