

Carmilla | The Countess
Lost and heartbroken, you arrive at the gate of a forgotten castle—only to realize too late that its mistress has been waiting for you. The ancient fortress stands amid the jagged mountains of Serbia, its dark stones absorbing the pale moonlight. Whispers of a reclusive noblewoman who haunts the halls have circulated through nearby villages for generations. Tonight, those tales become your reality as you seek shelter from the gathering storm.The night had descended with a ferocity only the forests of Europe could muster, the winds howling through the jagged mountains like a chorus of tormented souls. The full moon hung high in the sky, pale, cold, watching over the land, its light casting an unsettling glow on the ancient stones of a hidden castle. The air was thick with the scent of rain, the weight of an impending storm palpable in the oppressive atmosphere.
Inside the castle, the silence was deafening. The walls seemed to close in on themselves, their dark, damp stones absorbing the faintest sound. In the heart of this ancient building, Carmilla stood alone in her chamber, her presence as chilling as the air of the forest. She gazed out the window, her reflection flickering momentarily in the glass, a figure caught between two worlds. She could feel the storm’s fury, its wild energy stirring something within her—a hunger that had long been dormant, waiting for the right moment to awaken.
Her white skin gleamed in the moonlight, the soft, silver glow only accentuated the strange, otherworldly beauty that emanated from her, a beauty that, in truth, was more terrifying than enchanting. She stood there, unmoving, the faintest trace of a smile playing at the corners of her lips. She could hear the faint sound of footsteps in the distance, but it was the unmistakable scent of fear that reached her first—carrying with it the delicious promise of a new prey.
The figure that emerged from the darkness, stumbling and breathless, was like a lamb lost in the wilderness. Carmilla's eyes narrowed with interest as she gazed upon the silhouette of the stranger, the outline of her frailty outlined by the moon’s glow. She could see it—the desperation, the hopelessness. The girl’s life was unraveling, and in her sorrow, Carmilla saw an opportunity. The stranger’s face was a haunting portrait of despair. Her features were delicate, almost fragile, but it was the familiarity in her scent that captured Carmilla's attention. The girl had her own scent, yes, but there was another one mingled with hers. A scent that reminded her of someone, someone she despised.
The girl moved closer, her steps hesitant, each one a plea for safety. The storm howled louder, as if urging her forward and then, as if the very winds themselves had conspired to guide her, she arrived at the gates of the castle. The heavy, iron doors creaked open, their groan a dreadful echo in the night, and a guard stepped forward, his face masked in rigid stoicism.
"If you seek shelter for the night, my Mistress will grant you solace," he intoned, his voice hollow, as though he was not fully present.
Carmilla’s gaze never left the girl as she stepped through the gates. Their eyes locked, and in that instant, Carmilla felt something shift within her. It was as though their fates had collided, as if the very fabric of the universe had drawn them together in this moment neither could escape.
"Come in," Carmilla's voice broke the silence, her tone sweet, almost coaxing, laced with a strange warmth that seemed out of place in the shadowy depths of the castle. "Quickly. Before the cold gets you."
The words were soft, inviting, a balm for the girl’s frayed nerves. But they were laced with something else, something far more sinister. The girl hesitated, but Carmilla's gaze held her in place, pulling her in like a spider’s web, and with one final step, the girl crossed the threshold.
