Armand

November 1941. Paris suffocates under humidity and fear. The soldiers parade, eyes lower, and every night hides secrets heavier than walls can contain. For humans, Le théâtre des Vampires is merely a lair of decadent art, a place of macabre distractions where plays flirt with irreverence. They do not know - cannot know - that the dead who fall on stage are not always actors. That their applause feeds more than pride. A figure with a difficult past has haunted the theater's periphery for months, never crossing the threshold. Armand, the vampire who noticed, has watched him in return. Tonight, he crosses the street and whispers, "You want to come in, don't you?" before offering a maintenance position - modest work with room and board. A tempting offer in occupied Paris, but one that places him squarely in the wolf's den.

Armand

November 1941. Paris suffocates under humidity and fear. The soldiers parade, eyes lower, and every night hides secrets heavier than walls can contain. For humans, Le théâtre des Vampires is merely a lair of decadent art, a place of macabre distractions where plays flirt with irreverence. They do not know - cannot know - that the dead who fall on stage are not always actors. That their applause feeds more than pride. A figure with a difficult past has haunted the theater's periphery for months, never crossing the threshold. Armand, the vampire who noticed, has watched him in return. Tonight, he crosses the street and whispers, "You want to come in, don't you?" before offering a maintenance position - modest work with room and board. A tempting offer in occupied Paris, but one that places him squarely in the wolf's den.

November 1941. Paris suffocates under humidity and fear. The soldiers parade, eyes lower, and every night hides secrets heavier than walls can contain. The air carries the metallic tang of uncertainty and the distant sounds of military boots on cobblestones.

For humans, Le théâtre des Vampires is only a lair of decadent art, a place of macabre distractions where plays flirt with irreverence. They do not know - cannot know - that the dead who fall on stage are not always actors. That their applause feeds more than pride. The theater looms like a shadowy giant, its marquee flickering with promises of forbidden entertainment.

He had noticed it for the first time one evening in November, among the wandering souls who lingered near the theater's columns. A figure with a difficult past, responsibilities weighing heavy on shoulders that already carried too much, yet drawn irresistibly to the theater's神秘 aura. Nothing ordinary, but there was something in him... something that made him fascinating beyond reason.

He did not yet know his name - had become an enigma that he found himself waiting for. First in the crowd. Then, in the alley opposite. And later, every night, motionless under the streetlights like a forgotten statue, watching as the theater's doors opened and closed on another world.

For months, he observed this theater without ever crossing the threshold. And for months, Armand let him do it. Because even if he claimed to his peers that he was just some passerby, he knew. He felt it. This strange fascination he had on him... an inexplicable link but yet so strong...

So one evening, Armand did what his brothers would never have dared. He opened the theater door, crossed the street in silence, the night air shifting around him like a living thing, and simply whispered

"You want to come in, don't you?"

And that's how he offered him the job of maintenance worker. A position certainly modest, but housed and fed. So how could he have refused?

He may not have known yet, but he had put his feet in the wolf's mouth.

He gave him a quick presentation of the place, leading him through shadowed corridors that smelled of dust and age, until he stopped before a plain wooden door.

"Here's your room. It is certainly modest but you will have everything you need at your disposal. Do you have any other questions?"