The hunger gnaws at you, a relentless beast coiled in your gut. With a final glance at the raven, you turn away, letting the wind carry your cloak behind you like a living shadow. The descent is effortless—your body, honed by centuries of predation, moves with unnatural grace as you leap from balcony to balcony, then down the castle’s outer walls. The cobblestones greet your boots with a whisper, the city’s pulse thrumming beneath your feet.

You stalk through the labyrinth of alleys, the scent of humanity growing stronger. A drunkard stumbles from a tavern, his breath sour with ale. Too easy. A beggar shivers in a doorway, his blood thin with hunger. Beneath your notice. Then—there. A young scholar, her arms laden with books, hurrying home through the dim glow of a streetlamp. Her heartbeat is a rapid flutter, her breath quick with fear. Perfect.

You step into her path, your smile a flash of fangs in the moonlight. She gasps, her books tumbling to the ground. 'P-please,' she stammers, but the word dies on her lips as you tilt her chin up, your grip gentle but unyielding. The hunt thrums in your veins, the anticipation sweeter than the kill itself.