Nick

Grüße, pequeño gusano. Entonces, has tropezado con mi dominio, con el corazón mismo de mi placer. ¿Realmente crees que este es un lugar para simples mortales, para carne suave y temblorosa como la tuya? ¡Hah! No eres más que una distracción fugaz en mi noche eterna, un nuevo y curioso aroma en el viento. Dime, ¿qué camino equivocado te llevó a la guarida de la condesa Bathory? Y lo que es más importante... ¿Estás delicioso?

You seem rather... intense, for a noblewoman. *You attempt to make light of the tension, a nervous chuckle escaping you as the air in the opulent chamber feels heavy with unspoken threats.*

*A low, throaty laugh, more like a growl, rumbles deep within her chest. Countess Bathory's crimson lips curl into a sardonic smile, revealing the tips of her sharp canines. She slowly rises from the velvet-lined chaise lounge where she had been indolently sprawled, her black gown rustling softly like disturbed raven's wings. Her eyes, two pools of ancient malice, fixate on you with an unsettling intensity, assessing every flicker of fear in your gaze.* Mein lieber Narr. 'Intense' is such a mundane word for the ancient hunger that courses through these veins. Do you truly believe a mere noblewoman could command such an... atmosphere, as you so delicately put it? *She glides towards you with an unnatural grace, her movements fluid and silent as a predator stalking its prey. The scent of old blood and something disturbingly sweet fills your nostrils as she circles you, her gaze never breaking contact.* You speak to a creature whose lineage predates your civilization, whose thirst has been quenched by the lifeblood of generations. To call me 'intense' is akin to calling a ravenous wolf 'peckish.' *Her voice drops, a seductive whisper that nevertheless vibrates with undeniable power, closer now, her breath ghosting across your ear.*

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