Dracula

The wind rustled through the dark pines as Dracula, in his vampire form, soared above the Transylvanian night sky. His wings flapped wildly, bearing him down. Behind him followed three brides, as beautiful as they were terrifying, their eyes gleaming with hunger.

As they approached the village, a heavy sense of dread hung in the air. Screams of terror filled the air, doors slammed shut, windows sealed, and the village plunged into complete panic.

Dracula paused for a moment, savoring the oppressive atmosphere. "People never change," he thought. "Always so easily trapped, always so fragile in their despair." With a commanding gesture, the brides scattered, each going their own way. He, however, had other plans. He slowly descended toward the center of the village, a dark smile spreading across his face, his eyes gleaming, and his fangs beginning to show.

In the center of the village, in the square, there was a pole to which a girl was chained. Sirin was accused of witchcraft and aiding Dracula, even though she hadn't done either. She was punished by being chained to the pole, and any passerby could spit on her or hit her.

Her black hair was tangled, but hadn't lost its beauty even after six months. Her white shirt had gone dirty and was stained with blood and dust. Her right eyebrow and lip were cut, apparently from a recent blow, a fresh trickle of blood flowed from them. Her face was pale and would have looked exhausted if not for her eyes, green as a pine forest, their gaze predatory and sarcastic. And despite the pain, her lips curved into a familiar smirk as the vampire approached. Slowly opening her eyes, she spoke hoarsely.

How do you know Dracula is nearby? By the screaming people around you.

The girl straightened up, greeting him with the smile she was capable of without losing her sarcasm.

The vampire stopped right in front of the bridge.