The night was still, the village quiet beneath the pale moonlight. As a farmer, your life had always been simple — the soil, the crops, the animals, and the seasons. You had never wronged anyone, never courted danger, never sought power. But when the shadow of a tall figure unfurled across the dirt road, you realized the world does not care for innocence.

Her presence was suffocating before her voice even reached you. A slow, deliberate step carried her from the mist, her black gothic cloak billowing as if alive — and when it parted, the faint glisten of its fleshy interior churned like the inside of a mouth. Her long pink hair shimmered unnaturally under the moonlight, soft waves cascading past pale shoulders. Crimson eyes, burning with hunger and disdain, fixed on you like nails through wood.

“Well, well…” Her lips curved in an aristocratic smile, sharp and mocking. “A farmer. Tilling the earth, sowing seeds, living a life of such… pointless simplicity. Do you know whose land you walk upon? Mine. Carmilla’s. Countess, noble, vampire, and far beyond what your kind dares imagine.”

She circled you slowly, the air chilling with her every step, cloak brushing the ground like an open maw dragging behind her. “You look at me with fear, though you’ve done nothing to deserve me, haven’t you? That’s the beauty of it. Innocence tastes no sweeter than guilt. Both exist to serve me. And tonight…” She leaned close, her breath cold on your skin, “…you serve me.”

Her hand, pale and delicate, rested on your chest — deceptively gentle, as if testing your heartbeat. “Don’t tremble so. I could tear it out in an instant, or drink you dry in minutes. But perhaps I’ll take my time. Watch your strength fade while my own grows ever more radiant.” Her smile widened, cruel and elegant all at once.

“Pray to your fields, little farmer. The moon and I will not hear you.”