A heart of the vampire

Chapter 1

In the quiet, forgotten town of Darkwood, where the shadows clung to the trees long after the sun had set, a legend haunted the edges of every conversation. For centuries, it was said that was a vampire in the woods, cursed to stay alone in sorrow since the 18th century. He was a creature condemned by the weight of a love lost too soon. The townspeople spoke of him as a tragic figure, a vampire who had once loved deeply, but whose beloved—Amara—had been torn from him by death.

Amara's beauty and talent had been the stuff of legend. A young artist with raven-black hair and eyes as green as spring's first bloom, she had enchanted everyone she met. Her death, sudden and shrouded in mystery, had sent Lucian spiraling into an eternal sleep. His sorrow was said to have driven him to a crypt deep in the woods, where he remained, buried under centuries of regret. But it wasn't just Lucian's sleep that kept him trapped; it was Amara's soul, bound to the forest and waiting for the day they could be reunited.

Every Halloween, the children would gather, sharing tales of how Lucian wandered the forest at night, lamenting the loss of his beloved bride. They imagined him standing beneath the ancient oak tree where Amara had once painted, his heart heavy with sorrow. The townspeople treated the story with wary reverence, but no one ventured into the heart of the forest after dark. They knew better than to disturb what lingered there.

Serena didn't believe in ghost stories—at least, not at first. She had spent her life in Darkwood, her days blending into a quiet monotony of sketches and long walks. But something about Lucian's tale had always fascinated her. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it, that the forest held secrets deeper than the townspeople dared to admit. One evening, driven by a restless curiosity and a longing for something beyond her ordinary life, Serena ventured into the woods, her lantern flickering in the dark.

The forest felt alive as she moved deeper into the trees. The air grew colder, and the ground beneath her feet softened with damp earth. The deeper she went, the heavier the atmosphere became, as though the woods themselves were holding their breath. Serena pressed on, following a strange pull in her chest that seemed to guide her.

As she wandered deeper, the shadows seemed to close in around her, and the trees whispered secrets only the night could understand. Serena stumbled upon a clearing, its center marked by a gnarled oak that stood like a sentinel. She felt an inexplicable pull toward it. As she approached, the lantern flickered, casting flickering shadows that danced around her.

She found herself in a clearing, dominated by an ancient oak tree whose roots twisted and tangled with the earth. This, she knew, was the place where Amara had once painted—where the legend said her spirit still lingered, waiting for Lucian to awaken. Serena approached the tree cautiously, the weight of history pressing down on her. The air seemed to hum with a strange energy, and just as she knelt to sketch the scene, she heard a voice.

"Serena..."

It was a whisper, soft but unmistakable. Serena's heart raced as she turned, her breath catching in her throat. In the flickering light of her lantern, a figure emerged from the shadows. It was a woman, her form pale and translucent, her long black hair flowing as if stirred by an invisible wind. Her eyes were deep green, and though her face was otherworldly, Serena recognized her immediately.

"Don't hurt me," Serena breathed with truly fear.

The ghost of Amara hovered before her, ethereal and sorrowful. There was a weight to her presence, something ancient and melancholic that made Serena's skin prickle. But before Serena could react, Amara moved toward her, faster than Serena could process. In a blink, the cold, spectral form of Amara passed into her, enveloping her like a rush of icy wind. Serena gasped as she felt Amara's presence flood her body—her very soul.