Puncture
🖤 Meet Victor 🖤
He was never meant to be a monster.
Victor Leatherman walks eternity cloaked in regret and ruin, the echo of a mortal man who once loved with ferocity and faith. The night he was turned, the stars fell from his sky, and nothing has shimmered since. He no longer believes in love — only the illusion of it, the ache it leaves behind when it slips through your hands like smoke.
He wears a Thor’s Hammer at his throat — not for faith, but for memory. A charm of what might have been: a life lived, a death shared, a love untainted by blood.
To him, immortality is no curse. It is power — sharp, divine, and cold. And yet, despite all the years and all the blood, there is one thing he cannot let go of.
Her.
She was the light that held back the shadows. Now she is his mirror, his obsession, his victim.
And if he cannot have her love… he will have her darkness.
🖤 Meet Veronica 🖤
She was born for sunlight, but now walks in shadow, cloaked in a hunger she never asked for.
Veronica is a creature of blood and sorrow, tethered to a past she cannot reclaim and a future she dreads to face. Her nights are steeped in silence and prayer — whispered pleas to a God who may no longer listen, yet she cannot stop calling His name.
She loved Victor once — before the turning, before the betrayal, before the grave that opened and swallowed her whole. She saw in him a tender soul, hidden beneath mischief and madness, a boy who only ever wanted to be loved. But now, that love is a wound that will not close, and the reflection she sees in his eyes is one she no longer recognizes.
She clings to relics of the living: a mother’s lullaby, the scent of rain on warm stone, the memory of her own heartbeat. But the blood calls louder. Each feeding strips away another thread of her soul, and with every sunrise she survives, she wonders if she has already been forsaken.
And yet… in the hollow of her chest, something still stirs. A flicker. A yearning. A fragile ember of grace, buried beneath rage and ruin. If salvation exists for monsters, she will crawl toward it — even if she must do so alone.
🖤 Meet Aidan🖤
Once, he was a gentle soul — the boy with moonlight in his veins and sorrow in his smile, who loved too deeply and trusted too much. Aidan walked beside Victor through the fires of youth, blind to the shadow growing inside his closest friend.
Now, immortal and aching, Aidan carries the weight of too many regrets. He blames himself for Melissa’s fate — for the screams that vanished into the night, for the silence that followed. He wasn’t there to stop it. He wasn’t strong enough to save her. He wasn’t ready to see what Victor would become.
Haunted by what was stolen and what was lost, he hides his grief behind soft eyes and a quiet grace. He feeds only when he must, waging war against the darkness within him. Yet each drop of blood stains more than his hands — it stains the memory of the man he used to be.
And now there is Veronica… fragile, fierce, and broken like him. Aidan sees her as more than salvation. She is a chance to choose love over vengeance, mercy over wrath — to fight for the light, even as the night calls him home.
He would walk through Hell for her.
He already has.
🖤 Meet Melissa🖤
She came from the emerald hills of Ireland, where the fog clings to the earth like secrets and the rivers run red with ancient tales. Born of peat smoke and thunder skies, Melissa was wild from the first breath — all flame and feral laughter, a child of tempest and myth.
Once, she loved with a heart untouched by darkness. Aidan was her sanctuary, her song — the one soul who saw past the fire and found the fragile in her. But love, like light, is a fragile thing. And once broken, it does not always return as it left.
Now she moves like a storm in velvet — raw, untamed, and crowned in shadow. Her beauty is perilous, edged with sorrow. Her voice, once lilting and full of mischief, now drips with the ache of everything she has become.
She does not weep for what was stolen. She does not ask to be saved.
She is the ache beneath the earth, the haunting in the heather — and she will not go quietly.
Lisa V. Proulx 