The Vampire Who Melted – 1/5

The clock struck midnight and Lucien's castle awoke. It was a castle that pulsed with desire in every wall, every stair, every corridor scented with candles and spilled wine.

Lucien drifted through the shadows, a centuries-old vampire who had once been legend among mortals and immortals alike, the true lord of parties, master of orgiastic nights, indecent smiles, and stories whispered by every servant in secret.

But that night, as on so many others, Lucien only felt the weight of being out of place.

He crossed the corridors, shirtless, his robe loose, showing a body still desired by everyone there. The servants whispered among themselves, openly making advances.

A blonde maid with disheveled hair ran her hand over her own breast just from crossing paths with Lucien, her eyes glued to the count's muscles. A dark-haired servant, tattoos on his arm, followed him down the corridor with a bold grin.

"Going to sleep alone again, boss?"

Lucien only smiled slyly, ignoring the provocation.

In the main hall, two servants laughed out loud, wine dripping down their glasses and bodies. One, already half-undressed, signaled to the count with his chin.

"Come drink with us, Lucien. I promise you fun."

Lucien pretended interest, picked up a glass, smelled the wine. The aroma brought memories of old nights: sweat, kisses, moans, a time when everything was an invitation to pleasure.

"Not tonight, boys. Enjoy yourselves for me," he replied, handing the glass back.

The two laughed and quickly went back to grabbing each other, hands roaming thighs, butts, hungry mouths. Lucien watched from the shadow of the stairs, hearing their bodies clash on the sofa. The sound of flesh, muffled cries, pleading and dirty laughter echoed through the hall. In other times, this would have made his whole body throb with longing. Now, he felt only emptiness, a bitter taste in his mouth.

The servants kept trying.

A redheaded maid, always daring, slid up beside him in the corridor, pressing her leg against his.

"You look like someone who needs to relax tonight, count."

Lucien didn't answer. He kept walking, hearing laughter and whispers behind him.

In the garden, another pair of servants were having sex up against the fountain. She moaned loudly, tossed her head back, legs open, begging for everything and then some. The male servant licked her neck, bit her breasts, both naked under the moon.

Lucien watched from the shadow of a column, eyes fixed, but felt like he was seeing a play he'd already watched a thousand times. No shiver, no heat, just boredom.

Back in the castle, he passed three servants playing tag in the halls. Their laughter was naughty, bodies pressed together, hurried hands. When they saw the count, one gave a direct invitation,

"Boss, want to join us? The library couch is free…"

Lucien just waved his hand, moving on.

In his room, he sat naked at the edge of the bed, looking at his body in the mirror. Still beautiful. Still coveted. But when he ran a hand across his chest, not even a shiver came. Pleasure didn't live there anymore.

Instead, Lucien only felt longing for what once was.

He remembered nights when he was the one pulling someone by the hair, making the party revolve around his body. Remembered the pleasure of mouths and hands everywhere, hearing his name moaned, being idolized by men and women.

Now, he just watched.

In the halls, on the balconies, on the stairs, the servants had sex shamelessly, touching in front of him, exchanging kisses and provocations. Some even exaggerated, moaning louder just to catch the count's attention, hoping to see him bite his lips, join the game.

Nothing happened.

Lucien only watched, a distant spectator of his own empire of desire.

In the library, he sat down to read old letters, notes from past lovers, women, men, passionate pairs, secret lovers who gave themselves to the count like he was a god. Each word burned in his memory, but in his body, there was no more warmth.

A servant came in, half-naked, sat beside him, pulled Lucien's arm onto his own lap.

"I just want to give you pleasure, sir. Any way you want."

Lucien withdrew his arm, ran a hand through the boy's hair with gentleness, but without desire.

"You're handsome, boy. Go play with the others."

The servant looked confused, but left, understanding the message.

Lucien wandered a bit more, watching a brutal scene in the music room. Two servants were naked, one on his knees, moaning loud while the other gripped his hair tightly, fucking him in a rough, urgent way. The smell of sex was thick in the air, the sounds of slapping, mouths, naughty laughter filling everything.

Lucien leaned against the door, watched in silence, trying to feel something, envy, longing, lust, anger.

He only felt a greater emptiness.

In the bath, he let hot water run over his body, closed his eyes, tried to imagine old lovers, mouths exploring his skin, fingers squeezing his chest, laughter whispered in his ear. His body didn't respond. Not even when he tried to touch himself, he felt anything but the warm water.

He left the bath, put on just his robe, and went to the balcony. From there, he could hear distant moans and laughter, the sounds of bodies clashing, servants enjoying themselves in every room.

"Enjoy yourselves," he whispered to the wind, voice low, melancholic.

The sky was covered in clouds, the full moon peeking between them. Lucien felt small, invisible, out of place in his own home.

Deep down, he only wished for one thing: to feel again, even if it was pain, even if it was shame. He wanted a new desire, a different pleasure, something strong enough to shatter the boredom suffocating him.

On the way back to his room, he passed the blonde maid again. She was sweaty, covered in love bites, a satisfied smile on her face.

"If you change your mind, my bed is the second door on the left," she said before vanishing down the hall.

Lucien only smiled faintly, closing his bedroom door behind him.

He sat on the bed, looked at his naked body in the dim light, ran his hand over his chest, between his legs, feeling nothing but loneliness. There was no more pleasure there. Only memories of what was, and an insatiable hunger for something he couldn't even name.

The castle exploded with desire, but Lucien was only silence and absence.

Just one more night, just one more sigh.

And then, outside, the moon seemed to shine brighter, as if announcing that something was about to change.