MY SUGAR MUMMY IS A BEAUTIFUL VAMPIRE

The world revolves around you until it doesn't. That was the case for one man.

The light of the moon crept through the heavy curtains of Damien's room at Ancroft Manor. He lay on his bed, staring at the ornate ceiling, his mind a whirlwind of bitter thoughts and painful memories.

Most of his body had healed over the past two years, but certain areas stubbornly refused to mend completely. The scar on the side of his face pulled tightly when he frowned, and the wound on his chest still ached with a deep, throbbing pain that no amount of medication seemed to touch.

Damien closed his eyes, remembering the man he used to be. Powerful. Feared. Respected. Now, he was a shadow of his former self, trapped in a body that betrayed him at every turn.

"I have to go back to training myself using my ice powers," he thought, his jaw clenching with determination. "I can't continue like this."

With a grunt of effort, Damien sat up, holding out his hand palm up. He focused, calling upon the icy power that had once been as natural to him as breathing- a practice he's been doing for awhile now. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, frost began to form on his fingertips.

Damien's heart leaped with hope, but it was short-lived. As the ice spread across his palm, instead of the clear strong ice, this was weak and brittle. Worse, it was shot through with veins of red, as if blood had somehow corrupted it from within.

"Damn it!! Not again" With a cry of frustration, Damien clenched his fist, shattering the malformed ice. Tiny shards scattered across the bed, melting almost instantly and leaving small, red-tinged water stains on the expensive sheets.

"Damn you, Blake," Damien muttered, his voice hoarse with anger and despair. "This is all happening because of you."

As if summoned by the name, the memory hit him like a physical blow. Blake, his eyes streaming blood, advancing on him with a power Damien couldn't comprehend. The searing pain as that power tore through his defenses, corrupting his very essence.

Damien gasped, clutching at his chest where the worst of the pain still lingered. He could feel it there, alien and wrong - Blake's blood, mingled with his own, poisoning him from the inside out.

For two years, this had been his existence. Every attempt to use his powers, every moment of sleep, was haunted by the blood memory. Blake's face, red eyes flowing with blood, twisted in rage and pain, loomed in his nightmares. And Damien, once the most feared lord in the vampire world could do nothing but endure.

"I'm not strong enough," he whispered to the empty room, hating the weakness in his voice. "Not yet. But I will be. I have to be."

A knock at the door interrupted his dark musings. "Come in," Damien called, quickly composing himself.

Mimic entered, her features set in a careful mask of neutrality. But Damien could see the concern in his knight's eyes.

Mimic sat in a chair by the window, her eyes fixed on the gloomy sky outside. She had barely left Damien's side in all this time, serving as caretaker, confidant, and link to the outside world.

"Looks like rain again, my lord," Mimic said, her gravelly voice soft in deference to Damien's weakened state. "Clouds are dark as your coffee used to be."

Damien managed a weak chuckle, which quickly turned into a wheezing cough. "Used to be," he repeated bitterly once he caught his breath. "There's a lot of things that 'used to be,' Mimic."

Mimic turned from the window, her face creasing with concern. "Please don't lose hope, my lord. You're getting stronger every day. Before you know it, you'll be back to your old self."

But even as she said it, Mimic couldn't help but notice how far Damien had fallen from his former glory. The man's once-immaculate hair was now a tangled mess, falling in unkempt waves around his gaunt face. His cheekbones, once aristocratically high, now jutted out alarmingly against his pale skin.

And his eyes, those piercing orbs that could command attention with a single glance, now seemed dull and sunken.

Damien shifted in the bed, wincing at the movement. "Tell me, Mimic," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "what news from the outside world? What whispers do you hear in the shadows?"

Mimic hesitated. She had been shielding Damien from much of what was happening beyond the walls of Ancroft, fearing the effect it might have on his already precarious health. But Damien's eyes had taken on that familiar, determined glint - the one that said he wouldn't be denied.

"Well," Mimic began cautiously, "there's not been any strange happenings going on in Ancroft...that I know of, my lord".

Damien's eyes narrowed. "And Blake? What of him and his... family?" He spat the last word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Mimic shook his head. "No solid news. Last I heard, they were living quiet-like in that little house of theirs out of the city."

A spark of the old Damien flared in his eyes. "No," he said, a hint of his former smooth drawl creeping back into his voice. "No, I don't imagine they would live there for far too long,"

He tried to sit up straighter, but the effort proved too much. Damien fell back against the pillows, his breathing labored. Mimic was at his side in an instant, concern etched on her features.

"Easy there, my lord. You need to rest."

Damien waved her off weakly. "Rest," he scoffed. "That's all I've done for two years, Mimic. Rested and wasted away while the world moves on without me. Blake, he did this to me. Somehow, his blood, it has corrupted my being.

I can't heal fully and his face, his very presence has been cemented to my core like a memory,"

He turned his gaze to the window, to the gathering storm clouds beyond. "Do you remember how it used to be, Mimic? The power I wielded, the fear I inspired?"

Mimic nodded, a wistful look crossing her face. "Aye, I remember. Wasn't a soul in the who didn't tremble at the mention of your name."

"And now look at me," Damien said bitterly. "A shadow of my former self, trapped in this decaying body, in this decaying house."

He reached out a trembling hand, grasping Mimic's arm with surprising strength. "I feel like I'm slowly wasting away. What do I do, Mimic? This isn't how my story should end."

Mimic's lips curled into a wicked smile. "I'm thinking it's time we stopped hiding. Time we found out exactly what's going on out there. And time we settled some old scores."

Damien tried to swing his legs over the side of the bed, but the movement sent a wave of pain through his body. Damien gasped, clutching at his chest.

Mimic steadied him, easing him back onto the pillows. "Easy there, my lord. You're in no shape for any of that at the moment."

Damien glared at her, but there was no real heat behind it. He knew Mimic was right.

"Then we prepare," Damien said, his voice low and intense. "We gather information, we make plans. And when the time is right..." He left the thought unfinished, but the implication was clear.

Mimic nodded slowly. "Alright, my lord. If that's what you want. But you've got to promise me you'll focus on getting stronger. All the plans in the world won't mean anything if you can't follow through."

Damien managed a weak chuckle. "Always the voice of reason, aren't you, Mimic? Very well. But in return, I want every scrap of information you can gather. About Blake, about his little family, about anything that might be useful. Can you do that for me?"

"You know I can, my lord," Mimic replied, a hint of a mischievous grin spreading across her lips. "There is not a shadow I can't slip into, not a whisper I can't hear."

"Good," Damien said, settling back against the pillows. "We get to work tomorrow."