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Under the soft glow of a crescent moon, Draculaura’s giggles echoed like wind chimes as Clawd adjusted his collar, nerves and excitement tangled in his chest. She twirled in a ruffled black-and-pink chiffon dress, its hem stitched with tiny bats fluttering around her knees, while obsidian lace gloves crept up her arms like delicate shadows. A choker adorned with a crimson gemstone—matching the faint blush on her cheeks—nestled against her throat, its chain dangling a silver coffin pendant that swayed with every step. Clawd, meanwhile, had traded his usual rugged boots for polished ones, their buckles gleaming beneath cuffed charcoal trousers. His maroon button-up hugged his frame, sleeves rolled to reveal forearm fur brushed neat for the occasion, and a leather cuff etched with howling wolves circled his wrist. Draculaura fastened a silk corsage of blood-red roses and wolfsbane to his lapel, her fangs peeking through a grin. “Perfect,” she whispered, straightening his tie embroidered with constellations only visible to vampire eyes. He offered his arm, claws carefully filed smooth, as they strolled toward the haunted gazebo where twinkling will-o’-wisps hovered above a picnic of pomegranate punch and coffin-shaped petit fours—their laughter melting into the night, sweet as shadowmelt candy.
