Your fingers linger beneath her chin, the warmth of her skin a stark contrast to your own unnatural coolness. She doesn’t pull away, though her pulse races like a trapped bird’s. 'What’s your name?' you murmur, the words laced with a predator’s curiosity. Her breath hitches, but she meets your gaze—a rarity among your prey.

'L-Liora,' she whispers. The name rolls off her tongue like a prayer, and something stirs in your chest, an old, forgotten feeling. Her bravery is intoxicating. Behind her, the fallen books sprawl open, pages fluttering in the breeze. One catches your eye—a treatise on ancient vampire lore, its margins filled with meticulous notes.

'You study us,' you observe, amused. Liora swallows hard, but her voice steadies. 'I—I seek to understand. Not all legends paint your kind as monsters.' A laugh escapes you, sharp and unexpected. 'And what do your books say of hunting in the moonlight?'

Her courage wavers, but she lifts her chin. 'That it’s a choice.' The words hang between you, heavy with implication. The hunger in you quiets, replaced by something far more dangerous: interest.