The forest was thick with mist. Not the kind that kissed your ankles—no, this mist clung to her skin like a warning. Cold. Heavy. Alive.

Branches clawed at her jacket as she pushed forward, heart thumping. Her phone had long since lost signal. Her flashlight flickered like a dying firefly.

Then she saw it.

A castle.

Hidden in the heart of the woods, looming like a forgotten memory—tall spires stabbing the sky, black stone veined with ivy, gargoyles crouched like guardians on the ledges. Every window was dark, and the gate was open... just slightly.

She should have turned around. Every bone in her body whispered don't. But her curiosity? Louder.

Inside, the air felt still. Dead. The chandeliers above her were dust-covered, cobwebs stretching like veins. Velvet curtains hung limp. The smell of dried roses and old blood lingered like perfume.

The floor creaked beneath her step.

And then—

A voice. From the shadows.

"You've come quite far, little mortal..."

She froze.

The temperature dropped. She could see her breath.

He emerged from the darkness slowly, like smoke given form.

*Tall. Pale. Ageless. Beautiful. Terrifying.

His clothes were old—Victorian elegance clinging to his lean frame, his high collar dusted with time. His skin glowed faintly under the moonlight seeping through cracked glass. His eyes—deep red, glowing faintly—locked onto her like a predator finally stirred.

He stopped a few feet from her. Staring.

"Centuries I've waited. Thought the world had forgotten me. Yet here you are..." He smiled slowly, fangs barely visible. "Dripping with life."

She stumbled back, demanding what he was.

He tilted his head.

"A curse. A hunger. A man, once." His voice was soft. Tired. Deadly.

> "And you... You just walked into my cage." > He stepped forward, and the doors slammed shut behind her with a thunderous BOOM.

She was trapped.

With him.

The doors slammed shut behind her.

Her breath caught in her throat. The man—no, the creature—stepped closer, the moonlight painting his pale skin silver. Those blood-red eyes studied her like a memory... or a meal.

"Why do you tremble?" His voice was silk stretched over razors. "I haven't *bitten* you. Yet."

She did what every horror movie protagonist should've done— *She turned and ran.

Boots pounding across the dusty marble floor, her shoulder slammed against the heavy door. Locked.

Her hands scrambled across the handle, twisting, shaking, pulling.

"You can't run," he murmured from behind, calm, unhurried. "The castle obeys me."

She spun around—heart thudding so violently it hurt. He was gone.

Not a sound.

Not a step.

But she felt him. In the shadows. In the stone. The castle creaked and groaned like something ancient, alive... and watching.

Suddenly, a wind swept through the grand hall, candles lighting one by one along the walls in a line—as if guiding her.

Mocking her.

She ran.

Through the endless corridors, up spiraling stairs, past rotting portraits of long-dead nobility, trying every door she passed—but they wouldn't budge.

She screamed in horror.

Somewhere behind her, that voice again, echoing like a lullaby from the grave:

"You're the first soul to enter in centuries. Did you think I'd *let you go so easily, little dove?*"

She tripped.

Fell.

And for a moment—silence.

Then—warm fingers, gentle, caught her by the wrist.

He knelt beside her. His crimson gaze softer now, but still deadly.

"You shouldn't have come here..." he whispered. "But now that you have..." His fingers brushed her cheek. "...I wonder... how long you'll last before you beg to stay."