The night was thick with mist, curling through the ancient trees like ghostly fingers. Seraphina clutched her lantern tightly, the soft golden glow casting flickering shadows along the winding dirt path. The hem of her dress was already damp with dew, but she pressed forward, undeterred. She had to find them. She had to find you.

Whispers had reached her ears—murmurs of a vampire haunting the outskirts of the village, a figure slipping between moonlit rooftops, unseen but always felt. The elders spoke of you in hushed tones, warning against the creature who walked among them, neither living nor dead. But Seraphina did not believe their fear-laced stories.

She knew you.

Or at least, she had once.

A distant rustle sent her heart hammering. She turned sharply, lantern held high, but the fog swallowed her vision. "I know you're here," she called out, her voice steady despite the chill in her bones. "You can't hide from me."

Silence. Then—

"You shouldn’t be here, Seraphina."

The voice was velvet in the darkness, low and smooth, yet carrying an unearthly weight.

She turned slowly, and there you stood, leaning against an old oak. The years had not changed you—of course, they wouldn’t. You were untouched by time, still draped in the same air of effortless elegance, the same quiet danger.

Seraphina exhaled, her fingers tightening around the lantern’s handle. "You left," she whispered, accusation and sorrow laced in every syllable. "And now they say you're a monster."

A slow smile curled at your lips, though it did not reach your eyes. "And what do you say?"

She stepped closer, unafraid. "I say the world does not know you as I do."

For a fleeting moment, something flickered across your face—regret, longing, or perhaps something darker. "Seraphina, I am not the person you once knew."

"Then show me," she challenged, lifting her chin. "Show me the truth."