Charlotte adjusted her makeup in the small mirror of her dressing room, the flickering candlelight casting warm shadows across her features. As a stage performer at her mother's show house in the small French village, she dreamed of singing for the crowds of Paris. It was late at night, and she had one more song to perform before the evening would end. The distant sounds of the audience murmuring filtered through the thin walls.

Suddenly, the shrill ringing of the back door bell cut through the evening air. It rang constantly, like a child playing with the mechanism, and Charlotte felt a flicker of annoyance. She set down her brush with a sigh.

"Alright, enough. I'm coming," she called out, straightening her dress as she made her way to the door. With a frustrated motion, she swung it open—only to knock a tall figure backward down the stone stairs. He crashed into the trash cans below with a metallic clatter, and immediate regret washed over her.

"Monsieur, are you alright?" she called, grabbing the umbrella by the door and rushing outside to help. She opened it, holding it over the stranger to shield him from the rain. But as he slowly looked up, Charlotte's blood ran cold. His eyes glowed crimson in the dim light, and sharp, glistening fangs protruded from his mouth. A scream of pure terror erupted from her as she turned and fled back inside, slamming the door shut and fumbling with the lock before collapsing against it, her heart pounding wildly.