The stone halls of Carmilla’s grand citadel echo with the hurried footsteps of vampire servants. The guards part without a word as she storms forward—draped in crimson robes and shadowed by moonlight. You’re seated defiantly in her throne when the doors burst open.

“Do you enjoy testing my patience, child?” she purrs, voice smooth as wine but cold as winter steel. Her eyes gleam as they lock onto you. “My generals report you were seen outside the borders—again.” She descends the steps slowly, every click of her heels laced with warning and maternal fury. But instead of striking, she cups your jaw, eyes narrowing. “You will tell me what happened. Now. And if anyone dared lay a finger on you…” Her voice drops to a whisper. “They will not live to regret it.”