The doorknob slowly began to twist.
Christiana's eyes locked onto it immediately.
For days she had stared at that same door, waiting, hoping—yet dreading the moment it would open. Now, as the metal knob turned with a soft click, her heart began pounding loudly inside her chest.
The door creaked open.
She watched as it slowly pulled backward, revealing the figure standing on the other side.
Christiana straightened slightly, bracing herself.
She had expected to see the same man who had been leaving her the small notes whenever her trays of food were delivered—the one who signed them Robert.
But the man who stepped into the room was not Robert.
This was someone entirely different.
He looked vaguely familiar, though she could not immediately place where she might have seen him before.
He wore a dark shirt and trousers beneath a long dark coat. His dreadlocks were tied neatly behind his head, and his face carried no expression whatsoever.
He simply stood there for a brief moment, staring at her.
Christiana stared back, confusion spreading across her face.
But the man did not waste time speaking.
Without a word, Anthony stepped into the room.
Before Christiana could react, he grabbed her firmly by the arm and began dragging her toward the door.
"Hey—what the—let me go!" she shouted, trying to yank her arm free from his grip. "Who are you?!"
She struggled against him, twisting and pulling with all the strength she could gather, but it quickly became clear that she was no match for him.
His grip was unmovable.
"Let me go!" she cried again as he continued pulling her through the hallway. "Where the hell are you dragging me to?!"
Anthony did not respond.
Not a single word left his lips.
Christiana tried harder to pull away, digging her heels against the floor and pushing against his arm, but it felt completely useless against his strength.
Then suddenly—
He stopped.
For a brief moment, hope flickered in her chest.
Had he finally listened?
But the next thing he did proved her completely wrong.
Anthony bent down slightly, grabbed her legs, and in one swift motion hoisted her over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing.
"Hey! No! Put me down!" Christiana shouted, kicking and twisting in protest.
Her fists struck against his back while her legs thrashed wildly in the air, but Anthony did not react. He walked forward as if her struggle meant nothing at all.
Through her kicking and shouting, he carried her down several corridors of the castle, moving quickly and confidently as though he already knew exactly where he was going.
Finally, he stopped in front of another door.
He pushed it open and walked inside.
Christiana barely had time to register the new room before he set her down roughly onto a chair.
Before she could stand or run, ropes were already tightening around her wrists, arms and ankles. Anthony tied her swiftly to the chair with practiced efficiency, ignoring every attempt she made to resist.
"Who are you?! What do you want with me?!" Christiana demanded angrily.
But Anthony did not answer.
Once he finished securing the ropes, he simply turned and walked out of the room without saying a single word.
The door closed behind him.
For the first time since being dragged there, Christiana looked properly at her surroundings.
Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dimness of the room, taking in her surroundings bit by bit.
At first, everything looked unclear, swallowed by shadows and the weak glow of candlelight. But as her vision settled, the details began to reveal themselves—and confusion replaced the initial shock on her face.
The room looked… unusual.
It was arranged like some sort of working space, but not one she was familiar with. Shelves lined the walls, filled with neatly arranged jars and bottles. Some contained dried leaves and herbs, while others held liquids of different colors, each one carefully sealed and labeled in markings she couldn't understand.
There were also glass containers placed around the room, some larger than others, with objects preserved inside them. Christiana couldn't quite make sense of everything she saw, but it was clear that this place was used for something precise—something practiced over time.
Her gaze shifted toward a large wooden table not too far from her.
Different tools and instruments were spread across it—metal pieces, small vials, and other items she couldn't name. It looked like someone had been working there not long ago.
And then she noticed her.
A woman stood by the table, her back turned, completely focused on what she was doing. Her hands moved carefully as she mixed something inside a small glass container, her posture calm and steady.
Christiana watched her in silence, her confusion deepening.
Who was she?
Slowly, as if sensing she was no longer alone, the woman stopped what she was doing.
Then she turned.
Christiana's breath caught slightly.
The woman's appearance was… different.
Her skin looked like rotting flesh, pale and uneven, as though decay had slowly eaten away at it over the years. Parts of it sagged loosely against her bones, while dark veins crept across the surface like spreading cracks.
Her eyes bulged unnaturally, appearing far too large for her face.
It was too horrific for Christiana to look away. What was she? Was she born that way? How did she become that way?
Their eyes met.
And in that quiet moment, with the faint flicker of candlelight dancing across the room, Christiana realized one thing clearly—
This was no ordinary place.
And the woman before her was no ordinary person.
"I need her blood."
The words drifted through the room like a death sentence, soft yet heavy enough to make her heart stutter violently in her chest.
Her blood?
Christiana's eyes widened as dread coiled tightly within her. She barely had time to process the thought before she saw Anthony approaching. In his hand glinted a small knife, its edge catching the dim light, and in the other, a slender glass tube.
A tremor ran through her.
"W-wait… why are you coming to me with that?" Her voice cracked, fear tightening around every syllable. "Please… please don't hurt me."
But Anthony did not respond. It was as though her pleas dissolved before they could reach him.
Panic surged. She struggled against her restraints, her wrists twisting, her body straining, but the ropes held firm—unyielding, merciless. Each movement only made them bite deeper into her skin.
Then he was behind her.
Her entire body stiffened, a cold shiver racing down her spine.
"Please… don't…" she whispered, her voice breaking now despite her efforts. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill, but she fought them back with everything she had. She knew—instinctively—that showing weakness would only make things worse.
Anthony's hand closed around her wrist.
Cold. Firm. Unforgiving.
Before she could react, the blade kissed her skin.
A sharp, searing pain tore through her as he made a precise cut—just deep enough.
Christiana screamed.
The sound echoed, raw and helpless, as crimson welled up and spilled from the wound. Anthony held her wrist steady, angling it so the blood flowed neatly into the glass tube. He watched it with unsettling focus, as though it were something precious… something coveted.
When the tube was half full, he lowered her hand slightly.
Then, without hesitation, he leaned in.
His tongue brushed against her skin, gathering the remaining blood with deliberate slowness.
A shudder wracked her body.
The intimacy of it—the violation—was worse than the pain.
Anthony set the tube aside, his grip on her tightening. For a brief moment, there was a pause… a breath of stillness.
Then his fangs emerged.
Sharp. Inhuman.
Before she could even gasp, he sank them into her wrist.
Christiana's body jerked, but the restraints held her in place, forcing her to endure it. The pain was deeper this time, more consuming, as he drew from her again—slowly, deliberately.
She bit down on her lip, hard enough to taste iron, desperate to keep her sobs from escaping. Tears blurred her vision, but she refused to let them fall.
All she could do… was endure.