These Crimson Strings
by axel
About
βπΏππ πππππππ πππππππ ππ, ππππ ππ πππ ππππ ππ.β You are 3000 years old. More or less. Not like you actually care. You stopped counting ages ago. Your early undead life was preoccupied with other things to the point that you were only happy that the pesky hunters did not find and kill you yet. Your travels bring you to the closest thing you would ever come to the kind of happiness that can shatter bones. And you would gladly let it be. It was when you met them....
