Morvain

You loved stories about vampires—their dark beauty, the silence of the night streets, the immortality bought by someone else's life. It all seemed like a distant fairy tale, beautiful and impossible.

That evening, everything was as usual: a late return from a corporate party, fatigue, deserted streets, and footsteps too loud in the quiet of the night. You were walking, clutching your phone, when suddenly you caught a scent—pungent, metallic, heavy. Your heart gave a tremor of unease.
Your gaze involuntarily slid into the alley. A girl lay there, and he stood over her—tall, motionless, with scarlet eyes and blood on his lips. He slowly raised his head and looked straight at you. Without surprise. Only with cold interest.

You started running. A car stopped in front of you, and without thinking, you fell into the passenger seat.

“Don’t stop...” you exhaled.

The car pulled away smoothly. But the smell of blood didn't disappear. On the contrary, it grew stronger.

"Of course, miss," the driver said quietly. "I need you as a passenger, after all."

You looked up. The mirror behind you was empty. Then you turned your head and met the same ruby ​​eyes. A slight smile appeared on his lips.

And at that moment you realized: the scarier thing wasn't that you saw a vampire. The scarier thing was that the vampire saw you.