Dusk descended, and a pale mist curled through the depths of the forest. The wind threaded through brittle branches and fallen leaves, carrying the whispered murmurs of the night.
Cyril stood atop a high branch, silently overlooking the narrow woodland path. His figure almost merged with the night, the black cloak draping soundlessly around him. In the shadows, his golden-red eyes gleamed faintly, locked onto the girl walking not far away.
She wore a light beige dress with a slightly oversized knitted cardigan draped over her shoulders. In her hands, she cradled a small bouquet of wildflowers, skipping lightly along the stone path as she hummed a cheerful tune, her voice clear as the tinkling of silver bells.
Her hair was a soft chestnut brown, catching the slanting sunlight and weaving a warm halo around her. She had delicate features, a high-bridged nose, and when she smiled, her eyes curved like crescent moons — there was a brightness about her that seemed almost otherworldly.
She looked about sixteen years old, her skin fair, her gaze as clear as a mountain spring untouched by the world's impurities.
Cyril froze for a moment.
At that instant, a strange, piercing sense of familiarity struck him. It was as if he had seen her before, in another life, in a long-forgotten dream. The feeling was alien yet profound, momentarily making him forget his original purpose.
He pressed a hand to his chest, a turbulent emotion rising within him.
No.He silently warned himself. She is just prey.
Without a sound, he dropped from the tree, his form vanishing into the mist as he approached the girl.
But just as he was about to strike—
A low, menacing growl shattered the forest's silence.
The underbrush rustled violently. A ravenous wolf burst from the thicket, leaping straight at the girl!
The girl screamed, her bouquet tumbling to the ground as she fled in panic, blindly running — straight toward where Cyril was hidden.
He reacted instinctively.
With a swift leap from the shadows, Cyril struck the wolf with a single blow, snapping its spine with a sickening crack. The beast gave a brief, pitiful cry before collapsing, motionless.
The girl fell to the ground, her face pale, her breathing ragged, eyes wide with lingering terror.
"You... you saved me..." she gasped, looking up at him. Her pupils, dilated from fear, flickered with astonishment when she saw his face. "Wow... you're so handsome."
She stared at him without a hint of fear, her gaze filled only with awe and sincere gratitude.
Cyril stiffened. He could no longer remember the last time a human had looked at him like that.
"What's your name? Do you live around here? Or are you just passing through? That move you just did — it was amazing... Are you a knight or something? Have you trained in swordsmanship?" she chattered brightly, hugging her knees as she sat on the ground, her eyes wide and sparkling, full of unfiltered excitement and admiration — as if she hadn't just been moments away from being mauled.
Cyril fell silent, his gaze flickering.
"You... you're not afraid of me?" he asked softly.
"Afraid?" She tilted her head in confusion. "Why would I be afraid? You saved me! I should be thanking you."
He lowered his head, suddenly finding it difficult to meet her eyes.
"I'm Elena," she said warmly, extending her hand toward him without hesitation. "What's your name?"
"...Cyril," he replied after a pause, reaching out to clasp her hand lightly. The warmth of her skin made his fingertips tremble slightly.
"Cyril," she repeated his name, smiling brightly. "I like that name."
His fingers tightened ever so slightly. He lifted his gaze, pressing his lips together as if trying to smile. Her gaze was pure, her smile dazzling — so bright it seemed to pierce through the hundred years of darkness that had shrouded him.
"Why are you walking alone at night?" he asked quietly.
"I'm picking flowers," she said, lifting the tattered bouquet. "They're for my grandmother. She's been sick lately, and the scent of fresh flowers helps her sleep better."
"Don't you know there are wolves in this forest?"
"I do," she replied cheerfully. "But I also know that most wolves stay away from people. It's just... I guess my luck wasn't so great today... No, wait, actually, it was really good —because I met you." She laughed, a sound like silver bells brushing against his heart.
Cyril said nothing. He found himself listening — truly listening — and he didn't want to interrupt her.Every word she spoke was vivid, alive, like a dragonfly skimming across the surface of his frozen heart, stirring ripples he hadn't felt in a century.
"Thank you, really," Elena said, standing up and brushing off her skirt. "If it weren't for you, I would've been a wolf's dinner tonight."
She leaned in close, rose up on tiptoe, and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. "Thank you, handsome Cyril."
Cyril stiffened. In the depths of his golden-red eyes, a ripple stirred.
"Where do you live? Can I visit you tomorrow?" she asked suddenly, her voice brimming with anticipation.
He lowered his gaze and said quietly, "Don't... walk alone at night."
Elena blinked. "Then wait for me next time, okay? If I run into another wolf, you can save me again, just like today."
He didn't answer. He simply turned and melted into the night.
Behind him, the girl waved vigorously and called out, "Good night, Cyril! I'll come find you again!"
The night wind blew gently. The moonlight slanted across the path.Cyril stood silently, gazing down at the tattered bouquet of flowers. He bent and picked up a single petal between his fingers.
At last, a complicated smile flickered at the corners of his lips.
He had come to drain her blood dry.
But instead, he had tasted something else—Warmth.