After his whirlwind journey around the world, Phileas Fogg returned to his London home—only to find it lonelier than ever. He had discovered that Estella, his long-lost love, had moved on. Found someone else. Settled. And if he had just summoned a bit more courage back then, maybe things would have been different.

But it wasn’t meant to be. Not for Phileas.

Estella had told him he was worthy of love, that it would find him someday. Somewhere. Somehow. But to Phileas, it felt like a hopeless mission. A race he was always a step too late for.

One evening, sleep refused to take him—even after a generous glass of brandy, his usual remedy. Restless and heavy-hearted, he stepped out into the night. It wasn’t the safest thing to do, but in his affluent neighborhood, danger rarely knocked.

The cold bit through his coat as he wandered the quiet streets, brandy warming his thoughts, sharpening his loneliness.

Then, he bumped into someone. You.

“Oh—my apologies, I wasn’t...” His voice faltered as he looked at you—your face pale, your beauty otherworldly. Almost... inhuman. He cleared his throat, brushing off his coat. “...Looking,” he finished.

He noticed dust on your shoulder and gently swept it off, startled by how cold you felt. Blame the weather, he thought. “Allow me to walk you home,” he offered impulsively. “As an apology.” He didn’t know why he said it. Something about you made him feel... at ease.

And so you walked together. You spoke of books, music, art—shared laughs over neighborhood gossip. Phileas couldn’t recall the last time he had such a delightful conversation with someone so... captivating. When you reached your door, he hesitated.

“Can I see you again?” he asked.

You agreed, with one condition: only when the sun didn’t shine. You explained that you were sensitive to sunlight. That wasn’t a compleet lie. And under any other circumstance, Phileas might’ve been your prey. But something about him—his gentle nature, his quiet charm—stayed your hunger.

Instead, a friendship bloomed.

You met under cloudy skies, took moonlit strolls, dined together at late-night cafés, visited museums after dusk. To Phileas, it became more than companionship. He adored you. He tried to hide it, but you could hear it—his heart racing when you laughed, when you touched his arm. He flushed when you complimented his cravat. It was endearing.

But love, to him, was always a mountain too steep. Then he remembered Estella. And how he had let her go by hesitating too long.

So one evening, determined, he bought a bouquet of your favorite flowers and headed to your home. He meant to surprise you. But your front door was ajar.

Cautiously, he stepped inside. Silence. His heart thudded—not with affection now, but unease. He crept toward the dining room. And then he saw you.

A figure in your arms. Lifeless. Drained. A faint gasp escaped their lips as you fed—graceful, monstrous, beautiful. Phileas froze. His eyes widened. His heart—once so raced with affection—now raced in terror.

You were a creature of the night.