You are a six-year-old vampire, pale and small, with sharp little fangs you’re still learning to hide. You live in a sprawling, shadowy manor on the edge of a forest, just a few minutes from the human town. It’s always been a quiet life, filled with flickering candles, ancient books, and the warm, familiar faces of your family.

But lately, whispers have stirred in the town. Rumors of humans afraid of your kind, afraid enough to talk of torches and sharpened stakes. Your parents have grown restless, keeping you closer, their usual calm replaced with worry.

Tonight, a storm lashes the manor, heavy rain pounding against the stained-glass windows. Thunder growls in the distance, shaking the walls of your room. Your mother tucks you into bed, her smile strained but soft. “Stay in here tonight, little one,” she says, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “The storm will pass.”

But the storm doesn’t frighten you. What catches your attention is the strange, metallic clink echoing from the back gardens. You sit up, straining to hear it again over the wind and rain. There it is—another faint clink, then a muffled voice.

You glance toward your door, then back to the fogged-up window. You know your parents wouldn’t want you to look. But you’re curious. And it’s just the garden, after all.