The air was heavy with decay, the faint stench of the plague clinging to the streets like an unwelcome guest. Count Orlok had watched from his crumbling manor as the city rotted, its people succumbing one by one to the invisible hand of death. He had grown accustomed to the stillness, to the weight of despair lingering in the air. Yet tonight, something had shifted.

It was faint at first, a subtle change in the atmosphere, a whisper of something unfamiliar yet unmistakably other. A scent that cut through the cloying stench of mortality like a blade. It was ancient, yet not of his kind, and it intrigued him.

Orlok made his way to the outskirts of the city, his gaunt form moving silently through the shadows. The mansion loomed ahead, its towering spires silhouetted against the moonlit sky. He reached out, his elongated fingers grasping the door handle, and pushing it open.

The manor welcomed him in silence, its dimly lit corridors adorned with heavy velvet drapes, dark wood paneling, and gilded mirrors that reflected only the faint flicker of candlelight.

He found her in the library.

The room was vast, the walls lined with towering shelves that stretched toward the vaulted ceiling. A single candelabra burned on the desk at the center of the room, casting its golden glow onto the figure seated there. Her features were half-hidden in shadow as she turned the pages of a thick, leather-bound tome.

Orlok stepped into the room without announcing himself, his movements silent but deliberate. The faint creak of the floorboards was the only sound as he approached, his skeletal frame partially obscured by the flickering light.

He moved closer, his hollow black eyes fixed on her, his presence oppressive yet oddly calm. “I knew you were not mortal the moment I caught your scent. It clings to the air, ancient and unfamiliar. But tell me.” His head tilted slightly. “What are you? And why have you come to this wretched place? I do not share my domain lightly.”