"An eye? But why?" Iago asked, disgusted.

"I never found out."

"And you did it? You really hid your friend's eye on that ship?"

"Of course. And though I had my doubts, Lothar kept his promise. Two months later, Leto and I boarded a ship with him, and we left. That was the last time I saw Constantinople."

"I think I’ve visited the City before. Should I assume we didn’t go together?"

"No," she said curtly, making it clear she didn’t want to continue that conversation. Iago caught the hint easily and quickly shifted the topic.

"You introduced yourself as Ariadne to this Lothar. How did ‘Aria’ come about?"

"And am I supposed to believe ‘Iago’ is your real name?"

"Isn’t it?" he asked, feigning shock. Ariadne shrugged indifferently.

"I have no idea. When I asked you, you said it didn’t matter."

"I was probably right," Iago chuckled. "So? What happened next? How did you go from a street rat to what you are today?"

"A dinner. A final dinner with the most unexpected menu you can imagine."

Despite her doubts about his character, Lothar ultimately kept his promise and more. He assured her that by the end of their journey, one of his noble acquaintances would welcome both her and her sister into his household, offering them a new life. As if that wasn't enough, in the months following their first meeting, Lothar began teaching them how to behave before the aristocracy and how to speak and communicate in the most widespread language of the time, Latin. Ariadne never asked him why he had decided to do all this, fearing it might jinx their good fortune.

Leto was thrilled. Her childlike hope, her sweet innocence, and her eager eyes were the only things that somewhat eased Ariadne's guilt over Manuel's death. Every day, she watched her sister sing or try on the beautiful clothes Lothar had gifted them. While Ariadne still felt uncomfortable in the tight corseted dresses, her princess seemed born for them and the world from which they came.

"Lord Lothar is wonderful, Ariadne! He's the best man in the world, a true angel! Yesterday, he showed me how to curtsy when someone introduces me. He even said I looked like a real lady! Me! Isn’t that amazing?" Leto had said once, and Ariadne had hugged her so tightly that Leto had to complain before being released, saying tearfully, "I’m so glad you’re happy. I promise you, from now on, everything will get better. You’ll live a wonderful life, princess."

Two full weeks passed on the ship, but their journey didn’t end when they disembarked. Upon reaching the port, they boarded large wooden carriages drawn by beautiful horses. She felt tired and somewhat puzzled that Lothar refused to reveal their final destination but decided not to press for answers, as he sternly reminded her that her position didn’t allow it. Her anxiety stretched on for two more months until they finally arrived. The City was now many miles behind them, and a new land awaited to welcome her and her sister and offer them their future. It was a frozen, damp, and dark land. A land of wild, wind-beaten mountains and dense black forests. A land of strange people with strange languages and even stranger customs. It was a peculiar and mysterious land, known to all as the "Land Beyond the Forest," and it was nothing like Constantinople. In fact, the place was so different from anything she had seen before that she briefly felt nostalgic for the marvels left behind. While their life in the City had not been pleasant, she had grown accustomed to the noise in the streets, the voices of people, the buildings, the sea. Here, everything was different.

The carriages stopped in the middle of nowhere. As far as the eye could see, there was no sign of a city. The only thing visible in the distance was a small village with dilapidated houses, mud, and the smell of rain. At the end of the path, just outside the small settlement, stood a single building resembling an inn. A faded, weathered wooden sign hung outside, bearing a name Ariadne couldn’t read. A badly painted red sheep adorned the plaque.

Lord Lothar stood before them, and as they stepped down from the carriage, he said in his nasal voice, full of meaning, "Ladies, welcome to Transylvania. Soon, you will be in the privileged position of meeting one of the most important lords of the region, and beyond. Remember, at all times, what a great honor this is for people of your humble birth. Lord Claudio Giovanni has kindly agreed to receive you at his manor. I trust this is everything I promised, yes?"

"Of course, Lord Lothar. Truly, I don’t know how to thank you," Ariadne replied simply, hoping that by speaking little, she wouldn’t offend him with her uncouth manners. The man approached her, his gaze sharp enough to make her lower her head once again, and he stood behind her, inhaling the scent of her hair and the skin of her neck. She shivered but didn’t move. He did the same to Leto, and only when satisfied with this strange ritual did he straighten up and finish what he had to say.

"Until the time comes for your meeting with Lord Giovanni, you will stay here. The innkeeper is aware of your arrival, and the cost of your stay has been covered. I will return soon to personally escort you to the manor."

"Ariadne... I’m scared," Leto whispered then, her wide blue eyes taking in the inhospitable landscape surrounding them.

"There’s no need to be," Ariadne replied, squeezing her sister's hand awkwardly. Lothar climbed into the carriage, and until he was far enough away, Ariadne didn’t dare take another step. Yet, Leto’s worried expression forced her to swallow the lump in her throat and move forward.

