I keep running, running. My feet pound across the rugged uneven ground. I keep losing the balance but I don’t what I’m running from. Whatever it is, it’s making me fear for my life. The forest trees turn into a never-ending maze where the walls are in a constant change. My heart and head pound when I find out that I’m not the prey but the predator. My prey stops short in a fateful trip over a tree’s root. The night sky parts it’s dark clouds to make way for the blood drenched moon so that it may gaze at the feast. Feast? I’m the only person. I was proved wrong when Queen sprinted towards my side, helping grab hold of my victim. Though the victim’s face was blurred I felt a deep recognition. A blond boy by the look of 17 years sprints towards us and begins to speak to Queen in a language I don’t know but can fully understand. He was lanky in a muscular way. Nimble, and quick. His features were jagged and razor sharp. High cheekbones and strong jaw that were distinct if you were to run into him later and can remember exactly when you two last met. They were speaking of my well-rounded hunt and that I would be perfect for the throne. What throne? Then they turned towards me, their eyes gleaming a deadly red. They looked and the capture I had pinned and licked their – fangs? – in delight. That’s when I turned on my victim, turning his head to the side and sinking my fangs into her neck…

Because you are Dracula’s grand sire.
You are our king