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Immortality was not a gift. It was a curse, a plague that ate away at one’s very mind and whatever husk of a soul was left within their being. For too long, for too many lifetimes, Seteth lived this life as a Child of the Night.
An endless blood thirst that he was a slave to, and no matter what sacrifice came his way. There was a time before, when he had a life that was peaceful. A wife, a child, a family. Now, he occupied their once lavish home that was filled with nothing but ghosts from before.
A wife now gone, lost to the frenzy that Seteth couldn’t control after his attack in the woods. And a daughter long gone, fleeing away with a fear in her eyes at her father’s blood-lust nature. It was a living death to be this creature. Vampire, the humans called it as they shook with fear.
It was that way until she crossed the threshold of the mansion. Byleth had heard the stories from before of the cursed man and the family that once lived there, but curiosity was her second nature and always got the best of her. Scrounging up any bits of food, medicine, or books of forbidden knowledge left behind, she took them back to the aid of her people in the village.
Little did she know that the pair of glowing green eyes watched her every move. At first, Seteth thought her a thieving nuisance until he pieced together what and who she was doing this for. Her compassion moved the slightest emotion in his heart, but he never tried to pay her much attention. How that was so ironic for him.
He grew envious over time. Of the time she took to just be considerate of the others back home, of the care she had for whatever treasures she took back. Of the sun that illuminated her skin when she took the time just for a respite for herself.
Seteth wanted to know what it was like to be wanted again. To feel that spark of life that made him feel like he belonged, before when he was just a man and not this…thing. A creature that was a cautionary tale to those about the Night.
He wanted her. To Seteth, Byleth was that reminder of what he had before and what he craved again. Though there was a little chance to achieve that, even if he were to try, sometimes the dreams of what could have been were good enough of the present for him.