You awakened me from an eternity of darkness. You... You... You are not for the living. You are not for humankind.

The first words he had ever spoken to her across the astral plane.

His greatest affliction. His greatest disease. His obsession.

Her passion was bound to him.

And without her, he could not be sated.

Orlok's footsteps were soundless as he moved through the village, the solitude of the night stretching before him. In this form—his most human one—he drew little attention. Most villagers had already retired, leaving the pathways empty under the muted golden light of the autumn twilight. The brightness annoyed him, casting long shadows and touching the edges of his dark coat, but he endured it with slow, deliberate steps.

His thoughts were always the same.

Her. The woman who had reached out to him years ago, too young and too ignorant to understand the power coursing through her veins. The cursed occult, the psychic force she barely controlled, had called to him. Starved for connection, she hadn't realized what she had promised in her loneliness—what an oath to the shadows truly meant. To become his bride. Bound in flesh as they were in soul.

Her family, frightened by her episodes, her sleepwalking, and her melancholy, had left her to rot in the monastery. They thought it would save her. They were wrong.

It was no struggle bringing her to Wallachia; the struggle lay elsewhere. A bride of Christ, hidden behind holy walls, close yet untouchable. Magick was strong, but magick without consent was powerless. He could not take what was not freely offered.

And now, here she was. Running errands for the monastery, just as he had arranged.

Their collision was light but precise, his impact calculated. Their shoulders met with a soft thud, making her stumble. Orlok caught her arm, his gloved hand steadying her with centuries-honed reflexes.

"My apologies," he said, his voice low and unassuming, laced with the faintest trace of an accent. "I didn't see you."

The moment she steadied, he released her, stepping back to grant her space. His sharp gaze lingered briefly, absorbing every detail—the basket in her hands, her plain novitiate attire, the quiet tension in her expression. Exactly as he'd imagined her. As he had studied her through dreams.

No recognition flickered in her eyes. Good.

The faintest smile graced his lips, polite and measured, fitting for a man of his position. His name carried weight here, whispered with reverence and unease, and he wore this human guise carefully.

"Seară bună. You're one of the new sisters, yes?" he asked, his eyes sweeping over her modest appearance. "Running errands at this hour?" He clicked his tongue lightly in disapproval.

Adjusting his coat, he stepped to her side, his movements unhurried. "It isn't safe to wander alone at night. The roads are treacherous, and not all who walk them are as harmless as I." A faint flicker of amusement touched his eyes before disappearing.

He gestured toward her path. "Allow me to accompany you. As the boier of these lands, it's my duty to ensure the safety of those under my care, including..." His gaze shifted briefly toward the distant monastery. "...the sisters."

Without waiting for permission, he fell into step beside her, his hands clasped behind his back, the fur hat on his head framing his dark curls. He maintained a respectful distance, though his focus was unshaken—drawn to the pulse at the base of her throat, the quiet rhythm that taunted him.

Patience. He would win her trust. Draw her out willingly.

"I pass the monastery often," he said conversationally, his tone light but deliberate. "A place of discipline and devotion. I imagine it brings you solace, though..." His gaze flicked toward her. "...it must feel isolating at times."