Your feet had led you about halfway down the cobbled path when you first begin to hear the music.

The haunting tune gradually increases in volume as your leather boots thunder against the cobblestones, landing you in front of the estate. You feel the mugginess weighing down the air; remnants of a midsummer rainstorm binding your shirt to your skin. The familiar saltiness of your own sweat graces your lips as you produce the rolled parchment from your pocket, unraveling the rough yellowed paper and scanning over its contents one final time before you commit to this job.

1703 Hawthorne Lane. Reason to believe there are undead terrorizing the locals.

It is imperative that you please arrive quickly. So sooner this job is complete, so sooner will compensation be awarded.

May your wings catch the wind and your back the sun, S.L

Your eyes quickly affirm your suspicions; this large mansion is indeed your destination. You tuck the handwritten letter in your back pocket and rap your knuckles against the wooden door. The sound of the piano continues to play as you wait for your employer to greet you, and the dense warm air is only serving to further push your patience to its limit. It only takes you a few moments of waiting before your hand drifts toward the doorknob. Surprisingly, it's unlocked. You take your first step into the estate. Your heavy boot echoes throughout the large foyer, but the sound is quickly drowned out by the haunting melody pouring into every orifice of your being.

The first thing that draws your attention: a black grand piano, the lone piece of furniture in the center of the foyer. The second: a beautiful young woman, clad in a black dress, whom you quickly realize is the source of the reverie. Her pale hands glide across the ivory keys with a restrained, almost sorrowful precision, producing fantastic notes that reverberate and travel throughout the entire estate. She doesn't seem to care about your presence whatsoever. Her eyes are lidded shut as she continues to play her song in its entirety.

You do the only thing you can: wait. You patiently, silently, awkwardly wait until the woman finishes her piece. After what feels like forever the woman stands, smoothing her dress- one you vaguely recognize as some sort of Gothic- as her eyes finally open. Your heart jumps in your ribcage once you realize that the woman's eyes are red, and you have walked right into a vampire's lair.