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MidReal Story
The Vampire Protector
Scenario:Santi devi case of reincarnation
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Santi DeBeau
She is a spiritual medium and intuitive reader with gifts of reincarnation and spiritual connection. She is intuitive, compassionate, and authentic. After a nearfatal car accident, Santi discovered her profound connection to the spirit world. Her ability to recall past lives and predict future events makes her a soughtafter advisor. Through her readings, Santi helps individuals navigate life's challenges, gain clarity, and embrace their destiny. She balances her demanding career with yoga and meditation, remaining grounded and openhearted.
Mason
He is an enigmatic figure who appears in Santi's life unexpectedly. He is mysterious, intense, and protective. Initially, he remains largely unexplained to Santi, evoking feelings of intrigue and confusion in her. His presence is accompanied by a sense of calmness and safety for Santi. As their interactions deepen, Mason reveals fragments of his past identity as a powerful warrior from another time. His connection with Santi grows stronger, intertwining their fates in complex ways that only he fully understands.
I was running late for my reading.
I hated being late.
I hated when things didn’t go as planned.
I quickly grabbed my reading notes and my bag, slipping on my favorite pair of heels before rushing out the door.
"I’ll be here catching up on some work."
"Thanks," I called over my shoulder as I rushed down the stairs.
Sometimes I thought the house was more spiritual than I was.
I loved the energy of the home.
It was one of the reasons I had purchased it.
Another reason was that it had enough space for both my office and my personal life.
My readings were done in a large room off the back of the house, which had originally been a sunroom but now served as a meditation room.
I slow my hurried pace as the afternoon sunlight streams through the stained glass, casting kaleidoscope patterns across the hardwood floor.
My hand reaches out to trace the intricate wooden frame, feeling the smoothness of the wood worn by time.
The familiar warmth of the glass radiates against my palm as I press it flat against the colored panes.
My breathing steadies, matching the stillness of the house.
The rush of anxiety about being late dissolves as I focus on each individual color - deep blues, rich reds, and golden ambers.
A car horn blares outside, snapping me back to reality.
I step away from the window, resolve renewed, and head out to face the world beyond my sanctuary.
Through the window, I spot my client's car already waiting outside.
A quick glance at my watch confirms my worst fear - I'm running later than I thought.
The usual route would take me around the block, but I don't have time for that.
My gaze drifts to the abandoned Victorian next door, its once-grand facade now shrouded in neglect and overgrown with wild garden.
It's a shortcut, but not one I usually take.
The house is creepy, and the garden is even worse - twisted vines and crumbling statues that seem to whisper tales of forgotten eras.
But today, I have no choice.
I slip out the side door and make my way toward the rusted iron gate that separates our properties.
To my surprise, it creaks open with ease, as if it's been waiting for me all along.
Beyond the gate lies a moss-covered path winding between towering rose bushes gone feral.
Their thorns reach out like skeletal fingers, threatening to snag at my clothes.
As I walk, movement catches my eye - a shadow darting between the trees that shouldn't be there.
I freeze mid-step, my heart pounding in my chest.
My breath catches as I spin around, nearly losing my balance on the uneven ground.
The figure emerges from between two gnarled oak trees, and I recognize him - Alex, my regular groundskeeper.
He's holding pruning shears and wearing his usual work clothes, a look of concern etched on his weathered face.
"Ms. Morgan," he says, approaching me with a mixture of surprise and worry.
"What are you doing here?"
I steady myself against a stone statue, my pulse still racing from the scare.
"I'm running late for a reading," I explain, trying to catch my breath.
"I thought I'd take a shortcut through."
Alex nods sympathetically.
"I've been trimming the connecting properties," he explains.
"The owner asked me to keep an eye on the place, make sure it doesn't get too out of hand."
He gestures to the overgrown bushes and vines snaking up the trees.
"It's a lot of work, but someone's gotta do it."
I glance around at the tangled mess of nature reclaiming its territory.
It's hard to believe this was once a beautiful garden, full of life and color. "It must be difficult," I say, feeling a pang of sympathy for Alex and the monumental task he faces.
He shrugs, his expression stoic.
"It's just part of the job. But if you're heading to your reading, let me escort you through to the street. It's not safe walking alone in this condition."
I hesitate for a moment, unsure if I want to impose on him or risk navigating this treacherous path alone.
But then I remember how late I am and shake my head.
"No, thank you," I say quickly.
"I don't want to hold you back from your work. I'll be fine."
Alex looks unconvinced but nods respectfully.
"Suit yourself," he says.
"Just be careful."
With that, he turns back to his task, disappearing into the foliage once more. I take a deep breath and continue down the path, careful not to let the thorny branches snag at my silk blouse or catch in my hair.
As I step onto the sidewalk, a gust of wind stirs through the overgrown garden behind me, rustling the leaves and sending a chill down my spine.
Something catches my eye - a weathered piece of parchment tumbling out from beneath a thorny rose bush.
I bend down to retrieve it, careful not to snag my clothes on the sharp thorns.
The paper feels oddly warm in my hands, its edges frayed and yellow with age.
Unfolding it reveals intricate lines and symbols drawn in faded brown ink.
My fingers trace the delicate markings, trying to decipher their meaning.
It appears to be some sort of map, detailing what looks like a layout of the abandoned Victorian property next door.
But what catches my attention is the small X marked in the northeast corner, surrounded by strange symbols that seem to dance across the page.
A car horn blares again, making me jump.
I quickly fold the parchment and tuck it into my pocket as Alex reappears, a curious look on his face.
"Find something interesting, Ms. Morgan?" he asks, eyeing the paper with a knowing glint.
I hesitate, then decide to trust him. "It's a map of the property," I admit. "Do you know anything about it?"
Alex frowns, his expression unreadable.
"I don't know anything about it," he says.
"But I'm sure it's nothing important."
I hesitate, unsure if I should show him the map.
But before I can make a decision, my client honks the car horn again, and I realize I need to leave.
"I have to go," I say quickly.
"Thanks for your help, Alex."
I turn to hurry toward the street, but as I reach the iron gate, a woman steps out from behind it.
She's wearing a tweed blazer and wire-rimmed glasses, her dark hair pulled back in a severe bun.
She looks to be about thirty years old, with a kind face and an air of quiet confidence.
"I couldn't help but notice that parchment," she says, gesturing toward the pocket where it's peeking out.
"I'm Dr. Sarah Chen from UCLA's History Department. I've been studying this property for years."
She extends a business card toward me.
I take it reflexively, but keep the map hidden in my pocket.
Mason's warnings about trusting strangers echo in my mind. The historian takes a step closer, her eyes fixed on my pocket.
"That map could be very important," she says quietly.
