Chapter Text
Wilbur walked the winding path through the woods, heading home for the last time.
He had just visited his old friend, Tommy. Seeing Tommy exactly as he remembered—unchanged from when they were teenagers—had been both comforting and haunting. Back then, Wilbur had been 19. Tommy, just 16. Now Wilbur was 60. And Tommy was still 16.
Wilbur coughed harshly, pausing to lean against a tree. His graying curls tumbled into his face as he wiped fresh blood from his palm. A twig cracked behind him. He stiffened, glancing up—eyes glinted in the distance. Red. Like all the others.
“Who’s there?” Wilbur rasped. “I know what you are.”
Another cough shook his frame just as something struck—his cane was kicked out from under him. He fell hard, landing on his back. A pair of manic red eyes hovered above him. Hands pinned him down. He struggled, kicked—but then the fangs sank into his neck.
They drained him slowly.
Darkness.
Then—something cold, sharp, pierced his arm. A needle.
He woke on a cot, gasping.
He stumbled toward a mirror. No reflection. His brunette curls fell into his face. His skin—smooth. Soft. He touched his cheek, then looked down at his hands.
He was 19 again.
“What the hell…” Wilbur muttered.
The door creaked open. A blonde vampire entered, expression unreadable. He held out a black cloak.
“Put this on. Now.”
“W–Why? Who are you?” Wilbur stammered, rising to his feet.
“No questions. Cloak on.”
“N-No! What? Who are y—”
Pain hit him like fire. Wilbur screamed, crumpling under it. It was like the boy’s stare alone tore through him, burning him from the inside out. And just as suddenly—it stopped.
“Put the cloak on, Wilbur.”
He wanted to fight back, to scream for answers. But he didn’t. Not yet.
He slipped on the cloak. The hood fell low, veiling his eyes; the sleeves were too long, swallowing his hands. “Follow me,” the boy ordered.
Wilbur obeyed.
They entered an ornate chamber—high ceilings, stained glass windows casting fractured light across the floor. Wilbur stared, breathless, until he was positioned before a man with long, black hair.
“Hello, Wilbur. I trust you’re enjoying your stay?” the man said, voice smooth and cool.
A long scar cut across one of his eyes, leaving it a milky white. The other eye—deep, black—seemed to swallow Wilbur whole.
“I… I guess?” Wilbur managed. “Who are you?”
“If your heart still beat, I imagine it’d be racing,” the man said with a knowing smile. “Call me Alexis. Or Alex, if you prefer.”
He rose from his chair and perched casually on the desk, lifting Wilbur’s chin with the edge of a playing card—an ace.
“Why am I here?” Wilbur asked, trying to sound firm. His voice trembled anyway.
“Ah, yes.” Alex's gaze swept over him. “We brought you here because I see potential in you, Wilbur.”
He nodded toward the blonde boy. “Looks like Toby got your measurements right while you were out. The cloak suits you.”
Wilbur blinked. “I– What?”
Alex’s smile widened.
“Welcome to your new life, Wilbur.”