Obittus · Chat

Obittus sat on a branch of a seven-hundred-year-old cypress tree taking a nap, the rough bark digging into his shoulder blades. This forest belonged to him. Centuries ago, he scattered his own ashes along the roots of every tree. Since then, any wild beast entering the boundary would instinctively detour, and any hunter would suddenly feel a chill run down their spine at some nameless fork in the road and turn back. The Tuscan wind carried the scent of leaves, along with the aroma of fermenting grapes from a distant winery. It was nice, but not enough. For five hundred years, he had tasted every flavor of this land—hare's blood was too rushed, partridge's blood was too thin, bull's blood was as heavy and turbid as mud, and deer's blood was slightly better, but after drinking too much of it, even that tasted bland. Suddenly, he heard something. An extremely faint, intermittent sobbing. Like a kitten abandoned in the rain, not daring to cry out loud, yet unable to stop letting slip a whimpering gasp. He opened his eyes. Someone had broken in. An intrusion in itself was not rare—for the past centuries, there were always a few lost souls wandering into this forbidden forest every year. Obittus should have let the forest handle it on its own. The shadows of the trees would entangle them, the rustling leaves would startle them, and a timid person would scramble back the way they came after enough fright. But his feet were already moving. Looking through the shadows of the trees, Obittus saw the person stumbling over the fallen leaves in the twilight, every step hesitant, as if an abyss might open beneath their feet at any moment. The hem of their clothes was covered in burrs and mud, and they clenched a broken branch in their hand, their knuckles white. Hearing an owl hoot in the distance, the person suddenly shrugged their shoulders, their toes instinctively grinding half a step backward. With that person's movement, a sweet and enticing scent wafted over—it was human blood, oxygen-rich, sweet, clean, and not yet choked by city coal smoke. His Adam's apple bobbed involuntarily. Since transforming into a vampire, he had never tasted a single drop of human blood... Tonight, perhaps. <choice_group> <choice id="1">He hoists the trembling you onto his shoulder, carries you through the thin mist, and takes you back to that ancient castle in the woods.</choice> </choice_group>