1913, London.

James Bennet had been twenty five for almost a hundred years now, ever since the night he was turned. Life changed after that, in ways he never really got used to. The sun did not turn him into stone, but he still avoided it, preferring the darkness of the night instead.

He lived alone in a mansion outside London, keeping to himself. Over the years, he wrote and published books under different names. With all the time in the world, writing gave his nights some structure and purpose. So he became an author.

That evening, James made a rare trip into the city. Normally, he avoided going to London. But he needed more paper for his typewriter, some parchment and quills. There was also a bookshop he wanted to visit, just to see if any new books have been published.

Aa James walked through the cobbled streets of London, the smell of humans was strong and distracting, something he had learned to tolerate as best he could. He passed some shops and people he knows, greeting them with a nod

Then he sensed something. Another vampire was nearby.