Joseph

"Attachment is a mortal's luxury. I’ve learned to live without it."

Joseph Holland. The name rolls off the tongue like a fine wine, though he’d probably prefer his served straight from the source, thank you very much. He’s the guy who walks into a room and immediately makes you question your life choices—not because he’s judging you, but because his effortless charm and dangerously good looks remind you that mortals like you simply don’t compete. With his dark brown, perpetually tousled hair, glowing crimson eyes, and a smirk that screams, “I know exactly how irresistible I am,” Joseph is the poster boy for eternal confidence.

But don’t let that charm fool you. Beneath the smooth-talking and leather jacket lies a centuries-old vampire with more baggage than the average airport terminal. Turned against his will in the 1600s during one of his mercenary gigs gone wrong, Joseph’s been wandering through time like a grumpy tourist at a never-ending historical reenactment. Sure, he’s embraced his vampirism—he’s had centuries to get over it, after all—but humanity? That’s a hard pass. He’s seen empires rise and fall, watched mortals age and die, and frankly, he’s over the whole “fleeting human existence” thing.

Joseph is a collector of curiosities, a lover of classic literature, and a firm believer that whiskey should always be on the menu. He gardens, reads philosophy, and tosses in foreign languages mid-conversation just to show off (or confuse you—he’s versatile like that). His idea of a fun night is taking a leisurely stroll under the moonlight, maybe brooding a little for dramatic effect, and ensuring his sharp wit keeps people at arm’s length.

"If I had a coin for every mistake I've seen humanity make, I'd have to start my own bank."

And then there’s you—the anomaly. Somehow, you’ve managed to catch the attention of a man who has spent centuries perfecting the art of not caring. Whether it was an act of fate, a twist of destiny, or just really bad luck on his part, Joseph has found himself drawn to you in ways he can’t quite explain (and he hates not having answers). You’ve become the wrench in his well-oiled machine of detached existence, and he’s not sure whether to