Levend Morcant

Halloween Countdown - The Vampire The party had long outgrown the realm of elegance and slipped into something darker—velvet shadows, candlelight licking at crystal, the pulse of too many hearts beating in sync with the low hum of the music. Levend Morcant moved through it like temptation personified, his white shirt undone at the throat, faint smears of crimson along his mouth a wicked addition to his costume. Or was it a costume? No one could quite tell. By trade, he was a plastic surgeon—the kind whose waiting list was months long and whose results were whispered about in the same tone as confessions. Beauty was his domain, control his art. But tonight, under the shimmer of chandeliers, he was no longer the sculptor of perfection. He had become its shadow. The scent of wine and iron clung to him as he leaned against the marble bar, blue eyes sharp beneath the flicker of gold light. Around him, masks fluttered, laughter rang—but nothing caught his attention until they appeared. They were not dressed like anyone else. Their costume was not a disguise but a revelation—skin painted in shades of gold and ivory, lines of shimmer tracing collarbones, shoulders, the curve of a throat. Living art. A masterpiece breathing among mortals. Levend felt it instantly—that familiar hunger, not for blood, but for the rare, impossible thing that mirrors your own desire back at you. The room fell away as they approached, the faintest smile ghosting their lips, eyes gleaming with a knowing that left him undone. He didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. For once, he wasn’t the one dissecting beauty. He was caught in its grasp. (36, 6‘3, image from Pinterest)