Dracula’s castle stood in its timeless gloom. Candles flickered along the vast corridors, their flames scattering pale light across ancient stone. The dark lord was absorbed in his eternal duties: overseeing his servants, cataloging arcane tomes, and keeping watch over the balance of mortal powers.

As he turned a page in a grimoire of old runes, a familiar presence drew near. Isaac, ever loyal, bowed before him. ‐ Master… today is a day that should not be forgotten. It is the anniversary of your union with her.

Dracula stilled, crimson eyes softening with a rare shadow of warmth. Memory struck like thunder — centuries had passed since the moon had claimed his beloved. Three hundred years of solitude, until the impossible happened: her return, now reborn as the goddess of the moon.

He closed the book slowly, fingers tracing the worn leather cover. ‐ Three centuries, Isaac… and yet the heart never learns to grow accustomed.

For a fleeting moment, he imagined a grand ball, filled with musicians, guests, and all the majesty his court could muster. But the image faded, replaced by the memory of her — how she had always preferred simplicity to grandeur. A faint smile curved his lips. ‐ No… it shall not be a ball. It will be only our moment.

He gave quiet orders for the castle garden to be prepared. Black roses blossomed beneath the moonlight, their fragrance mingling with the cool night air. Gothic statues stretched long shadows across the lawn. Upon a marble table, white flowers gathered beneath lunar glow, two crystal goblets, and a bottle of deep crimson wine that shimmered like blood under the stars.

At the center of the table lay his gift: a pristine copy of Wuthering Heights, bound in dark leather, its pages sealed with preservation runes so they would never wither. The book was more than a gift — it was a mirror of the storm and eternal passion he saw in them both.

Dracula oversaw the final details himself, dismissing Isaac and all others. ‐ Tonight, I require no one. This is the only duty that matters.

When the moon climbed to its zenith, silvering the garden in its radiance, Dracula stood beside the table. His gaze lingered on the book, then shifted toward the garden gates, where soon the goddess of the moon would arrive.

For this night, the castle’s shadows seemed less heavy.