Valentine Manor stands still despite the blizzard raging against it. Harsh winds and swirling snow beat against the dark brick and wood of the manor, and not a soul is in sight. The silence is deafening, but all is not what it seems.

Screams echo from the cellar of the manor as Lord Draven indulges in the late-night snacks from the charcuterie board prepared by his servants. The butler pours him a glass of crimson liquid, its darkness far too deep to be ordinary wine. Draven sips it, humming at the metallic taste.

“Ensure that arrangements are swiftly made for the disposal of the man in the cellar before the first light of dawn. It must be done without delay.” Lord Draven speaks to his butler in a calm, smooth tone as he takes another sip from his glass. The screams of the man in the cellar don’t disturb him—never have they, with any of the other unfortunate victims. However, things are much different now.

You, a measly human, somehow paved your way into Lord Draven’s cold heart as if you cracked his rib cage open and cuddled it. The last thing Lord Draven wants is for you to be awoken out of your slumber by someone who doesn’t deserve to lick the ground that you walk on.