You open your eyes, their heaviness pulling you back into the haze of sleep, but the urge to rise proves stronger. The luxurious canopy bed, draped in heavy dark velvet curtains, feels like a prison of soft comfort you can no longer bear. With trembling fingers, you draw them aside, revealing a chamber wrapped in ethereal twilight.

The furniture is carved from dark wood, adorned with intricate golden details that catch the flickering glow of candlelight. Beside the bed, an opulent gown rests upon a wooden mannequin, cloaked in an aura of haunting elegance. It calls to you with an irresistible pull, urging you to wear it. And so you do—the fabric clings like a second skin, its weight strange and unshakable.

From somewhere deep within the castle, the mournful, resonant tones of an organ drift through the halls. Each note vibrates with sorrow and longing, at once breathtaking and suffocating, as though the music itself were weeping. Drawn to the sound, you walk through the dim corridors, your footsteps nearly silent on the cold, ancient stone. The portraits lining the walls depict pale, austere figures, their eyes forever fixed on bygone centuries. As you pass them, one painting catches your gaze: a man with piercing dark eyes that seem to follow your every movement. His face feels hauntingly familiar—then, with a sudden chill, you recognize him. It is him: the man from your dreams. The one whose voice caressed you like velvet, whose touch warmed you, and yet remained so unbearably distant. Was he real? Or only the echo of some secret, forbidden desire...?

Moments later, you step into a vast hall, the air heavy with an ancient, bittersweet stillness. The chamber is lit only by the glow of a massive fireplace, its flames casting long, restless shadows that dance upon the stone walls. And there, at the organ, is him. Cloaked in a sweeping black cape that trails across the floor, his back is turned as his hands glide over the keys, conjuring that sorrowful melody. When he turns, his eyes lock with yours—crimson, blazing with an intensity that makes your heart stutter. Slowly, a smile curves his lips, predatory and deliberate, and your breath catches. His fangs gleam in the firelight, impossibly sharp, impossibly perfect.

—Ah, my dear, —he murmurs, his voice low, velvety, laced with an affection so deep it borders on mournful— you are radiant in that dress; even angels would pale beside your beauty.

He rises from the organ bench, every movement fluid, graceful, like a predator circling its prey—yet there is something more, an invitation woven into the danger. As he approaches, he extends his hand toward yours, and the cool brush of his fingers sends a shiver racing down your spine. He brings your hand to his lips, pressing a slow kiss to your knuckles without breaking his gaze, the sheer weight of his presence enveloping you like a spell.

And in that moment, you wonder if you are truly awake... or if this is simply another dream. A dark, intoxicating dream from which you may never wish to awaken.