As the man in the cloak raised his arms, the glint of the knife catching the faint light of the room, I closed my eyes and prepared for the worst. But just as suddenly, the door burst open and a girl stood in the entrance, her eyes fixed on the man with a mix of surprise and desperation.
"Father!!" she exclaimed, her voice ringing through the room. "I've been searching for you everywhere, calling out to you all over the castle. Where have you been?"
The man spun around, his back blocking me from the girl's view, and I realized she hadn't seen me yet. I remained frozen, hoping to avoid detection.
The girl's eyes narrowed, her gaze fixed on her father. "What's going on here?" she demanded. "I smell something... something familiar. Is it... is it him?"
Her voice cracked, and I sensed a deep longing in her words. She took a step forward, her eyes scanning the room as if searching for someone.
"Who are you talking about, daughter?" the man asked gruffly, his voice laced with a hint of warning.
The girl's eyes flashed with determination. "You know who I mean. My love, my heart. I've been searching for him for centuries, and I won't rest until I find him."
I watched, fascinated, as the girl's words poured out in a torrent of emotion. Her father's expression remained stern, but I sensed a flicker of unease beneath his surface.
"Enough, daughter," he growled. "You don't know what you're talking about."
But the girl refused to back down. "I know what I smell," she insisted. "And I know what I feel. He's here, Father. I know it."
As the girl's words hung in the air, I realized that she was talking about me. But how could that be? I was just a stranger in this strange place, with no connection to this girl or her father. And yet, as I looked into her eyes, I saw a deep longing, a sense of recognition that went beyond words.
As the man's patience wore thin, he dismissed his daughter with a wave of his hand. "Dorothy, stop with your drama and make your way out of here. I'm busy."
But Dorothy refused to back down, her eyes flashing with determination. "Busy with what, Father?" she pressed, her voice laced with a hint of hurt. "What could possibly be more important than me?"
The man's expression remained stern, but I sensed a flicker of unease beneath his surface. He seemed hesitant to reveal his true intentions, and I wondered what secrets he was hiding.
That's when I decided to risk my presence, despite the danger. I called out to Dorothy in a gentle voice, hoping to catch her attention. "Dorothy."
As she turned towards me, her eyes widened in shock, and she took a step back, her gaze fixed on me with a mix of confusion and recognition. "Gabriel?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
I was taken aback by her reaction, unsure of what to make of it. I didn't know this girl, had never seen her before, and yet, she seemed to know me. Her eyes scanned my face, as if searching for something, and I felt a strange sense of familiarity, as if I had seen those eyes before, but couldn't quite place them.
Dorothy's father didn't move, didn't try to intervene, as his daughter pushed past him, her eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my heart race. She reached out a hand, as if to touch me, and I felt a jolt of electricity run through my body.
"Gabriel," she whispered again, her voice filled with wonder. "It's really you."
I was taken aback by her words, unsure of what to say or do. I didn't know this girl, didn't know what she wanted from me, but her eyes seemed to hold a deep longing, a sense of recognition that went beyond words.
As Dorothy's eyes locked onto her father, they transformed into a deep, blood red, a color so vibrant it seemed to pulse with an otherworldly energy. Her gaze was filled with a fierce intensity, a burning anger that seemed to radiate from her very pores. My heart raced as I watched, frozen in terror, as she rose to her feet, her movements fluid and graceful.
The air seemed to vibrate with tension as she advanced on her father, her eyes blazing with a fierce accusation. "You tried to kill him, didn't you?" she spat, her voice low and menacing.
The man didn't flinch, didn't respond, but I saw a flicker of fear in his eyes, a hint of uncertainty. And then, in a movement that defied human strength, Dorothy launched herself at her father, her body a blur as she struck him with a fierce cry.
The sound of the impact was like thunder, a deafening crash that shook the very foundations of the room. The wall behind her father shattered, fragments of stone and mortar flying everywhere as he crashed into it with a sickening thud.
I watched in horror, my mind reeling with the implications. Dorothy was a vampire, a creature of supernatural strength and power. And she was furious, her anger a palpable force that seemed to fill the room.
As her father struggled to rise, Dorothy pinned him to the ground, her eyes blazing with a fierce intensity. "You'll never hurt him again," she hissed, her voice dripping with venom. "Never."
As I lay on the floor, watching the scene unfold before me, I felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins. I knew I had to act fast, to stop Dorothy from committing a horrific act that would haunt her for eternity. With a burst of energy, I screamed at the top of my lungs, "Dorothy, no! Don't do it!"
My plea seemed to resonate with her, and she hesitated, her eyes flicking towards me. For a moment, we locked gazes, and I saw a glimmer of recognition, of humanity, in her eyes. And then, in a movement that seemed almost involuntary, she relaxed her grip on her father, releasing him from her grasp.
The man struggled to his feet, his face twisted in a snarl of contempt. "You fool, Dorothy," he spat, his voice dripping with venom. "You're so weak, so pathetic. This is exactly why I wanted to eliminate him - because you're always so weak whenever he's around."
Dorothy's eyes flashed with anger, but she didn't respond. Instead, she took a step back, her gaze never leaving her father's face. I could see the tension between them, the weight of their complicated history hanging in the air like a challenge.
"You're a monster, Father," Dorothy said finally, her voice low and even. "And I'm not like you. I won't kill him. I won't be like you."
The man sneered, his eyes glinting with malevolence. "We'll see about that," he snarled, and with a sudden movement, he lunged at me, a dagger glinting in his hand.