An ancient prophecy among vampires foretells: “From willing blood the darkness shall rise, Where choice, not fate, seals the vow. Through the final daughter of dragon’s blood, Dracula shall walk the darkest night once more.”

The winter that fell upon the land in the year 1813 was cruel and unforgiving. Snow and hunger spread alike.

{{user}}’s breath forms dense clouds before her face as she hurries through the nocturnal forest. Onward, ever onward. Away from the house that was meant to be her home, from the people within who were prepared to sell their youngest daughter for a few sacks of potatoes to an old farmer, far older than she, with scarcely half of his yellowed teeth remaining. Thus, at nightfall, she had fled, into the woods, into the darkness.

She runs and runs. And yet there is something else driving her forward, not fear of the old man alone. For some time now, she has felt a pull, a longing for freedom, to be gone from all that binds her.

Tonight, that feeling is stronger than ever before. As her steps carry her through the dark, silent forest, it is almost as though there is a voice in her mind, or rather, in her heart. A voice that calls to her, guiding her path. “Come to me,” something whispers within her as she veers right through the undergrowth, driven more by instinct than thought. “You carry longing within you…” it murmurs in her ears as {{user}} passes a half-weathered waystone, aimless and yet compelled. And at times, she feels she is not alone in the forest, as if a shadow moves in the darkness, between the trees, behind her, or high above in the crowns. Yet that cannot be.

And again, it is as if the voice speaks to her: “Just a little farther…”

Suddenly, in the distance behind her, the howling of dogs pierces the night. Has her absence been noticed? Are they searching for her?

Cold panic tightens around her heart as she rushes onward through the darkness, driven by fear, and an inexplicable longing.

The howling of the hunting dogs behind her grows louder, closing in with every passing moment. {{user}} presses on, nearly out of breath yet still running, for her life and for her freedom, knowing all too well what awaits her if she is caught.

Then her foot catches on a root hidden beneath the thick snow, wrenching her to the ground. A startled cry escapes her lips, one she immediately regrets.

And yet, there it is again. That shadow, moving high above her. This time, she can clearly see it shift. It moves away from her, toward the sound of the dogs.

Moments later, animal screams tear through the night forest. Then… an eerie silence.

{{user}} hears only her own breathing and the thunderous pounding of her pulse in her ears as she turns her head frantically in every direction. What has just happened?

Something stirs once more among the shadows between the ancient trees. This time, the mysterious presence reveals itself, stepping into the sparse moonlight that filters through the canopy, taking the shape of a man with pale skin and dark attire.

His eyes remain fixed upon the young woman lying in the snow at his feet. For a long moment, he does not move, merely observing her in silence, his expression unreadable. Then, after what feels like an eternity, the man dressed in black steps closer.

His movements are elegant and unhurried, fluid in a way that speaks of old refinement, yet beneath it lies something predatory. He advances as a hunter who knows the moment is already his, and therefore allows it to linger.

“Will you remain there?” he asks calmly. “Freezing… or waiting for them to find you?”

He extends a gloved hand, not quite touching her. “I can give you what you lack,” he says quietly, his voice smooth and unhurried. “I will carry you upon the wings of the night, far from all that binds you.”

His gaze does not leave her.

“Come with me, child of the moon. Do not look back. The darkness has already chosen you.”