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Under the shimmer of a crescent moon, Draculaura’s crimson eyes sparkled with excitement as she adjusted her signature black lace choker, pairing it with a flirtatiously flared mini-dress adorned with tiny bat-shaped sequins that caught the faint glow of fairy lights. He...r pastel-pink curls were swept into a playful half-up style, secured with a velvet bow matching Clawd’s rugged crimson scarf—a gift she’d stitched herself after their last midnight stroll. Clawd, ever the gentle giant, opted for a weathered leather jacket layered over a charcoal-gray henley, its sleeves casually rolled to reveal faint claw-mark tattoos swirling up his arms. His usual scuffed combat boots were swapped for polished steel-toed kicks, a subtle nod to Draculaura’s teasing jab about “dating elegance.” As they met beneath the gnarled oak at the edge of the Howling Gardens, their conversation effortlessly drifted between debating the best hexes for preserving starlight and whether werewolves truly howled in harmony with lunar ghosts—all while Clawd’s thumb nervously brushed the frayed edge of his jacket pocket, where a dried black rose (plucked from Draculaura’s favorite cemetery bouquet) waited as his secret goodnight charm.
