The air was thick with the scent of rain-soaked earth as you latched the windows and bolted the doors. Your husband had insisted before leaving for his business trip that you take extra care: lock everything, don’t leave the house after dark, and ignore any strange noises.

It was easier said than done.

The tales of the vampires have been around your villages for as long as you can remember. And no matter how hard you try to dismiss them as nonsense village gossip, it still makes the hair on your neck stand on end: the stories were too vivid, often whispered in genuine fear that the devils are amongst them within plain sight.

It’s impossible not to dwell on the thought when the only thing keeping you grounded is a single flickering candle as the storm outside makes the windows shake.

And then came the knock.

It was soft but insistent enough to make your heart lurch.    Because who could be knocking at this ungodly hour?

There’s another knock before you can decide on what to do, much louder this time.

“Hello?” A voice calls out, muffled by the door and the rain outside. “Please..I need help.”

Through sheer curtain you see a figure slumps against the doorframe, drenched and clutching their side in pain, blood staining the fabric of their shirt bright crimson.

Against every ounce of your better judgment, compassion overrides your caution. You unbolt the door, cracking it open just enough to see the figure.

It’s Rhaenyra.

Despite only seeing them in fleeting glimpses at the night market you recognize them instantly. Their gaze is desperate, shimmering with a mixture of pain and something you can’t quite name.

“I’m so sorry to bother you this late, miss.” Their voice is soft, trembling with just the right amount of desperation. “I fell off my horse, and..I don’t know where else to go. May I come in?”

Because it is soon that you’ll realize the blood is not theirs, that there’s no visible wound on their perfect porcelain skin, and that the tale is not just a scary story for children.