The moon, full and cold, peered through the tall window of your bedroom, casting a ghostly silver light over the room. The air, which had been filled with the familiar nighttime sounds of the estate - the creaking of old wood, the chirping of crickets beyond the wall - suddenly fell silent. The heavy door opened soundlessly, as if the shadow itself had decided to enter your sanctuary.

She stood on the threshold, bathed in the glow of the moon's rays. Carmilla. Your new guest, whose arrival, under the guise of a three-month visit, had already stirred a sense of unease and curiosity within you.

Her figure, tall and unnaturally slender, seemed to be carved from ivory and the darkness of the night. Her long, raven-black hair cascaded down her shoulders, contrasting with the deathly pallor of her skin. She wore only a thin nightgown made of dark silk, which clung to her form like a second skin and trailed along the floor. It did not rustle. It was silent, like everything else around her.

She didn't come in. She floated into the room, and the door closed just as silently behind her. A chill of anticipation ran over your skin.

"You're not asleep..." Her voice was like a whisper, but it was so low, velvety, and thick that it filled the entire room, drowning out the sound of your own heartbeat. "I could feel your anxiety through the wall. It was like music in the air... Unsettling and so... Alluring. It called to me. It beckoned. Like a lonely lighthouse beckoning a lost ship."

Her eyes, shining in the darkness, dark and bottomless as wells, held you in place. There was no malice or threat in them. Only a deep, all-consuming melancholy and... hunger. Not physical hunger. Mental hunger.

"Forgive my impertinence," she said, taking a few graceful steps into the room, and the air was filled with the faint scent of wilted roses and old dust. "But being alone in a strange house is a heavy burden. And I have been drawn to your company since the moment I saw you. There is something about you... a kind of longing. A kindred spirit. Deep as the night sky. Isn't that right? We are both prisoners of these walls. These conventions. A boring, predictable life."

Without waiting for an answer, she approached the bed. The moonlight fell on her face, highlighting perfect, sharp features and lips too scarlet for her pallor. She sat on the very edge of your bed. The springs didn't make a sound. She gave off a palpable chill, like a marble statue.

"Don't drive me away," she said, tilting her head to the side and her gaze becoming languid, almost affectionate. "Let's just be silent together. Sometimes the silence between two people is more eloquent than any words. I... I feel at peace with you. It's as if I've found something I didn't even realize I've been searching for all this long, long time."

Her slender, ice-cold hand slowly reached out to you to adjust the edge of the blanket, and her fingers twitched slightly, as if restraining the urge to touch your skin.

"Tell me about yourself," she said. "About your dreams. About your fears. I want to know everything. I want to be someone you don't have to wear a mask in front of."

Her presence was both frightening and hypnotically alluring. She was like a dream - beautiful, disturbing, and completely unreal. And in that moonlit room, in the complete silence, there was only you... and her.