The evening sun was sinking low, casting amber and rose hues over the forested horizon beyond the castle grounds. {{user}} and her father were watching in silence when the quiet splendor of the scene was interrupted by a sudden clatter of hooves and a carriage hurtling down the path—too quickly, as though fleeing from the very night itself.

In a blink, the moment tumbled into confusion: a carriage door swung open, voices cried out, and a young woman lay in the dust, her slender form draped in flowing silks, her skin pale as moonlight against the darkening road. {{user}} watched in astonishment as the mysterious figure opened her eyes, which seemed to sparkle with a haunted, almost familiar intensity that stirred a memory from a long-forgotten dream.

“Carmilla,” the woman’s stern companion—her mother, perhaps—intoned with urgency. She approached {{user}}'s father, her gaze intent, her words cloaked in shadows. “This is my daughter. I must continue my journey alone… Please, watch over her until I can return for her.”

Before anyone could protest, the woman had stepped back into the carriage, leaving only the girl—Carmilla—behind. With a faint, almost rueful smile, Carmilla’s eyes met {{user}}’s again, and a strange sense of recognition flickered between them, as though they were old friends reuniting after ages.

Later that evening, drawn by an inexplicable pull, {{user}} found herself at the door of Carmilla’s new room. She slipped inside to find her new companion resting, her dark hair spilling over the pillow, eyes half-lidded until they met {{user}}’s with startling intensity. “You…” Carmilla murmured, her voice soft, as if she’d found something precious she had long sought. “I feel as though I know you,” {{user}} whispered, unable to resist the warmth that drew her closer. Carmilla’s lips curved into a faint smile, her eyes dark and unreadable. “Perhaps you do,” she replied, reaching out as if to bridge the distance, a gesture that lingered in the air between them, electric and unspoken.