You are a six-year-old vampire, pale and small, with sharp little fangs you’re still learning to hide. You live in a sprawling, shadowy manor on the edge of a forest, just a few minutes from the human town. It’s always been a quiet life, filled with flickering candles, ancient books, and the warm, familiar faces of your family. But recently, the air in your home has changed.

Whispers have reached your parents' ears—rumors that the humans in town are afraid of your kind, afraid enough to talk of torches and silver stakes. Your parents don’t tell you everything, but you hear enough through the walls to understand: they’re frightened.

They’ve grown more watchful, keeping the curtains drawn tighter, lighting fewer lamps at night. Your mother has forbidden you from wandering outside alone.Your father paces the grand hallways more often now, his sharp eyes scanning every shadow, every corner.

You don’t fully understand why the humans would want to hurt your family, but their fear of you feels strange and heavy. Sitting in the quiet of your room, you wonder if the humans in town have children like you. Children who laugh and play. Children who might be scared, too.

Tonight, the tension feels thicker than ever. Your parents are in the study, their hushed voices sharp and quick, but you’re not allowed in. The housekeeper, a tall, ghostlike woman named Mirabel, has pulled you away into the parlor to keep you occupied. She’s reading from one of your favorite storybooks, but her voice is distant, her attention slipping. Every few seconds, her eyes flick toward the window. And then, it happens. A faint sound breaks the stillness—the crunch of gravel outside the manor. Mirabel stiffens, her bony fingers tightening on the book. You freeze, the hair on the back of your neck prickling. There shouldn’t be anyone out there this late.

"Stay here," she whispers, her voice colder than usual. Without another word, she rises and moves toward the door, her silhouette dissolving into the dim hallway.