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MidReal Story
Vampire Warden
Scenario:Lady Dimitrescu is looking for a new Daughter. Anyone may apply. All that she asks is that you do every task. And you automatically get a dress she wears. As well as hat. We welcome you to the family.
Create my version of this story
Elena
and resilient. After losing her family and home, Elena applies to work for Lady Dimitrescu, hoping to find a new family and purpose. She is drawn to the luxurious life Lady Dimitrescu presents and is willing to do anything to belong. Despite initial fears, Elena finds herself captivated by Lady Dimitrescu's generosity and welcomes her new life with excitement.
Looking for a new Daughter.
Anyone may apply.
All that is required is to do every task given to you without question.
You will automatically get a dress I once wore and a hat.
We welcome you to the family.
I stared down at the newspaper clipping in my hand, my eyes tracing over the lines of ink as if hoping to find some hidden meaning I hadn’t yet discovered.
The job offer seemed too good to be true.
A home, a family, beautiful clothes – all I had to do was agree to do every task given to me without question.
It sounded easy enough, and I was desperate.
After losing my family and having nowhere to call my own, I had been living on the streets for weeks now, barely scraping by and surviving on scraps.
The thought of having a warm bed to sleep in and food to eat was too enticing to resist.
I felt a flutter of hope in my chest as I wondered if maybe, just maybe, this was the start of a new life for me.
A better life.
I had applied for countless jobs before, but none of them had panned out.
Either they didn’t want to hire me, or I had ended up walking out midshift due to the horrible working conditions or rude customers.
But this – this seemed different.
I huddled in the phone booth outside the convenience store, fishing the last quarter I had from my coat pocket.
The metal felt cold against my fingers as I dropped it into the slot and dialed the number printed on the clipping.
My heart pounded in my chest with each ring, my breath coming out in short gasps.
I closed my eyes, hoping that this would be my ticket out of this miserable life.
Finally, a woman’s voice answered.
It was deep and smooth, with an accent that I couldn’t quite place.
"Hello?"
"Um, hello," I stuttered, trying to find my voice.
"I’m calling about the job you posted in the newspaper?"
There was a pause on the other end of the line, and for a moment, I wondered if I had made a mistake.
But then she spoke again.
"Ah, yes. The position of daughter. How delightful. Tell me, who are you?"
I swallowed hard, trying to gather my thoughts.
"My name is…"
I hesitated for a moment before continuing.
"My name is Lily. And I’m interested in applying for the position."
There was another pause, and then she asked, "And why do you think you would be suitable for this role?" I took a deep breath and tried to explain myself as best I could.
"I don’t have anywhere else to go," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
"I lost my family and I’ve been living on the streets. I just want a place to call home."
There was a soft sigh on the other end of the line, and then she spoke again.
"I see. Well, Lily, it sounds like you have been through a lot. But tell me, what makes you think you would be a good fit for our family?"
I hesitated for a moment before answering.
"I’m not sure," I admitted.
"But I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make it work."
There was another pause, and then she said, "Very well. Why don’t you come visit us tomorrow? We can conduct an interview and see if you would be a good fit for our family."
My hand trembled as I reached into my pocket for a pen and paper.
"Okay," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
"What’s your address?"
After hanging up the phone, I stared at the crumpled piece of paper in my hand, the address scrawled in elegant handwriting.
My hands were still shaking as I carefully folded it and tucked it into the inner pocket of my coat.
The evening crowd rushed past the phone booth, umbrellas bobbing in the drizzle that had started to fall.
I checked the paper three more times to make sure it was secure before stepping out into the night.
I had nowhere else to go, so I made my way to the abandoned building where I had been sleeping for the past few nights.
Under the flickering light of a street lamp, I pulled out the paper again and traced my finger over the address.
It was located in one of the wealthier parts of town, and I knew I would have to leave early if I wanted to make it there on foot.
As I lay down on the cold concrete floor, I clutched the paper tightly, knowing that tomorrow everything would change.
I woke to darkness, my body stiff from the cold concrete floor.
I reached into my coat pocket, feeling the folded paper still there.
The abandoned building creaked and groaned around me as I gathered my few belongings into my worn backpack.
Through the broken windows, I could see the stars still twinkling in the pre-dawn sky.
My footsteps echoed off the walls as I made my way down the fire escape, careful not to wake any of the other homeless people who had found shelter there for the night.
The streets were empty except for a few delivery trucks rumbling down the deserted roads.
I pulled out the address again, orienting myself towards the wealthy district.
The morning chill bit through my thin jacket as I started walking, watching the eastern sky slowly brighten with each step.
As I approached the grand house, my heart thudded in my chest, a mix of anticipation and fear.
I hesitated at the gate, taking a deep breath before pressing the intercom button.
A crackling voice responded, "Who is it?"
I pressed the button again with shaking fingers, "It’s the girl from the newspaper clipping. I called yesterday."
