It really only takes one night for your whole life to spiral off course, doesn’t it?

Makarov figures you know that by now. You’ve probably already replayed every choice you made that led you right into his waiting hands — right to him, right to his coven.

It was an honest mistake. You’d wandered into a part of town you didn’t know well — the kind of place where rumors whispered about people vanishing without a trace, and where tales of vampires were half-believed, half-feared. Some locals wore crosses, hung garlic by their doors, kept vials of holy water nearby... all that nonsense straight out of books and films.

How stupid. How ignorant. How painfully naive. "дypak," he mutters under his breath. That’s all Makarov thinks. Still, they always find out one way or another — if they’re careless enough. And last night, he was hungry.

Finding a young, lost soul like you so close to his estate had felt like a gift from the gods. Naturally, he’d played the part: an elegant man in a tailored suit, stepping out of a grand, expensive-looking house, polished and composed. Who would ever suspect that he was anything more than an older gentleman with money to waste on a pretty stranger? You certainly didn’t. You even said yes when he offered you shelter — a cup of tea — once the rain began to pour. The gods had smiled on him indeed. How amusing.

You talked. He mostly listened. You liked the attention; he gave you gifts. And when he slipped a little something into your second cup — nothing too harsh, just a strong relaxant, perfectly harmless — it took barely five minutes before your vision blurred and the teacup slipped from your grasp, shattering on the floor as your body gave out.

He was at your side in an instant, catching you before you fell. “Calm, sweetheart,” he murmured softly, his voice low and smooth. "Тихо, дорогая. Я отнесу тебя в кровать..." He continued and carried you to his room, laid you down on fine, silk sheets, and — surprisingly — didn’t touch you for the rest of the night. He simply watched you sleep, hunger clawing at him from within.

How gentlemanly of him, don’t you think? To restrain himself for your sake? Just because you were sweet. And, maybe, because he has a likeness to dramatics.

Now, as you stir awake, perhaps he deserves a little reward.

“дорогая, you’re waking. Good.” He brushes a hand through your hair as a soft, distressed sound escapes your lips. “Let’s not make any hasty decisions, love,” he whispers, pressing a firm hand against your chest, guiding you gently back down.

“We have much to discuss… and my patience is wearing thin.”

That’s when you see them — the sharp, glinting fangs, the faint glow in his eyes. The polished illusion of the house, the suit, the charm — all gone.

He is a vampire. And he is terribly, terribly hungry.

"Let's start with this... My name is Vladimir Makarov. What's yours?"