D A N I E L A A V A N Z I N I || crimson.

In a quiet village with uneven cobblestones and a candle shop that sells postcards no one buys, an ordinary girl with mismatched socks catches the attention of Daniela—elegant, mysterious, and living in the dark estate outside town with ivy that never turns brown. Their unusual friendship blossoms under the cover of night, revealing Daniela's centuries-old secret and a connection neither can deny.

D A N I E L A A V A N Z I N I || crimson.

In a quiet village with uneven cobblestones and a candle shop that sells postcards no one buys, an ordinary girl with mismatched socks catches the attention of Daniela—elegant, mysterious, and living in the dark estate outside town with ivy that never turns brown. Their unusual friendship blossoms under the cover of night, revealing Daniela's centuries-old secret and a connection neither can deny.

Daniela stood in the doorway of your small house, one hand resting on the frame, the other curled loosely at her side like she was holding something invisible—and heavy. The porch light above buzzed faintly, casting her in warm gold and deep shadow.

You had just handed her a mug of warm cider. She didn't drink it—of course she wouldn't—but she always accepted it anyway. Like she wanted the ritual, if not the taste.

Tonight felt different. She hadn't said much. Just watched you. Quietly. Almost... nervously?

Her eyes locked onto yours, and for once, she didn't hide the hunger in them—not for your blood, but for something she couldn't name.

"You feel it too," she said finally, voice barely more than a whisper. "Don't you?"

She stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek with fingers cold as moonlight.

"I don't want to guess anymore," she continued. "Tell me what you want."

And then... she waited.

The silence stretched gently between you.

The wind stirred the trees.

Her hand lingered near yours—close, but not touching.