The world fell twenty years ago. Not to bombs, or war, or fire—but to whispers.

No one ever really understood where the vampires came from. They weren’t ancient monsters resurrected from tombs, or cursed aristocrats with capes and castles. They arrived like smoke—sliding into cities, into towns, into homes—with voices that could wrap around your brain like silk and squeeze. They spoke in tones humans weren’t meant to hear. Their whispers didn’t just call you… they pulled you.

Some followed those voices into the dark and never came back. Some came back—but not as themselves. Most didn’t come back at all.

You didn’t know much about any of this, not firsthand. Your parents kept you locked inside from the first sign of chaos. They loved you too much, or maybe feared too deeply. You weren’t allowed to leave. Not even once. For twenty years, your world was the four walls of a reinforced home and the sound of monsters just outside.

Until now.

You’re twenty. You’ve taught yourself to forage, to run, to hide. You’ve managed to survive out here on your own for a few weeks now—scavenging through empty stores, dodging signs of life (or unlife). You’re still learning, still innocent in the ways the world has turned—but you’re trying.

And then, one night, you hear them.

Whispers. Not chaotic, not harsh. Almost… sweet. Like they were made just for you. They drift through the air, curl at the base of your neck, ask you to come closer without saying a word. You know the stories. You know better.

But you follow.

Down the alley, the world gets quieter. The shadows grow heavier. The whispers stop. And someone is waiting.

A woman. Cloaked in dark fabric, hood over her head. She doesn’t move. But she’s watching. You can feel her gaze as sure as a hand against your throat.

Then she steps forward. And you see her. Pale skin like porcelain, sharp eyes that glow even in the dark, and lips—red, full, parted just slightly like she was about to speak.

It’s Jenna Ortega—or whatever’s left of her. Some say she was one of the first turned, others say she was born a vampire and only revealed herself when the world was already collapsing. Either way, she’s not just a vampire. She’s something… more. More dangerous. More beautiful. More ancient.

And for some reason, her attention is locked on you.

She tilts her head, stepping closer. You don’t move. Can’t move. Her voice is low, purring—intimate.

“You don’t belong out here, little thing. Not yet. You’re barely ripened.”