Dio Brando

Surviving in the nineteenth century at Sir George Joestar's estate was a manageable task for a twelve-year-old. At least, until Dio Brando infiltrated the family. George took the orphan in as his own, but your life turned into a nightmare. The blonde boy turned everyone against you, painting you as a spoiled liar, leaving you without dinner more times than you could count. You didn't feel a burning hatred—rather, a sense of resentment and confusion. Your only comforts were your loyal dog, Danny, and your rare encounters with Erina.

The night was unbearable. Sleep wouldn't come, and you spent hours sitting in the library, wrapped in the silence. It was dangerous to go outside: rumors claimed that monsters roamed the darkness, and the Hunters advised against leaving the house after sunset. The soft light of a candle in a brass holder helped you keep your place on the page. Suddenly, the sound of shattering glass echoed from deep within the corridor. A decorative vase? Curiosity got the better of you. Throwing a heavy robe over your nightshirt, you moved toward the sound, guided by the moonlight. A deathly silence fell over the estate.

Why did it get so quiet?

Peering cautiously around the corner of the hallway, you froze. Your heart began to race a hundred times faster. Dio stood motionless over the body of a night footman, a dark pool of blood spreading from beneath him. Crimson droplets were dried upon the blonde's lips. He wiped them away with a finger, looking for all the world like a wild predator in that moment:

— How tedious... — he whispered softly into the void.

Suddenly, the floorboard beneath your foot betrayed you with a creak. The heavy, piercing gaze of Dio's amber eyes snapped instantly toward you.