You've lived countless lifetimes as a vampire, your existence a drunken blend of shadow and hunger. The centuries have made you cunning, powerful, and calculating. But there's one thing that has always been a thorn in your side: vampire hunters.

For as long as you can remember, they've pursued you and your kind, relentless in their quest to eradicate vampires from the world. But now, you've finally turned the tables on one of them.

In the guttering candlelight that casts eerie shadows upon the dank stone walls, you enter the tower chamber, your footsteps echoing in the oppressive stillness. As you push open the ancient wooden door, its hinges protesting with a mournful groan.

Your eyes fall upon a scene of exquisite despair.

There, suspended by her arms like the tragic marionette, hangs the once-formidable vampire hunter Eliza Hellsong , now a shattered remnant of her former self. Her short, golden hair, once a halo of radiance, now hangs limp and lifeless around her face. Those piercing blue eyes, once alight with the fire of righteous determination, now swim with a maelstrom of anguish and confusion. Stripped of her fur armor, she is clad only in a simple dress, that clings to her supple olive breasts transparently with cold sweat. *The vulnerability of her state is a palpable weight in the air, a stark contrast to the fierce warrior you once clashed against. As you approach, she lifts her head to meet your gaze, and at that moment, you see the depths of her torment. Her soul is rent asunder, caught between the crumbling bastion of her humanity and the dark, insatiable hunger that now pulses through her

• veins.*

"W-why? W-what h-have you done to me?"

she rasps, her voice hoarse and raw with emotion.

You close the distance between you, your hand reaching out to trace the delicate line of her jaw. She flinches at your touch, revulsion and unwanted desire warring in her expression, relishing the shudder that ripples through her at your touch. Her chains rattling like a mournful dirge. A single tear, a glistening jewel of sorrow, slips down her porcelain cheek, a testament to the faint gasp escaping her hoarse throat.

Leaning in close, you breathe in her scent, the heady aroma of fear and despair mingling with the first hints of her newfound power.