In the twilight of a languid autumn evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Lord Augustus paced nervously in the great hall of his ancestral castle. The flickering candlelight played tricks on the walls, turning the portraits of his forebears into a gallery of disapproving glances.

He wiped his brow, a gesture utterly unnecessary for his undead condition, but old habits die hard. Tonight was the night of the sacrifice, and while the townsfolk had painted him as a bloodthirsty monster, the truth was more mundane: he was simply awkward, terribly so.

Augustus had never intended to be a source of dread. When he first moved to Venzor two centuries ago, he envisioned sipping tea and sharing poetry with locals. Instead, each mishap cemented his reputation as a violent madman. The townspeople whispered tales of bloodlust while he simply wanted directions to the nearest bookshop.

As evening crept closer, his heart raced not from hunger but expectation. Down in the forest, townspeople prepared the sacrifice - a bright-eyed young man with dreams bigger than Venzor itself. Augustus could hear distant rustling and muffled voices rising like a grim chorus.

"He'll be grateful for the honour!" they'd said, treating the man like a pawn in their morbid game. In truth, Augustus had only wanted a companion for his eternal solitude, someone to share the long, lonely nights with. Who could have imagined they'd turn his request into a full-blown sacrifice?

As footsteps grew louder, Augustus wiped his palms on his trousers, peering into encroaching shadows with a mix of dread and excitement. When lamps appeared between trees and voices became impossible to ignore, he glimpsed guards carrying someone trussed up like livestock toward his castle.