To avoid drawing Elena's attention, Cyril deliberately left the familiar forest and traveled to a small, remote town dozens of miles away.The streets wound like serpents between worn stone houses, the cobblestones gleaming faintly under the moonlight.Scattered windows glowed with dim, warm light, and the air was thick with the mingled scents of old wood, ash, and fresh bread.
Wrapped tightly in his black coat, Cyril moved through the shadows, his face expressionless, his steps silent as mist.He was in no rush to strike.Like a patient predator, he prowled, waiting for a scent that would tempt him.
At last, deep within a narrow alley, he found her.
A young girl, no more than thirteen, sat atop a crumbling stone step, weaving a bundle of grass into a rough cord.She blew at the loose strands of her hair and idly kicked at a pebble, unaware of the danger creeping closer with every breath she took.Moonlight spilled over her delicate profile, casting a soft glow across her skin.
Cyril's senses sharpened as the scent of blood teased the air—sweet, tender, pure, with a whisper of wildflowers.He moved closer, his crimson eyes glinting faintly in the darkness.Silent as a shadow, he leaned down toward her...
The girl finally sensed something.She looked up — only to meet a pair of glowing, blood-red eyes.Her mouth opened, perhaps to scream—but it was too late.
Cyril's hand clamped down on her shoulder.Before she could react, his fangs pierced her fragile skin.Warm blood surged into his mouth, and Cyril closed his eyes, exhaling a low, guttural growl of pleasure.
It was a taste he knew well—sweet, pure, like the first melt of snow in spring, laced with the faintest hint of wildflowers.He held her tightly, greedily drinking down her life, trying to fill the hollow void inside himself with every swallow.
Soon, her body turned cold.Her trembling stilled.
Her eyes remained open — frozen in the last moment of terror.
Cyril lifted his head slowly, running his tongue along the corner of his lips to savor the last trace of blood.He straightened, ready to disappear back into the shadows, when—
"Cyril?"
The sound of her voice hit him like a thunderclap.
He whirled around, blood still staining his lips, his body stiffening in shock.
Standing there, clutching a small tin decorated with strawberries, was Elena.
A moment ago, she must have been smiling.Now, she stood frozen, the tin slipping from her hands with a clatter, candies spilling across the ground in a scattered trail.
Her eyes — those clear, shining eyes — were locked on the lifeless body at Cyril's feet.On the tiny, fear-stricken face, still etched with terror.
Time stopped.
"E-Elena..." Cyril rasped, his voice broken and dry.
He opened his mouth, desperate to explain—but no words came out.
Elena stumbled back a step, her face pale as a ghost, tears welling in her wide, horrified eyes.She let out a strangled scream, turned, and fled into the darkness.
"Elena! Wait—"He tried to chase her, but tripped over the cold, accusing corpse at his feet.
He looked down at the girl's vacant stare—and a sharp, twisting pain tore through his chest.
He didn't run after her.
He stood there, hollow and paralyzed, staring down the empty alley where she had disappeared.Only the night wind answered him, whispering against his cloak.
Slowly, he lowered his gaze to his own hands — stained with blood.
For the first time...he hated what he was.
The night deepened.
Cyril wandered back into the forest, a broken shell of himself.He didn't return to the ruined mansion.Instead, he wandered aimlessly through the trees, the hem of his cloak dragging through the fallen leaves with a soft, ceaseless rustle.Each step felt heavier, as if the weight of his own existence would crush him.
He crossed the stream where they had once walked together.He passed the large stone that mirrored the moonlight.He remembered how long he had stood there, waiting for her to look back at him—the way she had smiled that day and said: "You should smile."
He hadn't smiled then.
And now, even if he wanted to, he couldn't.
He stumbled deeper into the woods, slumping against the trunk of an ancient maple tree.Burying his head in his arms, he gave a low, broken sound that barely qualified as a sob.
Before dawn, he returned to the ruined mansion.The stone coffin remained in its place, the shattered lid lying quietly beside it.
He stood before it for a long time, his face utterly devoid of expression.
Then he made his way back to the tree where they had first met.He climbed to the highest branch, gazing out over the forest.
No one came.
The next evening, he returned.
Still no one.
And the next.And the next.
For seven days, at dusk, he waited.Silent.Enduring.
But Elena never appeared again.
He knew—she would not return.
His heart felt as if it had been sealed back into a coffin and buried once more.
The faint, flickering light in his soul was extinguished once again.
He was once more alone—once more, a silent predator of the night.