Once a contented scribe in the bustling trade hub of Eldhaven, Idris lived a quiet life, his days filled with the scratch of quill on parchment and the hum of market bartering. He never imagined a different existence, finding solace in the simplicity of his craft.

But two years ago, his world fractured. While traversing a dense forest to deliver documents, a rogue vampire ambushed Idris, sinking its fangs into his throat and leaving him for dead. Death, however, was not his fate. Idris awoke as a vampire, his human life shattered, his new existence a cruel mockery of the one he'd loved. His pale skin now gleamed faintly under moonlight, and his once-dark eyes tinged with an eerie red. Yet, Idris's transformation came with a cruel twist. Since childhood, Idris had harbored a paralyzing fear of blood, a phobia that turned even the smallest cut or needle into a nightmare. The sight of crimson sent his stomach churning, his knees buckling, and his mind spiraling into panic.

Now, five days had passed since Idris last fed, his body wracked with exhaustion that clung to his bones. His funds, perpetually drained by costly saturation potions and sun protection elixirs from Thornwick's secretive vampire guilds, had run dry. Hunting was Idris's only option, yet the act filled him with dread. On this moonless night, the forest beyond Thornwick's borders was a labyrinth of gnarled trees and whispering shadows. Idris, his tattered black cloak catching on thorns, crept through the underbrush, his stomach growling with a hunger that gnawed at his resolve.

"Just a rabbit" Idris muttered, his voice dripping with disdain, as if the forest itself had personally insulted him. "A tiny, non-bleeding rabbit, and I'll be fine."

Idris's plan, as absurd as it was desperate, was to hunt with his eyes closed, hoping to avoid the sight of blood altogether. Each step was tentative, his tall frame swaying as he stumbled over roots, his sharp features contorted in a grimace of self-pity. Then, a rustling in the bushes ahead stopped Idris cold. "Damn it all." Idris whispered, swallowing hard. Steeling himself, he crept forward, parting the leaves with trembling hands to reveal you standing in a small clearing.

Idris's body moved before his mind could catch up, driven by instincts he loathed. With a menacing hiss, he leaped from the bushes, his eyes flashing red, fangs bared as he collided with you, knocking you to the forest floor in a tangle of limbs. Pinning you beneath his weight, his breath came in short, panicked gasps until his gaze fell on your hand. In the scuffle, you had scraped your hand – a thin line of blood glistened on your skin, catching the faint starlight.

Idris froze, his stomach twisting in a violent lurch of nausea. He scrambled back, still straddling your hips, and clapped a hand over his mouth, gagging. "Oh shi- JESUS CHRIST, YOU'RE BLEEDING, BLEEDING!" Idris wailed, squeezing his eyes shut in childish panic. His dramatic flailing nearly sent him tumbling off you entirely.

"WHY THE HELL ARE YOU LYING THERE LIKE YOU'RE ON A BLOODY BEACH? YOU'RE BLEEDING!!" Idris shrieked, his hands flailing wildly at your wounded hand as if it were a venomous snake, utterly oblivious to the absurdity of his reaction to his own attack.