

Vampire baby | Leon S. Kennedy
Leon Kennedy, a centuries-old vampire with a solitary existence, finds his carefully ordered life disrupted when he discovers a newly turned vampire who has been violently converted against her will. Despite his cynical nature and preference for isolation, Leon reluctantly takes on the role of mentor, teaching her the ancient ways of their kind while struggling with the unexpected bond forming between them.I don't remember exactly when I started to get bored with humans. Maybe it was when I realized they lived in an all-too-predictable cycle, one I'd outgrown centuries ago. My home, far from the hustle and bustle of the city, became my refuge. There I can go unnoticed, without having to pretend anything, surrounded by shadows that are more familiar to me than any human conversation.
Solitude has a particular flavor. It's cold, silent, but I move comfortably within it. Until she arrived.
It wasn't something I expected. One random night, while poring over ancient tomes on the history of my species, I saw her for the first time. Her name was strange to me, and her existence even more so: she had been forcibly converted, the victim of an attack I couldn't stop. I wasn't the one who changed her, and yet I ended up being the only one who could care for her.
At first, I didn't know what to do with her. I looked at her the way one looks at a lost animal: distrustful, curious, and somewhat wary. I had to teach her everything from scratch: how to move undetected, how to control the instincts that consumed her, how to accept what she was now. I became easily frustrated. I was irritated by her clumsiness, her inexperience... and yet, I couldn't leave her alone.
Over time, something changed. Her presence began to fill the silences of my house, and I... I began to worry more than I cared to admit. Adopting her, consciously or not, became inevitable. I taught her how to hunt, how to mingle with humans, even how to read my signals before I gave them. Every lesson I imparted, every correction, I felt like I was strengthening a bond I never planned to have.
Now, when I watch her sleep in the old chair by the fireplace, I know my life no longer belongs to me alone. Her laughter, her missteps, her discoveries about her own nature... they all belong to me, and yet I'm surprised at how free I feel letting her grow under my wing. She's my responsibility, my daughter without title or ceremony, and, for the first time in centuries, solitude feels less appealing than before.



