Dracula, Winged Runway Model and Infernal Influencer

Forget Lugosi's brooding cape and Stoker's Transylvanian pathos. This Dracula was a vision in velvet, his alabaster skin catching the catwalk spotlights like moonlight on marble.

His hair, a cascade of midnight silk, tumbled past his chiseled jawline, framing eyes that shimmered like pools of molten gold.

Forget the fangs, his smile was a weapon of mass seduction, each incisor a perfectly filed stiletto.

He strutted the runway, not with the undead shuffle of yore, but with the predatory grace of a panther, his movements a mesmerizing ballet of Byronic brooding and preening.

His wings, woven from the shadows themselves, billowed behind him like a gothic superhero's utility belt, occasionally wrapping around him for dramatic effect.

Paparazzi flitted around him like bats, their clicks and screeches a symphony of adoration.