There was a pause, and for a moment, I wondered if I had made a mistake.
But then the metallic voice spoke again, "Wait there."
Seconds stretched into minutes as I shifted from foot to foot, studying the intricate iron scrollwork of the gate.
The cobblestones beneath my feet were immaculately clean, and my worn sneakers felt out of place.
A loud mechanical click made me jump, and then the gate’s hinges creaked as it slowly swung inward.
Beyond the gate stood a tall, elderly man in an immaculate black suit.
He stood perfectly straight, his hands clasped behind his back.
His face broke into a warm smile as he gestured for me to follow him up the winding driveway.
As I stepped through the gate, leaving the street behind, I realized I was crossing into a world that might finally offer me a chance to belong.
I trail behind the butler, my worn sneakers squeaking against the polished marble floor.
Crystal chandeliers sparkle above us, casting rainbow reflections on gilded mirrors and ornate wall panels.
The ceiling stretches impossibly high, decorated with intricate paintings of angels and clouds.
My backpack feels heavy and out of place as we pass antique vases on pedestals and oil portraits in golden frames.
The butler’s footsteps echo in the vast space, leading me deeper into the mansion.
When he stops at massive wooden doors, I clutch my backpack straps tighter, my heart racing as he reaches for the handles.
The heavy doors swing open to reveal a dimly lit study lined with towering bookshelves.
Before I can step inside, movement catches my eye - a figure emerges from behind a velvet curtain.
She's tall and slender, wearing an elegant black dress that flows as she walks.
Her pale skin seems to glow in the low light, and her dark hair falls in perfect waves past her shoulders.
When she turns to face me, our eyes lock.
Her gaze holds mine with such focused intensity that I forget to breathe.
"You're here," she says, her voice smooth and commanding.
I nod, finding my voice at last. "I found the letter... it said you might have answers about my past."
She smiles faintly, a hint of sadness in her eyes. "And perhaps, you have answers about mine."
She gestures to a high-backed leather chair beside her mahogany desk.
"Please, sit."
I sink into the chair, my worn jeans catching on the intricate wooden carvings.
She glides across the room, her movements graceful despite her imposing height.
Settling into the chair behind her desk, she opens an ancient leather book.
The cover is embossed with a symbol I don't recognize, and the pages are yellowed with age.
She slides the book toward me, and I run my fingers over the faded ink.
The pages are filled with handwritten names and dates, stretching back centuries.
"These are the records of all my daughters," she says softly.
As I reach the final page, blank except for a single line waiting to be filled, she hands me an elegant fountain pen.
I stare at the pen in her outstretched hand, its gold nib glinting in the dim light.
The leather book lies open before me, its weathered pages displaying neat rows of names in faded ink.
My fingers tremble as I accept the pen, its weight unfamiliar compared to the cheap ballpoints I'm used to.
Lady Dimitrescu leans forward, her dark eyes fixed on my hand as I lower the nib to the empty line.
The ink flows smoothly as I write "Elena" - my real name, not Lily.
Each letter feels significant, like I'm signing away my old life.
I set the pen down beside the book, the ink still glistening on the page.
Lady Dimitrescu leans forward, her shadow falling across the desk as she examines my handwriting.
Her red lips curve into a satisfied smile, and she closes the book with a gentle thud.
The leather binding creaks as she slides it into a drawer, locking it with a small brass key.
She rises from her chair, towering over me, and extends her hand.
My fingers tremble as I take it, her skin cool against mine.
"Welcome home, Elena," she whispers, sealing my fate with a firm handshake.
She leads me out of the office, her heels clicking against the marble floors while I trail behind in my squeaky sneakers.
The hallways wind through the mansion, lined with ornate gas lamps that cast long shadows on the dark wood paneling.
We pass by a grand staircase, its banister intricately carved with vines and flowers.
The air is thick with the scent of old books and dust.
As we turn a corner, we come face to face with a wall of portraits.
Each frame holds a young woman in an elegant dress, their faces eerily similar despite being from different eras.
Lady Dimitrescu pauses at each one, introducing them as her previous daughters.
Her voice carries a mix of pride and something else I can't quite identify.
At the end of the hall, she stops at an empty frame, its gilded edges glinting in the dim light.
She turns to me with a smile that sends shivers down my spine.
"Your portrait will hang here soon."
She continues down the hall, her tall figure gliding effortlessly while I struggle to keep up.
The corridors twist and narrow, the marble floors giving way to dark wooden panels that creak beneath our feet.
The gas lamps cast dancing shadows on the walls, making the cramped space feel alive.
We turn another corner, and Lady Dimitrescu stops abruptly in front of a heavy oak door.
I nearly bump into her flowing dress as she produces an ancient brass key from her pocket.
The metal scrapes loudly in the lock, and the door groans open to reveal a spiral staircase descending into darkness.
Without a word, she gestures for me to step inside, leaving the choice unmistakably mine.
