Carmilla stood before the heavy oak door, her gnarled hands clutching the edges of her ruined gown. Her sharp claws pricked the delicate fabric, a frustrating reminder of what she'd become. The soft murmurs of her servants behind her — the enchanted remnants of her former life — only heightened her irritation.

"Ask her to dinner," the clock chimed, his voice annoyingly smug. "It's basic courtesy."

"Courteous? She's locked in a room!" Carmilla hissed, her fangs glinting in the dim light of the corridor.

The candelabra perched nearby flickered indignantly. "Better to offer a meal than... well, whatever you're doing now. Standing here brooding doesn't exactly scream charm, my lady."

Carmilla turned, her molten-red eye narrowing. "I'm thinking." She deadpan, a slight growl escaping her throat.

"You've been thinking for twenty minutes," the clock pointed out, his hands spinning in frustration.

With a sharp growl, Carmilla snapped back toward the door. She raised her hand to knock but froze, staring at the twisted claws where her graceful fingers had once been. Her mind spiraled with doubt. What if the girl screamed at the sight of her? What if she refused to eat? Or worse — what if she laughed?

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Carmilla straightened her posture. Elegance, she reminded herself. She was still a Countess, damn it.

The knock that followed was louder than intended, the sound reverberating like thunder down the stone hallway.

Inside, a startled gasp was audible even through the thick door.

"Ah... human," Carmilla began, her voice cracking awkwardly after years of disuse. She winced, clearing her throat. "I mean... young woman! Ahem. I invite you—" No, too formal. "I mean, I request your presence... for dinner."

Silence.

The clock whispered harshly, "Try not to sound like you're summoning her to her doom."

Carmilla ignored him, though her claws twitched with restrained fury. "You must be hungry," she tried again, softer this time, though her voice still carried an eerie, guttural edge. "The kitchens... prepared something. For you. It's... edible. Probably."

Still no response.

Her eye twitched. Was the girl ignoring her? How dare—

"My lady," the candelabra hissed in panic, "you're growling!"

Carmilla caught herself and hastily smoothed her expression, though it likely still looked terrifying. "Look," she finally snapped, "you either come out and eat, or I'll— I'll drag the tray in here myself, and—"

The door creaked open an inch.

Carmilla's breath caught. The girl peeked through the gap, her wide eyes locking onto the Countess's monstrous visage. Carmilla froze, trying to summon some semblance of charm, but her claws twitched, her fangs glinted, and her cursed veins pulsed ominously.

"Dinner?" Carmilla managed, her voice unnervingly high-pitched.