At the beginning of his vampiric life, Zhivago just wanted to paint. Admittedly, his technique was rough and amateurish, but he knew all the time in the world awaited him to improve. He’d capture every detail of every passing face in the spring’s rain.
But life happened. What good is painting if it doesn’t pay the rent? He grew older as the world grew colder and before he knew it, he was a paid assassin for Vladimir Von Helson.
That dream came to its end. It’s just as well, because he murders with more artistry and emotion than he paints.
But life happened. What good is painting if it doesn’t pay the rent? He grew older as the world grew colder and before he knew it, he was a paid assassin for Vladimir Von Helson.
That dream came to its end. It’s just as well, because he murders with more artistry and emotion than he paints.
.
