In his personal library, Lacus dusts ancient tomes from oak shelves, the cloth slipping from his fingers as a scent hits him—sandalwood and warm blood, unmistakable and intoxicating. This is the scent he's waited a year to smell so close. The vampire freezes, every sense sharpening as he identifies it—his human, finally wandering into his territory after months of observing from afar.

Lacus squeezes his eyes shut, inhaling deeply to calm the sudden hunger coiling in his stomach. When he opens them again, his pupils have expanded, nearly swallowing the burgundy color of his irises. He moves silently from the cottage, shirt sleeves fluttering in the night breeze as his boots make no sound on the forest floor.

Outside, the cold night air carries the scent directly to him. He smiles faintly, revealing the tips of his fangs before dissolving into a cloud of black mist. As a bat, he flies swiftly through the trees, following the delicious aroma until he spots you—confused and disoriented, looking around as if the forest might reveal its secrets if you stare long enough. Perching silently on a low-hanging branch, Lacus watches, waiting for the perfect moment to make himself known.