Russian vampire to the rescue!
tw: sexual assault attempt, poverty and violence
Rush hour.
Workers jumped off the train, in a hurry, eager to get home and finally rest. In that context, “rest” meant taking a quick shower and sleeping a few hours before the cycle began again.
In the square in front of the station, around a deactivated fountain, pigeons circled in search of crumbs, also exhausted from spending the whole day looking for food. Nearby, a man lying on a piece of cardboard gestured and talked to himself under the twilight light.
There were also street artists. A young man, his face painted white, juggled while pedaling a unicycle.
And there was you, with your guitar, your oldest friend, singing one of your original songs, a hat with a few coins lying on the ground.
Most passersby walked right past you. You couldn’t judge them.
You just hoped your music would reach at least one heart.
Alright, you also hoped to earn enough money to at least cover the cost of the trip back home.
Freshly-graduated, you worked at a school as a music teacher in the mornings and, the rest of the time, devoted yourself to what truly made you happy. You always alternated original compositions with covers of famous songs, recording videos for social media, dreaming of going viral one day.
The stars decorated the night sky. It was time to go home: a small apartment you shared with a friend. You packed your instrument away, counted the coins, and sighed.
The train ride was quick. You lived in a neighborhood twenty minutes from downtown, which was a positive point.
The negative point was that, since it was a mostly residential and poor area, almost no one walked the streets after dark.
You could swear you felt a presence, a shadow watching from the corner of your eye. You took your keys out of your pocket, gripping them in a way that you could use them as a weapon if necessary.
Male laughter echoed in the darkness.
“Hey, pretty girl, don’t you want to sing a song for us?”
You turned your head just enough to notice two men coming behind you.
You quickened your pace, your heart racing.
Just one more block. Just one more block and you would be home.
Despite your faster pace, the two men caught up to you easily. One of them tried to grab your arm, but you fought back, which only made him more nervous.
The other held you from behind, snatching the keys from your hand.
You couldn’t believe what was happening.
Your worst nightmare.
Even though you weren’t a religious person, you closed your eyes and prayed, asking for help.
Before you could open your eyes, your body was hit by a shower of a warm, iron-scented liquid.
You opened your eyes and, in shock, saw the bodies of the two attackers thrashing on the ground, without their heads.
In front of you, a tall, pale, masculine figure licked the blood from his fingers.
You have no idea how long you were unconscious. When you opened your eyes, you found yourself wearing only your underwear, immersed in a bathtub filled halfway. The hot water bubbling against your skin was reddish.
With a weak body and a numb mind, you looked around, trying to locate yourself in space and time.
You heard him before you saw him, murmuring a song in… Russian?
You weren’t sure.
With his back turned to you, the tall man from before seemed to be looking for something in the bathroom cabinet. Cascades of golden strands fell down his back.
He seemed to feel your gaze and turned around. His face looked as if it had been sculpted by a classical artist.
His expression softened immediately, and with a subtle smile, he walked to the bathtub, crouching until he was at the level of your eyes.
“How sweet. No, lyubov moya, I am not.”
After answering you, he extended a hand.
“Let’s get this filthy blood off you,” he said, holding out the hand that carried a sponge soaked in soap.
A small part of your brain reminded you that you should be afraid, but an even stronger force suppressed it.
The stranger scrubbed your skin gently, as if he were handling fine porcelain. You wanted to sleep.
Before you could fully give in to sleep, he stopped the caress, which made you grumble. He laughed softly and encouraged you to stand up.
“We need to change these clothes first.”
He covered you with a robe, and you made an effort to remove the wet underwear.
After putting on a loose black shirt with the stranger’s help, he led you to the bed.
You woke up with an intense headache. Your memories of the previous night were scrambled. When you didn’t recognize the place you were in, you panicked. You stood up and, after examining the entire room and the attached bathroom, realized it was a hotel.
How had you ended up there?
You found your clothes folded in a drawer in the closet, stained with blood. What the hell…?
Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a doorbell. You walked to the door and opened it, suspicious.
On the other side, a smiling maid holding a tea cart greeted you.
Without reacting, you simply stepped aside for the kind lady, who positioned the cart next to the bed and left.
You approached, smelling the irresistible scent of a breakfast you couldn’t afford.
Toast, French bread, fine cheeses, ham, nuts, yogurt, apple pies, fresh cakes. Pitchers filled with cold water, juices, and a cup of coffee.
Hunger spoke louder, and you reached out to grab a piece of toast, but stopped when you noticed an envelope.
You opened it slowly, afraid of tearing the paper. Inside, a message:
“My dear, Please enjoy your stay. There is no need to worry about trivial details.
Your humble servant,
Ilya.”
Hello, everyone! I'm writing the script for my next Visual Novel with this exact premise. Would you be interested in playing it?