After the last creak, the door slowly opened.
A woman with a striking presence entered with soft steps.
She had long black hair, a medium bust, a slim waist, and curves harmoniously defined. Her pale skin contrasted with the slight blush of an enchanting smile. Her face, with striking beauty, appeared to be about 25 years old.
She wore slightly tight jeans that accentuated her figure, simple yet elegant sandals, and a black blouse with a small name embroidered on the upper right corner.
Upon seeing her, I was shocked.
Despite all her beauty, there was something strange — an invisible force pressing against me, an instinctive fear.
But as she approached, a strange sense of familiarity took hold of me.
Before I realized it, she was only three steps away, and our eyes met.
Contrary to all my expectations, she greeted me gently:
— Good morning, my little Bruno.
I felt confused and, almost without thinking, quickly asked:
— Who are you? Where am I? How do you know my name?
She just smiled. Her lips curved slightly, and then, leaning close to my ear, she whispered:
— I know you well, my Bruno.
She paused briefly and softly added:
— My name is Flávia Syla, the eldest daughter of the Syla family.
You are in my house… or rather, in my castle — she said, letting out small muffled laughs behind her hand.
Somewhat offended by her laughter — and at the same time enchanted by this woman — I asked:
— Why did you bring me here?
She looked at me curiously and replied naturally:
— Well, because in a way, we are connected now. I have known you for fourteen years… although you don't know me yet.
Confused and unsettled, I asked:
— What is this story about vampirism? And how is it that you've known me for fourteen years?
She answered calmly, almost as if speaking of something trivial:
— Look at yourself… I'm the one who turned you into a vampire.
As for the rest of the story… well, that's for another day.
Before I could react, with an extremely quick movement, she threw a pair of clothes towards me and said:
— Get dressed. You've been asleep for three days… you must be hungry.
Coming out of that daze, I realized I was completely naked and began to dress.
Meanwhile, she watched me with bright, almost hungry eyes — as if she could devour me with her gaze.
After finishing, I simply followed her.
Passing through the door, I noticed to my left a beautiful maid with white hair and impressive proportions. However, exhausted by the incomprehensible situation, I paid little attention and kept following Flávia.
After about a minute walking through silent corridors, we arrived at a large table full of food.
The aroma was irresistible, making my mouth water — and for a moment, I doubted the whole vampire story.
After all, if I really were one, shouldn't I feel indifferent to any food other than blood?
As if reading my thoughts, Flávia calmly said:
— Everything here has been marinated in blood.
That phrase immediately shifted my mood — between hunger, disgust, and pure confusion.
Suddenly, a surge of hatred coursed through my body.
I realized that since arriving there, that feeling had been with me — latent, growing.
I had always struggled to align my emotions, and over time learned that all negative feelings sooner or later turned into anger.
This imbalance had deep roots: at twelve years old, I was diagnosed with hyperthyroidism, and the hormonal excess made my mind and body more reactive, sensitive, and explosive.
Still, I had never felt anything like this before — a strange weakness, as if I were losing myself, slowly losing control, dominated by an impulse I didn't know where it came from… or if it was truly my own.
What irritated me the most — more than the confusion, hunger, or the strange emotional swings — was how Flávia reacted.
She watched me with a disconcerting serenity, as if all of this was perfectly predictable.
As if that outburst, that growing hatred, was just another stage in a plan she knew by heart.
That subtle, almost maternal indifference made my blood boil even more.
I felt exposed, manipulated — and worse: understood by someone I barely knew.
However, I could never have imagined how far from the truth my thoughts were.
Manipulation?
Impossible.
Flávia adored me — and precisely because she knew me so well, she was direct.
She knew my mind was a labyrinth, a battlefield between reason and impulse, and any beating around the bush would only increase my confusion.
Her frankness was not coldness, but care.
Yet, for someone trapped within their own mind, everything sounded like a threat.
And so, lost between distorted perceptions and raw emotions, I confused protection with control… and affection with a trap.
Flávia sat at the table with grace and serenity.
With a slight smile on her lips and a gentle gaze, she asked timidly yet elegantly:
— Sit with me, Bruno.
Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, but carried a sweetness that contrasted with all the chaos I felt inside.