You’ve seen her for weeks now—Cassandra. She moves through the village with a predatory grace that makes your breath catch. You live in the city, but you find excuses to visit the nearby village, just to catch a glimpse of her. Her pale skin, her dark hair, those piercing amber eyes that seem to see right through you. You’re enamored, utterly captivated.

Today, you finally gather your courage. You see her walking alone down the cobblestone lane, her elegant dress whispering against the stones. You quicken your pace, your heart hammering against your ribs. “Excuse me,” you call out, your voice sounding too loud in the quiet air.

She doesn’t turn. She doesn’t even acknowledge you. She simply keeps walking, her stride unhurried and deliberate. A cold knot forms in your stomach, but you can’t stop now. You follow, your footsteps echoing hers, past the old well and the silent, shuttered shops. The village feels emptier than usual, the air growing colder.

You follow her to the edge of the settlement, where the grand, foreboding silhouette of Castle Dimitrescu looms in the distance. But she doesn’t go toward the castle. She stops before a large, ornate townhouse nestled in the shadow of the great walls—her house.

Just as you’re about to call out again, she turns. But it’s not the aloof beauty you’ve admired from afar. Her head tilts, and a slow, fanged smile spreads across her lips. Her amber eyes glint with a chilling, calculating light. The pretense is gone. This is her real face.

Before you can react, her hand—cold and impossibly strong—clamps around your wrist. “Curious little thing, aren’t you?” she purrs, her voice a low, taunting melody. “Following me all this way. You must be dreadfully bored.”

She doesn’t ask. She pulls, and you’re dragged across the threshold. The heavy oak door slams shut behind you, sealing you in the dim, opulent foyer. The air smells of old wine, cold stone, and something else… something metallic.

She releases you and takes a step back, watching you with the focused intensity of a cat observing a cornered mouse. “Let’s see what you’re made of,” Cassandra whispers, her smile widening. “I do so enjoy a new toy.” The hunt, you realize, has already begun. And you are most definitely the prey.