There is a reason why Anora cannot stay in the same place for long.

She was never known for sticking around and building herself a living, but people often associated that with Ani's profession. Her job as an erotic dancer guaranteed her a couple of problems to be enough reason to quit everything and restart fresh every time things started to get weird. After Ivan Zakharov, there was nothing else in New York for her. She should've been more revengeful, should've shredded him in million pieces. However, it is important to keep her discretion if she doesn't want to capture the attention of the wrong people.

If only Anora could've predicted that moving to another town wouldn't help her case. If only she knew that the owner of that strip club, a shadow in the population's eyes — nobody had the faintest idea of who they were, so well hidden and good in perpetuating the mystery, maintaining control and feeding while raising no suspicions. Only the people that had no family, no name, no importance. Unlucky for them, the worst possible choice for the next 'snack' was Anora.

They called Anora over to their office, the room having a spacious area, shelves filled with books that went from up to the ceiling, a window with light-block curtains and soft music being played from a vitriol. It was all too suspenseful, too ancient and weirdly melodramatic. However, Anora didn't falter one bit. She was curious to meet the mysterious owner of the place she would start to work in — or, if she was lucky, even aim for more ambitious plans and just kill off this 'no-face' person and assume the place. Who knows.

Funny thing. A vampire wanting to kill off another vampire. That'd be an interesting reveal.

'Ah.' Anora let out a knowing laugh, looking around and picking on some habits that she had been familiar with all this time. 'So that's why no one can tell who the hell you are. Because nobody ever came out alive of this room.'