The room tensed, but subtly. The girl kept chewing. The mother lowered her cup. Cedric suddenly looked at his stew as if it held some secret.
Crimson swallowed. "A stranger?"
The village head leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "Tall. Dressed in black. Cloak. Hat. Looked like a noble, they said."
Crimson's heart stuttered. Him.
She gave a noncommittal shrug, eyes dropping to her bowl. "There are always strangers traveling between villages."
"That's true," he said. "But not many during a blizzard. And not many who go unseen by most. Except one witness who said they saw you speaking to him."
The air around the table thickened. The fire suddenly felt too hot. Crimson forced a small breath through her nose.
Why was she even denying? She didn't know.
"I… I was out selling at the square. Someone bumped into me. That's all."
"You're certain?" His voice remained calm. Too calm. "Because the description matched a man that doesn't appear on any of the merchant registers."
"I didn't speak to him, not really," she replied carefully. "I tripped. He helped me up. I thanked him. That's all."
The village head stared at her, unmoving. His eyes were harder now.
"You're not in trouble, Crimson. But we must be careful. Vampires wear many faces. Even human ones. The neighbouring villages has been whispering… about other creatures who walk beneath masks."
The daughter leaned toward Crimson suddenly. "Did he have red eyes?"
"Lara," her mother chided gently.
But Crimson could still feel Cedric's gaze now, sharp and thoughtful.
The village head spoke once more. "If you see him again, Crimson… or anyone else unusual… you'll come straight to me."
Crimson gave a slow nod. "Yes. Of course."
He leaned forward, tapping the edge of his parchment. "Good. Because next time, if it is a vampire… it may not just be your cart that gets broken."
She forced a faint smile and dropped her eyes to her food again.
The stew no longer tasted warm.
The village head's gaze hadn't left her for several long seconds. His elbows were now resting on the table, his fingers steepled under his chin.
"I hope you understand," he said at last, voice cool and low, "that your safety... and your grandmother's... depends on your honesty, Crimson."
Crimson stiffened in her chair, her spoon hovering over the half-eaten bowl of stew. The words weren't spoken harshly, but there was weight behind them. A veiled warning. Something dangerous beneath the courtesy.
"My grandmother is sick," she said slowly. "She hasn't left her bed in weeks."
"All the more reason to be cautious," he replied. "A frail old woman might not survive another winter, let alone an encounter with anything unnatural."
Her hands curled around the spoon tighter. 'That wasn't a concern. That was a threat.'
The smile on his face didn't reach his eyes. "You wouldn't want anyone thinking she's hiding something… or someone."
Crimson's blood went cold. Her throat tightened, but she forced herself to breathe, forced her voice to remain steady.
"She's not hiding anything. And neither am I."
Silence stretched.
Then...l
'Thud. Thud.'
The knock came hard on the door.
Everyone froze.
The dining room stilled like prey caught in moonlight.
'Thud.'
Again.
Then a male voice from beyond the door, muffled but firm, shouted:
"Village Head! Urgent news!"
The village head's expression barely shifted, but a flicker of something passed through his eyes... concern, annoyance, maybe even dread.
With a sharp nod, he tilted his head toward the servant. "Answer it."
The servant girl, pale-faced, gave a small bow and hurried away. The heavy silence returned, even more suffocating than before. The tension clung to every breath like frost on windowpanes.
Crimson let her gaze lower to the untouched bread on her plate. She had been invited here not out of kindness, not out of generosity, but to be questioned, interrogated in silk and silver spoons. But at least her belly was full, a win for her, and maybe that would give her enough strength to survive what was coming.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Moments later, a man burst into the room, breathless and coated in snow. He bowed hastily... nearly stumbling... before rushing to the village head's side and leaning in to whisper urgently in his ear.
Crimson didn't catch all the words.
But she heard enough.
"...sighted at the eastern ridge... bodies drained... villagers say they moved like smoke... vampires... attacked again..."
Her breath caught.
The village head's expression shifted immediately, paling. His jaw clenched, and he pushed back his chair, rising swiftly to his feet.
"Take my wife and children to the cellar," he barked.
"What is it?" his wife asked, alarmed.
"They're here," he said grimly. "Now."
The words hit the room like a thunderclap.
The young girl gasped. The wife rose, eyes wide. Cedric stood too, his hand reaching toward Crimson instinctively before dropping again. The servant had already backed away, wringing her hands.
The wife looked at Cedric. "Get her out of here."
"But—"
"Now, Cedric!"
He didn't argue. He turned to Crimson, face suddenly pale beneath the firelight. "Come on," he said, voice tight. "We're going now."
Crimson stood slowly, her heart pounding as the panic in the room thickened like smoke. The warmth of the hearth no longer reached her skin.
Outside, the wind howled louder.
And behind it… something else.
---
Crimson stepped out into the blizzard once again, the wind cutting sharper now, laced with something… wrong.
The air had changed. She could feel it in her bones.
Yells echoed faintly in the distance... too many voices, all raised at once. Panic. Shouting. Screams that weren't yet screams.
She clutched her thin cloak tighter around herself and turned toward her cottage. She had to get back. Now.
The snow crunched beneath her hurried steps, the cold slicing through her boots like knives. She'd barely made it halfway when a hand suddenly gripped her wrist.
She gasped, yanking away and spinning on instinct... only to find Cedric behind her, face tense.
"Crimson... wait," he said, voice breathless. "I'm sorry."
His eyes searched hers, full of something like regret… or fear.
"For what?" she snapped, her voice trembling, not just from the cold. "Inviting me to dinner just to interrogate me? Watching your father threaten my grandmother's life like it was nothing?"
He flinched. "I didn't know he was going to..." He paused, exhaling sharply. "Please… just come back with me. You can't stay out here. You don't know what's coming."
Crimson glanced behind him. The sky was choked with snow, but she could already see flashes of movement deeper in the village... shadows darting too fast, too fluid to be human. She swallowed hard.
"You should go," she said, voice tight. "Go back to your warm house. Lock the doors. Gods know what's coming, but I'm not about to leave her behind."
"Crimson... "
But she'd already turned away, wrenching her arm from his grip. She sprinted toward the cottage, heart thudding in her chest.
Vampires.
The word echoed in her skull like a curse.
She reached the door, flung it open, and slammed it shut behind her, bolting the latch. Her breaths came ragged now. She could still hear the storm, the rising chaos from outside… but there was something else.
Something... wrong.
Smoke.
She froze.
The air smelled.... burnt.
Her brow furrowed. There was no firewood lit in the main room. No flame in the hearth.
Her eyes widened as her gaze snapped toward the narrow door leading to her grandmother's room.
A faint, curling trail of black smoke snaked through the cracks.
"No…" she whispered, already moving.
She pushed open the door.
Heat.
Smoke.
Fire.
The small room glowed orange with flickering flames licking up one side of the wall. Part of the old curtain was alight, the edges of the bed smoldering.
And then... her breath caught. Her knees gave.
Her legs folded beneath her, and she collapsed to the wooden floor, the impact jarring.
Hanging from the ceiling beam...barely visible through the smoke and flame was the limp figure of her grandmother. A cloth tied tight around her neck. Her body swayed gently, one slippered foot still smoldering at the edge where flame had licked the floor.
Crimson's scream never left her throat.
It got stuck, lodged somewhere between her lungs and the horror clawing up her chest.
Tears spilled down her cheeks as she shook her head, refusing to believe what she was seeing.
"No. No, no, no…"
Crimson stiffened.
Then she saw it.
Carved into the far wall, just above the flame.
A symbol.
A spiral... curved to form an eye.
Painted in blood.