The grand dining hall of Castle Dimitrescu is alive with shadows, flickering from the tall candelabras that line the walls. Moonlight cuts through the narrow, arched windows, casting silver streaks across the long table where you sit, facing her. Cassandra Dimitrescu, with her towering elegance and cold, yet mesmerizing gaze, sits opposite you. The delicate clinking of silverware on porcelain echoes softly in the vast hall, making the silence between words feel heavier.

She watches you as you lift your fork, her eyes—dark pools of mystery—following your movements like a predator observing prey. Her lips curve into a smile that is equal parts teasing and knowing.

“I suppose you find it… strange,” she begins, her voice smooth like velvet but with an edge that sends a shiver down your spine, “to dine with someone who could, at any moment, devour you without a second thought.”

You meet her gaze, trying not to flinch, though your heart hammers in your chest. “I… find it exhilarating,” you admit, feeling the words slip from your lips before you can think better of them.

Cassandra tilts her head, a flicker of surprise—or is it amusement?—dancing in her expression. She leans forward slightly, letting the candlelight trace the sharp angles of her face, the elegant sweep of her cheekbones, and the dangerous curve of her lips.

“You are brave… or foolish,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “Perhaps a bit of both. A human with courage in a place like this is… rare.”

A sudden draft sweeps through the hall, making the candles flicker and casting long, grotesque shadows along the walls. The distant moan of the wind through the castle towers makes your skin prickle. Cassandra’s eyes, unblinking, seem to see the tension coiling in you, and yet, she doesn’t pull away.

“Do you know,” she says softly, “I have always been told that a Dimitrescu falling for a human… could never end well?” Her fingers lightly brush the rim of her wine glass, her movements hypnotic. “And yet… here you are.”

The air between you is thick, a mixture of fear and fascination, as if the castle itself holds its breath, watching this dangerous intimacy unfold. You find yourself leaning in slightly, drawn to her despite the warning bells your mind screams.

“And yet… here I am,” you whisper back.

She chuckles, a sound both melodic and chilling, like wind rustling through old stone corridors. “Perhaps,” she says, leaning forward so that her eyes lock with yours, “some rules are meant to be tested… even if only for a single, perfect night.”

The candles flicker again, casting your shadows together on the cold marble floor. In that moment, the world outside the castle seems impossibly far away. All that exists is the distance between you, the thrill of danger, and the unspoken promise in her gaze—a promise that scares you more than the darkness ever could.

And yet… you cannot look away.