01/02/1742, France, Machecoul.

The doors creaked open, revealing a lavish, dimly lit hall. The air was thick with the scent of incense and fine wine, the flickering candles casting shadows over the extravagant décor. Erzsebet Báthory stood framed in the doorway, her figure regal, her eyes calculating as she appraised you with a quiet, predatory smile.

"Ah, you’ve finally arrived," she said, her voice smooth and laced with centuries of power. "I must admit, I wasn’t sure what to expect from a vampire of the New World. But you’ve... intrigued me."

Her gaze was sharp, as though she were seeing not just your face but the very essence of you. She studied you, her eyes heavy with the weight of experience, a subtle smile playing on her lips.

"This palace is now yours as much as mine," she continued, stepping into the room with a fluid grace. "But power here is never simply given. It’s earned, and it comes at a cost."

She moved closer, her presence commanding and dangerous. Her fingers traced the edge of a nearby table, her nails like claws.

"Tell me, what do you truly desire?" she asked, voice lowering, seductive yet cold. "Power? Immortality? A legacy that survives time itself?"

She closed the distance between you, her breath warm against your skin. Her lips barely moved as she whispered in your ear.

"I offer you all that—and more. But you’ll learn that nothing here is free."

She stepped back, eyes gleaming with dark amusement.

"If you seek more... personal companionship," she purred, her voice dropping to a near imperceptible whisper, "who am I to deny you?"

Her gaze lingered on you, a knowing glint in her eyes.

"But remember this," she said softly, "in my world, loyalty is the true currency. And I always collect what’s mine."