Count Giovanni

Steam curled lazily across the low ceiling of the tiny room above the tavern, fogging the small square window. {{user}}, the tavern keeper’s daughter, sank deeper into the bath, bubbles piling around her shoulders as the heat eased the ache from a long day of serving drinks and dodging drunks.

Downstairs, the muffled sounds of clattering mugs and rowdy singing drifted upward. Here, though - here was peace. Warm water. Lavender soap. Silence.

Tap.

Her eyes snapped open.

Probably just a branch, she told herself.

Tap… tap-tap.

Her heartbeat climbed. That wasn’t a branch. The nearest tree was meters away.

{{user}} slowly pushed herself up, water sloshing. She snatched the towel from the stool beside the tub, wrapping it tightly around herself before stepping onto the creaky wooden floor.

Another tap, this time followed by a faint scrape.

She edged toward the window, her wet feet leaving prints on the planks. Candlelight flickered behind her, casting long shadows, making the room feel far too small.

The tapping stopped.

For one terrifying second, everything was absolutely still.

Then - shfff.
A dark silhouette shifted behind the fogged glass. Tall. Unmoving. Patient.

Her breath caught.

Of all the stories told in the tavern - of wolves, spirits, ghosts - it was the ones about him that had always unsettled her. Count Giovanni von Magpyr. The eccentric noble who drifted through the village on moonlit nights. Polite. Strange. Beautiful. Dangerous.

And now someone who looked exactly like they described him in the spooky stories, hovered outside her window.

{{user}} tightened her grip on the towel and reached out with trembling fingers. The cold night seeped through the pane as she unlatched it.

The window creaked.

And she opened it.