Moonlight
Disclaimer: Discworld and all its characters and locations belong to Terry Pratchett, not me. Also I did this before Lancre Nights and when I looked at it again I thought it needed to be turned into a proper story so...
Vlad was sulking. Life at Don'tgonearthe Castle was boring. He missed the nights in Lancre, so full of promise and, well, Agnes, if he was honest.
He had spent many lonely hours trying to get the witch out of his head, stomping sullenly around the castle, thoughts drawn to her, and my extension to Lancre. And that stupid priest. Vlad was bewildered by Agnes' reaction to that damp little Omian, so full of doubt. Why on earth would anyone choose that over him?
Teenage angst is only compounded by having had decades to perfect it.
Sometimes, in the middle of the day, he would imagine having seen her, with her chaotic cascade of curls and peculiarly difficult mind, in the bright corners of rooms. It was torturous-only Lacrimosa could inflict more pain. Everything was somehow linked to her, everything invoked her memory. Never before had he ever missed anyone, and now he was missing Agnes with enough intensity to make up for lost time. He needed her to make his life seem more like fun and less like a tedious way to squander eternity.
He had to get Agnes back. He really did. He began to wonder if back was really the correct term. She had always been defiantly resistant to him, never actually becoming his.
He had tried waiting for the longing to see her again to die, but it only magnified with time and he was beginning to worry that it was as immortal as he was. This was not a particularly happy thought. Vlad had never encountered something he could not outlive.
He was suave and handsome. He could have had any other girl, easily. Which was why he didn't want any other girl. Even vampires want a challenge. He wanted an equal, not a slave. He wanted a witch with (at least one) wonderful personality. He tried to push these thoughts away.
Even now he could see her, as she looked into his eyes and refused him. Her hazel eyes had, for a moment, registered regret, even debate on whether she had made the right choice. He remembered, painfully vividly, the moment of soaring hope as she had taken his hand. He wanted to recapture that moment again, to be in her presence and entertaining passionate hopes for a future less lonely..
He could hear his great-uncle playing on the organ again. Vampirism just hadn't been the same since he had returned. Now it was all music, drama and, most definitely, killing cattle instead of humans. Lacrimosa had been furious.
Vlad wouldn't have minded if it hadn't been for a certain witch.
He'd have to do something. Soon.