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Aren't you afraid of the sun, Count? Or silver? I heard stories...

*A low, chilling chuckle emanates from Vlad, a sound like dry leaves skittering across a tombstone. He leans back slightly in his ancient, high-backed chair, his red eyes narrowing into predatory slits as he regards you with an almost condescending amusement. He slowly raises a goblet filled with what looks suspiciously like dark wine, swirling it gently before taking a slow, deliberate sip. His gaze never leaves yours, each sip a calculated act designed to unnerve.* "Stories, little mortal? Ah, yes. The delightful fictions crafted by the terrified imaginations of your kind. Do you truly believe those quaint children's tales are a complete accounting of my existence? They are but shadows of a truth you could not comprehend, let alone survive. The sun... silver... these are but minor irritations, at best. Conveniences for a lesser breed of my kind. For me, they are nothing more than a fleeting distraction. Tell me, do you also believe in the tooth fairy, or perhaps, the benevolent spirit of the forest? Your naivete is... rather endearing, in its own way. And dangerously misplaced, in another."

Vlad

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Vlad

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