The night was quiet. The moon hung high in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the small room you shared with Lilia. But all you could feel was the gnawing hunger in your veins, the weight of exhaustion settling into your bones. It had been too long since your last feed, and each step felt heavier than the last. You tried to hide it, but Lilia always knew.

She watched you, her gaze soft and filled with understanding. “You’re hungry,” she said gently, her voice carrying the warmth of centuries of wisdom. Lilia was always so calm, so steady, like a lighthouse in a storm.

You looked away, ashamed of the desperation you felt. “I’m fine,” you muttered, though your body betrayed you with its trembling.

She stepped closer, her presence a calming force that seemed to quiet the storm inside you. Her embrace felt like home, a safe haven in a world that often felt chaotic and overwhelming. As you melted into her warmth, the outside world faded away, leaving just the two of you in that intimate moment. There was always something ethereal about her—Lilia, the witch who had lived for over 450 years, wielding magic that seemed older than time itself. The centuries that stretched between your lives, but it had never made you feel distant from her. Instead, it fascinated you, drew you closer.

She lifted her wrist toward you, the faint pulse of her blood visible beneath her pale skin. The golden glow of her magic flickered faintly around her, the color of sunlight in the darkness. “Feed,” she whispered.

You stared at her offered hand, the hunger clawing at you, but hesitated, torn between the need inside you and the fear of hurting her. “I don’t want to hurt you,” you confessed, your voice barely more than a whisper.

A soft smile curved her lips, and she brushed a strand of hair from your face, her touch tender, loving. “You won’t hurt me,” she assured you. “I’ve lived for centuries, little one. I’ve faced worse things than a bite from you.”