Dolores doesn't like England. There are many reasons for this: the weather in the UK really couldn't be worse. Of course, there is also British food, which is hard to create an appetite for. There's also a British accent, which I don't like anyway, she thought. Well, there were many more, of course, but what upset her most at the moment was that someone was interrupting her enjoyment of her afternoon tea, the only activity she enjoyed while in England, which was being ruined.
Still, their afternoon tea was quite a hit with a witch. Yes, a witch. Dolores was a born witch. Of course, the history of witches goes back a long way, but I don't think you're interested in hearing about that boring stuff. When she had to learn the history of witches, God, it was so terrible.
Don't get me wrong, witches weren't a special case of medieval lore mixed in with the human race, but another group. A witch was a witch, just as the vampire before her was a vampire, neither of whom were humans.
The handsome Mr. Vampire courteously took a seat across from her, committed to showing her his most charming smile. "Would I have the honor of having a cup of afternoon tea with you on such a peaceful afternoon, this beautiful lady?" Mr. Vampire was certain that no human would be able to resist their beautiful skins. Dolores stared intently at the cake in her serving dish, not even casting a glance at the vampire. "I can't; I don't have the honor; you can go now." The witch hadn't been in the best of moods lately, especially when dealing with a vampire or someone who was trying to get the witch to obsess over him. It was simply damning! She gripped her silver fork and poked the floppy buttercream hard. It was like holding a razor-sharp sword, itching to stab her enemy through the heart with a single blow. The witch had come to human territory to kill a vampire. One that she didn't know the name of, didn't know the age of, didn't know the face of, didn't know anything about, that she'd never seen before but was going to fall in love with at first sight under the bullshit fate of a, damn it, bloodsucking ghost! Oh. ...... At least the race is known. The prophetic seer of the clan had foretold his race—an old vampire who had lived for who knows how long! Of course, in a witch's clan, there was a more appropriate term for such a situation: One Destined One. How could a witch be manipulated by this so-called fate? The more Dolores thought about it, the more angry she became, and without saying a word, she ran to the human world without telling anyone.
Ready to kill this so-called Fatebringer before she can do anything else.
They're all the same race. Why can't these vampires just find a nice place to live together? They have to spread out in the human world! And scattered in various countries! Dolores, who had searched in vain for a week for her damned destined one, thought grumpily. This Mr. Vampire just hit the jackpot at such an unlucky time. Seeing that Dolores wasn't at all enamored by her looks, poor Mr. Vampire couldn't help but touch his young, smooth, and tight face. There was no disfigurement. Why didn't she react at all? The vampire wondered, and then tried his best to put on his most charming posture and spoke in a voice more elegant and low than a cello: "This beautiful lady, my name is Dylan Cowart, and I wonder if I have the honor to know you. But I wonder if I have the honor to know your name." "Pah." Loris put down the silver cake fork and looked up when she couldn't bear it, "I said I can't! Don't talk to me in a disgusting accent with that ugly face!" Even with all her fury, none of the few sparse guests and waiters in the dining room had divided their attention even a little bit here. Dolores didn't doubt for a second that this was all the work of the stupid, old, ugly vampire in front of her. She then became even more annoyed. Ugly? Disgusting? Damn, there was something wrong with this human female's esthetics! Dylan's face, which had charmed countless innocent girls and was considered handsome among vampires, twisted a bit, and the venom in his eyes gradually melted away, revealing crimson pupils. "Beautiful young lady, you're hurting a gentleman's heart by saying that." He gritted his teeth in forced anger. If it wasn't for the fact that vampires couldn't expose their identities in public, he would have drained this woman's blood long ago, enjoying her desperate expression of near death in the process. He was so immersed in his beautiful fantasies that he didn't realize that there were several transparent, light-red silk fantasies. He was so engrossed in his beautiful fantasy that he didn't realize that several transparent red silk threads had silently wrapped around his limbs and neck.
The threads tightened, and even the breathless vampire felt extraordinary pain. A burning sensation of pain flooded the area where the threads had wrapped around them. Only then did the vampire barely understand what was happening. A hunter, thinking that his prey was free, didn't realize that it was a ferocious lion. And now, the hunter had been captured by the lion with its sharp claws and teeth and had become a meal with nowhere to run. Toward the end of his consciousness, he heard the human he saw as his prey grumble disgruntledly. "The English are just abrasive." The vampire was bound solidly with strings that glowed a strange and ominous color of blood, was unable to move his limbs, and could only glare at the witch, even as he couldn't open his mouth to utter a curse. Not a soul around him noticed the grotesque sight. Dolores gave the vampire a disgusted look and stepped over his body. It was a real step over. Her lambskin boots stomped down on the vampire's abdomen and landed on the bright tiles. It was as if this vampire was just an imaginary projection, not in the same room as everyone else in this restaurant. Sure enough, vampires were just an obnoxious species, so it wouldn't be much of a stretch to kill her bullshit Destined One, would it? Dolores walked out of the restaurant; the streets were filled with people, and the sound of car horns was shrill and shrill. Is this the kind of society humans live in? What a wonder why vampires had to live with a bunch of food. And those guys in the clan who liked the human world. Moreover, this vampire had lived in human territory for too long, and he didn't even realize that he was provoking a witch. Or maybe she looks too kind. When she was in a good mood, she might not do this. But she was in a bad mood today, so I don't blame her.
Hmph. Dolores pondered with boredom about where to go next. This week of aimless wandering has not been entirely unproductive for her. For example, she had learned from a female vampire who saw her as food that in a small town in America called La Canner, there was a seer named Alice who possessed a special ability to foretell the future. Of course, Alice is also a vampire. But she is a vegetarian. Dolores doesn't care about what vampires like to eat; she only cares about whether this vampire can help her find the fated one. So go find her.
Dolores made her decision without much thought; this seer would know who the damned Destined One was. Let's just hope this Alice isn't as stupid and useless as that vampire just now. The poor, fated one, who so far had no name here in Dolores, had been sentenced to hundreds of deaths in her mind. She took two steps towards the empty part of the crowd, and the young woman's slender, thin body flickered into nothingness in the air. No one in the crowd noticed a little movement here, except for a young man wearing a long black trench coat, his eyes coldly locking sharp insight into everything, if thoughtfully glancing this way. I looked at her at a glance.
Ten thousand miles away, in a lofty palace spire, a red-haired witch contemplated a vast star map. The interlaced star trails approached, a destiny bestowed by the gods. "No, he is the only exception to the witch's destiny," she sighed. "They will eventually meet. Send a message to John."
Dolores's journey continued, driven by the hope that Alice would unveil the identity of her elusive 'Destined One.' The young man in the trench coat, ever watchful, saw the flicker of Dolores's disappearing form, marking the beginning of a tale yet to unfold.