I grip the iron railing as she leads the way down the stairs, her dress brushing against the cold stone walls.
The gas lamps flicker above us, casting eerie shadows that make me dizzy as we descend deeper into the earth.
Each step echoes in the narrow space, and I find myself counting them to keep calm - ten steps down, twenty, thirty.
The air grows colder and damper with every step, carrying a strange metallic scent that clings to my skin.
When my sneaker slips slightly on a worn stone, Lady Dimitrescu's hand finds my elbow without turning around.
At the bottom of the stairs, she produces an ornate silver lighter from a hidden pocket in her dress.
The flame flickers to life, casting a golden glow over the dark space as she touches it to a torch mounted on the wall.
The rough stone walls are covered in dark stains that look almost like blood, and the air feels heavy with secrets.
As my eyes adjust to the dim light, I see that we are standing at the edge of a large circular room, its curved walls stretching up to a vaulted ceiling.
The room is empty except for a single piece of art - an enormous mural that covers the entire curved wall.
The paint is faded and cracked, but I can make out images of women in long flowing dresses gathered around a central figure.
Their faces are weathered but still recognizable, their expressions pained yet serene.
Lady Dimitrescu runs her fingers along the ancient artwork, her touch reverent as she points out details I hadn't noticed before. "Each daughter's image was added over the centuries," she explains in a voice barely above a whisper.
"Their portraits were painted by the finest artists of their time."
She points to a woman in a flowing white gown, her face surrounded by flowers and vines.
"This was my first daughter, born over three hundred years ago. She was a beauty, just like you."
I follow her gaze along the mural, taking in the different eras and styles on display.
Each woman's face is unique yet somehow connected to Lady Dimitrescu's own features - high cheekbones, full lips, piercing eyes.
As we near the edge of the mural, I notice an empty space waiting for my image to join the others.
A shiver runs down my spine as I realize that this is where my portrait will hang someday. The torch sputters slightly in Lady Dimitrescu's hand, making the painted faces seem to twist in the shifting light.
Their expressions appear almost sinister now, their eyes following us as we move along the mural.
"Why do you choose them?" I ask, my voice barely steady.
Lady Dimitrescu turns to me, her eyes gleaming in the torchlight.
"They choose themselves," she replies softly, "when they step into the shadows willingly."
I move toward the mural, my fingers tracing the rough stone wall.
The painted faces seem to stare down at me, their expressions haunting and distant.
I stop in front of a woman whose portrait is especially vivid - her face surrounded by delicate lines and swirling patterns that dance in the flickering light.
Her eyes follow my movement as I run my fingertips along the edge of her portrait, the paint cool to the touch.
Suddenly, I feel a presence behind me - Lady Dimitrescu's heels clicking on the stone floor as she approaches.
I glance back to see her watching me intently, the torch casting our shadows large against the wall.
Mine appears small next to her towering figure.
When my finger reaches the woman's neck in the painting, I notice something strange - a dark stain that looks like blood beneath the paint.
My fingers linger on the dark stain while Lady Dimitrescu steps closer, her dress rustling against the stone floor.
The torch casts our merged shadows on the mural as she reaches past me to touch the portrait.
Her long nail traces the woman's neck where the stain mars the paint.
The chamber feels colder now, and I can't stop staring at that red-brown mark.
When Lady Dimitrescu's cool breath touches my ear, I freeze in place.
"The story is not finished yet," she whispers, her voice sending shivers down my spine.
"Every mark tells a tale," she continues, her voice low and melodic.
I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady. "What tale does this one tell?"
Lady Dimitrescu's eyes meet mine, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "A tale of choice and consequence, my dear."
I run my fingernail along the edge of the dark stain, feeling a strange texture beneath.
Lady Dimitrescu's hand rests on my shoulder as I work, her rings glinting in the torchlight.
Small flakes of paint crumble away under my careful scraping, revealing hints of etched lines underneath.
My heart pounds in my chest as more of the hidden mark emerges - curved symbols forming a circular pattern.
When the last paint chips fall, I recognize the design instantly.
It perfectly matches the ornate pendant hanging at Lady Dimitrescu's throat, down to the smallest detail.
I turn to her, my voice barely a whisper. "What does it mean?"
Lady Dimitrescu's smile widens, her eyes glinting with a secret. "It means you're more connected to this place than you realize."
My breath catches as I glance back at the mural, the symbols now glowing faintly in the torchlight.
My hand moves toward Lady Dimitrescu's pendant without conscious thought, as if drawn by an unseen force.
The metal catches the torchlight, making the symbols shimmer like liquid gold.
She remains perfectly still, watching me with those piercing eyes as my fingers hover near her neck.
The pendant seems to radiate a subtle heat, growing warmer as my hand gets closer.
My breath catches when my fingertips brush the cool chain.
The mural's symbols flare brightly, and the chamber plunges into darkness.