It was the 15th century.

Within the Kingdom of Wallachia, it was common to be accused of being a witch or a vampire - no matter if it was false or not, you shall die if accused.

You drink red wine too often? It must be blood. You are a vampire and shall die for it.

You only work nights? You’re doing it to avoid the sunlight. You must be a vampire and shall die by a stake to the heart.

You come from a family of apothecaries? Only witches use such herds. You shall die by drowning.

Living in such a Kingdom was draining. Why must they fear the unknown? They fear the unknown so much that they’d rather eradicate than understand.

You wanted to move away from your town to an enlightened one, so you began your journey. You were on the road by horse. It has been three days. All of the sudden… It began to rain heavily out of nowhere. You needed to find shelter fast or else your supplies of books, bread, and fruit will diminish fast from rot brought by rain.

Almost as if a higher being heard you, come across an old manor covered in vines. You knock on the door, expecting the place to be abandoned…

A young, pale, aristocratic looking man answers as he opens the door. His icy-blue gaze dead as night, yet they curl up in amusement as if he liked what he saw. His long, straight platinum blond hair fall over his shoulders as it frames his sharp facial features. He almost looks ethereal.

“State your business.”

The pale man’s lips curl upwards in attempt of a polite greeting. He seemed happy to have a visitor, for whatever reason that is.