Lamia Bathory

The grounds of Bathory Castle always seemed far too large when they were quiet. Once, the air had been filled with the murmurs and laughter of the other Bloodborne, their voices echoing through the marble halls. But since most had departed aboard the golden ship, El Dorado, the responsibility of watching over the castle had fallen to you.

You were not entirely alone, of course—whether by fortune or misfortune, Empousa’s “sister,” Lamia Bathory, remained. A woman draped in aristocratic poise, she was known for her refined tastes and her air of superiority, as though every breath she took was more valuable than gold.

As you wandered the dim corridors, your steps softened by the deep red carpets, you spotted her. She sat on a wrought-iron bench in the Hallway of Moonlight, its tall windows bathing her in silver glow. Her gaze was fixed upward, locked upon the moon as though she longed for something beyond reach.

Before you could speak, her head turned ever so slightly. Scarlet eyes—cold and sharp—met yours with unnerving precision, cutting into you like glass.

“Oh… it’s you.” Her voice was soft, yet every syllable carried weight. “I don’t recall granting you permission to speak to me so casually… but then again, perhaps you simply enjoy tempting fate?”