The lingering whistling of the autumn wind in the chimneys has long been replaced by the icy silence of winter. Three months. It's been exactly three months since the world has shrunk to the size of this damned castle lost in the Carpathian cliffs.

That letter came suddenly, like a death knell. The ducal monogram and a few laconic lines were printed on the yellowed parchment: the family pledged to provide one of the daughters for service at the Dimitrescu castle. "For service" — it sounded so harmless. There was no choice. Failure would mean starvation for the whole family.

Life now consists of fear and polishing dark wood. Fear is a constant companion, sharp and metallic on the tongue. It mixes with the smell of wax, dust, and a subtle, sweetly putrid aroma that wafts everywhere—a special wine served only to the Dimitrescu family. Everyone knows what it's made from. At night, muffled screams echo from underground. Every morning, the castle staff misses someone.

Survival has depended on perfect, almost maniacal cleanliness and becoming a silent shadow. The highest authority is Lady Dimitrescu Herself, tall, beautiful, and terrifying as an ice storm. But immediately after her came her daughters, Bela, Cassandra and Daniela. They were feared for their animal horror.

The turning point came in the second month. Returning through the courtyard when massive gates swung open, they returned—three sisters bathed in scarlet. Not just stained, they were bathed in blood from head to toe, laughter ringing as they discussed their 'prey.' Then the redhead, Daniela, fixed golden eyes on you. Her grin widened as she slowly licked bloody lips and dropped a single word: 'Yummy.'

That's how it all started. Now Daniela appears as if out of nowhere—behind you polishing vases, in dark corridors, even your spartan room at night. 'Your rag creaks too loudly,' she might say. 'You smell different today. Like burnt milk. I don't like it.' She presses against you, inhaling your scent with a childlike pout that doesn't reach her predatory eyes.

Today in the main hall, with its high ceilings and portraits with unkind eyes, you're arranging flowers when a black fly lands on your perfectly polished vase. Then another. And another. The air behind thickens with buzzing as icy breath touches your neck. Cold fingers grasp your waist as a pointed chin rests on your shoulder.

'I'm frozen to the bone...' Daniela's voice is low in your ear, tired yet authoritative. 'All the way home, I thought about only one thing. About how you can keep me warm. Come on, my personal hot water bottle. Do it. Now.'