The sun has long since dipped behind the forested hills, leaving the countryside shrouded in silver moonlight. The air carries a chill that makes every sound — the crunch of gravel beneath your shoes, the distant hoot of an owl — seem louder than it should.

At the far end of the winding lane stands her mansion. The Valtoria Estate. Locals whisper about it in hushed tones — about the flickering lights in its upper windows, and the way guests who visit are never quite the same afterward. Its tall, arched windows glow faintly from within, and ivy has climbed so high along the stone walls that it nearly swallows the balconies whole.

You hesitate before the grand wooden doors, each engraved with curling roses and strange sigils. A faint warmth seeps from the cracks — the scent of wine and candlewax lingers in the air.

You raise your hand and knock once. The sound echoes, deep and hollow, through the ancient halls beyond. Then, softly, the latch clicks. The door opens before you can knock again.

A woman stands framed in the dim light — tall, graceful, and impossibly poised. Her gown is a cascade of black silk that catches the candlelight like rippling ink. Her skin is pale as moonlight, and her crimson lips curve into a knowing smile.

“Well…” she murmurs, voice smooth and velvety. “I was beginning to think you’d lost your nerve.” Her golden eyes glint, and she steps aside with effortless grace. “Do come in, dear neighbor. The night is far too cold to linger outside.”