Finally, home after long travels across distant lands. The journey had been endless—cold gray skies, rain every day, wind howling across mountains and plains, the kind of weather that seems to drain the soul. A land of endless streets and struggling villages, these kingdoms thrive and thrum with trade, thieves, and constant danger.
But now, I was back near Lipo Village, a quiet, lamp-lit hamlet tucked between forests and fields. Just beyond the village, hidden among towering trees and winding paths, stood my forest manor—a simple yet elegant retreat where life was quiet and warm. Horses grazed nearby, the carriage rested by the stone gates, and the gardens bloomed in careful, cultivated patterns. Here, surrounded by the calm of the woods and the gentle life of the village, I could finally breathe.
The rain is coming down in torrents, the wind beating against the windows like some kind of restless spirit. I should seek shelter indoors, but my body feels heavy, as though the very air itself is too thick to breathe. My bones ache, and my head spins with the strange disorientation of endless travel.
I am tired, I think to myself. More tired than I have ever been.
My feet carry me into the hallway of the manor, and I glance toward the mirror, half-expecting to see a face as weary as I feel. But when I look, something is terribly wrong.
I cannot see myself. Not at all.
The reflection is gone.
For a moment, I stand frozen before the glass, my heart thudding loudly in my chest. I reach up and touch my face, feeling the rough stubble, the coolness of my skin. Why can’t I see myself?
Panic begins to rise in me, quick and sharp. I shake my head, trying to clear it. It must be the exhaustion. It’s nothing. I am merely fatigued. But as I stand there, the reality of it sinks in deeper—something is wrong. My hands tremble as I turn away from the mirror, staggering toward the bed.
Sleep. The word echoes in my mind like a command.
When I awaken, it is to the faint light of morning filtering through the curtains. The world outside seems quieter now, as if the storm had passed in the night. But I do not feel rested.
I sit up slowly in my room, my senses alert in ways they’ve never been before. There is an odd stillness to everything. The silence in the air seems too perfect, and yet… I am no longer sure of what I am.
I glance down at my hands, feeling a strange disconnection from them. My body, once familiar, now feels foreign. I look toward the mirror again. The glass stares back at me, empty. I can see nothing of myself, only the faint outline of the room behind me. What in God’s name is happening to me?
Is this… death? Am I dead?
I press my fingers to my temples, trying to gather my wits. I stand up, moving toward the door, but before I can leave the room, a soft knock comes from the hallway.
“Alexander, are you awake?” It’s Elizabeth, my beloved wife.
Her voice brings me some comfort, and yet, the dissonance within me grows. I open the door to see her standing there, her face as beautiful and calm as ever.
“I am leaving for a visit to my friends,” she says, her eyes scanning me with a warmth that feels almost too familiar.
I want to say something, to tell her that something is terribly wrong, but the words won’t come. Instead, I stand frozen, watching as she approaches me.
And then—I hear it.
Her heartbeat. It is so loud, so close, as if it’s beating within my own chest. The rhythmic sound thunders in my ears, drowning out all other thoughts. My senses are no longer my own. I can feel the blood rushing beneath her skin, the warmth of her body so tangible, so real.
She kisses me on the cheek, the soft press of her lips grounding me for a moment, before she opens the window, letting the cool air in.
“Don’t stay in here too long, love,” she says with a smile. “I’ll be back soon.”
She leaves, and I stand there, bewildered, watching her retreat down the hall. I take the cup of coffee she left behind, but my hands are trembling.
I move to the window, the cool breeze filling my lungs. As the light of the day brushes against my skin, I feel a sudden, burning pain.
The heat strikes me like fire, searing my flesh. I pull away instinctively, gasping for air, but the pain only intensifies. My skin, which was once a warm, sun-kissed bronze, has become deathly pale—paler than I ever thought possible. I look at my hands, at my arms, and they are almost translucent, as though life itself has drained from them.
No, I think. This cannot be real.
I stagger back from the window, the pain still gnawing at me. What have I become?
I try to explain it away. The long, exhausting months of travel. The constant storms that battered me from all sides. The cold weather of Europe that chilled me to the bone. Perhaps it has weakened me somehow, made me ill. But no—this feeling, this pain in my skin, is not normal.
I collapse onto the bed, but the hunger is already growing inside me. It gnaws at me from the inside, deeper than any hunger I’ve ever known. It is an insatiable craving, something that cannot be satisfied with food or drink.
Days pass, and I do not leave the confines of my room. I remain locked inside, hidden away from the world, a prisoner in my own skin. The hunger never subsides. It twists and turns inside me, a dark, relentless force. I feel like I am losing my mind, losing myself. I long for something I cannot name, something that pulls me farther and farther from the man I was.
One night, Elizabeth comes to me. Her face is soft, but there’s something more in her eyes now. A knowing look, like she has seen something in me that I have yet to understand.
“Alexander,” she says quietly. “I know what you are.”
Her words strike me like a physical blow. I turn to face her, my heart hammering in my chest.
What? What do you mean?
“You’ve become a vampire,” she whispers. “The creature of the night. The eternal being. The strength of a hundred men. You are my beautiful monster.”
Her words are sharp, like shards of glass, cutting through the fog in my mind. I stare at her, stunned, unable to speak.
A vampire. The legends, the stories I’ve heard as a child—never once did I think they were real. But now, standing here in my own skin, I know the truth. I am no longer the man I once was.
That night, Elizabeth’s brothers visit us. They are knights of the realm, tall and strong, their muscles honed by years of battle. They challenge me to an arm-wrestling match, and I laugh inwardly. I have always been the slender one. They are giants compared to me.
But when they place their arms against mine, something shifts within me. My strength surges, a force I cannot explain. The first brother struggles, unable to move my arm. The second tries harder, but the result is the same. I look at them, confused. They cannot believe what they are seeing.
“I don’t understand,” one of them mutters. “Where does this strength come from?”
I smile, though there’s no joy in it.
“Try harder,” I say.
They pull with all their might, but my arm doesn’t budge. I could snap it with a flick of my wrist. The fear in their eyes is palpable, and for the first time, I realize the truth.
I am no longer human.
Days pass in isolation. I remain within the cold stone walls of my castle, trapped by my new nature. I can no longer walk in the sunlight. The hunger gnaws at me. My mind begins to unravel.
One day, I look at Elizabeth, and I know I cannot remain here forever. “I want to travel,” I say, the words tumbling from my lips before I even think about them. “I cannot stay here, locked away.”
She frowns, a shadow crossing her face. “How, my love? You cannot go outside. Not in your state.”
But I already know the answer.
“I can,” I say quietly. “But not under the sun.”
So, I do the unthinkable. I take our old carriage and modify it, fashioning a crude shield to protect us from the sunlight. It is no work of art, but it will do.
As I prepare to leave, a wave of hunger hits me—something more feral, more desperate than before. It is not the hunger for food. It is something else, something darker.
Elizabeth looks at me with soft eyes, a question in her gaze. But I see no fear. Why?
Why isn’t she afraid of me?
This is just the beginning. The beginning of my journey into the darkness that is now my life. There is much more to come—much more to fear.