"Y-you're a Vampire!"

The caped figure smiled, hoping it would translate to an eerie smirk. There was fear in the exclamation, of course. Panic. The last throes of agency before the sense of powerlessness would take hold. The usual, stimulating stuff. But there was something else this time, honey to Vampire Lord Crayve's pointed ears. Awe.

[Wait, not honey. Blood. Blood to his ears. Obviously.]

"And what if I am?"

He made his voice sonorous. Deep as the night, with a honed vocal tremor that some people would die for. Literally.

Words did not return to the lips of the Lady Applecott. He couldn't tell if she even tried. Mouth agape, a remnant of her last words - her last words ever, perhaps? - and quivering. But still standing. Faring better than most.

"Cat got your tongue?"

The voice still abyssal and melodic, carrying the questionmark as if on a silken pillow. He knew how well it worked, using childish proverbs like this, once his prey was speechless.

[Damn! Bat got your tongue! It was right there!]

The lips of the Lady Applecott pursed. Not a kiss, no, though it would not be the first time someone would make a desperate attempt at seduction. Would feign being impressed, seek to stroke the ego they hoped was there, hoped would overshadow the bloodlust, the sinister violence of the night. Not he. Not Vampire Lord Crayve.

Instead, a whisper. 'Wh'. A little breath. As if she was savouring them.

"Wh-?" she was saying. The small, frail sound barely reached him, but it was enough to help her voice return.

"What do you want from me?"

The words came out quite well. He had to give her that. She was nowhere near regaining control, of course. The control she had displayed so thoughtlessly before closing the garden gate. Her struggle for composure, for dignity, was enthralling.

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He let the silence linger. Sometimes a risky thing, but he liked to think it made the Lady Applecott feel all the more alone. Abandoned by the fancy world, with all its noise, that otherwise so casually surrounded her.

More importantly, he needed the silence to consider. Was it too soon to ask his question?

['Ask his question'? I'm not at her mercy. It should be 'make his demand'!]

Was it too soon to make his demand? Would he be showing his hand, make her feel like he needed her? It could embolden her to scream. Unlikely to do much good, but one never knows. But no. The Lady Applecott was not the type to scream. She would seek to retain composure, scream only when it became clear that he was a threat to her life. Right now, she was not quite certain of that. She knew he wanted something - he wondered what she though it was - and hoped she may give it without affecting her current life.

We get greedy, don't we, at death's door?

[But also generous. Oh so generous.]

There was a reason there had been awe in her voice when she saw him properly in the light of the stars. Caught the silver of his fangs, the crimson of his eyes. She had not spit the word - vampire! - like so many had done. He had heard the capital V. The helpless respect shown to a natural force, not the tangible fear of mortal whims.

It was worth the risk.

"My dear~," he accompanied the words with a flourish of his gloved hands.

"Whence your fear? There is no Blood Moon in the sky tonight."

[Such a good line. Properly intimidating. Properly aristocratic.]

Vampire Lord Crayve smiled at the Lady Applecott, the intended effect not an eerie smirk any more, but a bemused, indulgent smile. The kind a priest might offer, deliberately or not, to any who insisted they were free of sin.

She did not speak. He had to remind himself that this was not a conversation, not yet. The question had been rhetorical anyway, but something more than tense anticipation would have been appreciated. She was steadying her breath, the battle against frenzied fear all but won, but the scream was still right there, ready to pounce into the night.

It is a dance, the balance between panic and trepidation. Vampire Lord Crayven was good at it, though not, perhaps, quite yet a master.

['Tis true, alas.]

"Word has reached me," he said, relaxing his own stance, but not too much, followed by a raise of one eyebrow. Reprimanding in its effect, he hoped, as well as inquiring.

"Word has reached me that you have dabbled, my dear, in *our* affairs."

Stress on the 'our'. Almost guttural. For a moment, the abyss felt just a little deeper, just a little darker.

She looked perplexed, taken aback. A little bit too genuinely so for Vampire Lord Crayve's liking. He let her simmer for a few moments before he tilted his head, letting a coil of ashen grey hair tumble over his face. His next words were spoken slowly, at a deliberate pace, so that their quantity would not subtract from their gravity.

"Oh, you know full well what I mean, Ms Applecott. Rumours have spread on leathery wings. Your family" - perhaps, he thought, she would be more likely to confess to a wrongdoing of her family rather than of herself - "has glimpsed into our world. One of your line, yes~ at least one of your line, my dear, has read the forbidden script."

A pause, deemed necessary not merely for dramatic effect. He needed to convey the grandness of the thing.

"The Tome of UnDeath."