She had expected the small inn, which looked more like a decrepit old hut, to be empty—the sun had set, after all—but she was wrong. When the wooden door creaked open, a torrent of unfamiliar words hit her ears, leaving her dumbfounded. The smell of boiled meat, smoke, and alcohol overwhelmed all her senses. A large common room, functioning as a tavern, was revealed behind the door, and it was crowded. At least ten people—mostly grown men—were inside, talking, arguing, and exchanging information. As the cold air accompanying the two young girls rushed into the room, countless eyes turned and stared at them in bewilderment. Ariadne swallowed hard but finally stepped inside, pulling the frightened Leto behind her.

They sat at the farthest table from the others, despite their desire to be near the warmth of the fire burning in the hearth. Aside from the fat innkeeper with his saggy cheeks and wide, red nose, which suggested he was always drunk, no one else seemed local. At the back of the room, standing tall, smiling, and certainly drunk, was the biggest and blondest man she had ever seen. He was dressed simply but neatly, with a massive iron maul slung across his broad shoulders. He laughed constantly and spoke a harsh language Ariadne had never heard before. A large group of men had gathered around him, attentively listening to his stories.

Glancing around the room, she couldn’t help but notice the only other woman present. She was well-dressed and pale, like the noblewomen of the City who left the safety of their homes only to attend church or accompany their husbands to official events. She sat at one of the largest tables, with her servants standing over her, ready to fulfill her every need. Sitting beside her was a man, undoubtedly a noble himself. He was about thirty, thin and upright, with neatly groomed short brown hair and expensive purple silk clothes. A large, naturally crooked nose that suited his face perfectly made his gaunt features seem more severe than they probably were. In his right hand, he held a well-polished cane with a metal handle, and his arrogant gaze took in everything happening around him with unflagging interest.

"Good evening, young ladies. Would you mind if I joined you?"

The warm, heavy male voice abruptly pulled her out of the maze of her thoughts, and before she realized it, her hand shot out protectively in front of Leto. She hadn’t understood exactly what the man had said, as her Latin was still limited to a few simple words.

"Lord..." she stammered, struggling to find the next word in the strange language, "…I don’t… speak... Good evening?"

The man looked at her calmly and said something while gesturing to the wooden Orthodox cross hanging from her neck. He then pulled out a chair and sat down, adding hopefully this time, "Might you happen to speak Greek?"

Ariadne smiled broadly. It was a relief to be able to communicate with someone in that place. Beyond that, though, there was something about this man that made her feel an odd sense of peace, despite her suspicion. Perhaps it was his heavy accent, which felt foreign to her, but there was something about the elderly man that inspired trust. Maybe it was the liquid warmth in his eyes or the deep wisdom etched into his wrinkled, white-bearded face. She couldn’t be sure what it was, but something about him whispered the word "kindness." Seeing her recognition of their shared language, the man hurried to continue.

"Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Ivan Ivanov. There’s no need to call me ‘lord,’ as I am simply a doctor from Sofia. May I assume you’re here at such a late hour for the same reason we all are?"

"My name is Ariadne, and this is Leto," she replied. "I don’t know, sir. We’ve come to meet Lord Claudio Giovanni."

"Exactly! We will work for the lord, and he will take care of us!" Leto added enthusiastically, having already overcome her earlier fears with remarkable ease. Her blonde curls bounced around her head as she spoke with lively excitement. Doctor Ivan smiled behind his thick mustache and gently patted her on the top of her head.

"Indeed. As I suspected. You see, all the gentlemen—and the lady—among us are here to attend Lord Giovanni’s manor," he explained, and as he rose slowly from his seat, he added, "This country is particularly cold, and I’m sure neither of you would want to arrive at your new home ill. Please, allow me to offer you a seat at my table by the fire and something warm to eat and drink."

When they drew closer to the fire, everything suddenly seemed better—brighter, more beautiful, and, in a strange way, safer. Ivan had taken it upon himself to protect the two young women, and several times over the next two days, Ariadne caught him watching them with concern. He was the one who explained that Lord Giovanni had traveled from afar to claim his new title and had invited various merchants, nobles, and scholars to meet him, with the possibility of offering some a position in his court here in Transylvania. The kindly doctor made sure to introduce them to most of these guests before the evening of the grand meeting, giving Ariadne a chance to practice what she had learned from Lothar before she had to present herself in front of their host.

Among all the people she met, the one who left the greatest impression on her was Ulrich Halmstad—a tall, muscular man who turned out to be a simple woodcutter from the Kingdom of Denmark. On the other hand, the one who made her most anxious was a man with a cane, known as Lorenzo Baggio. As it turned out, he was a wealthy merchant and shipowner from the Kingdom of Sicily, who struggled to pronounce her name correctly. He called her "Aria-n-ni," and although each time she heard it she had to suppress her laughter, she quickly learned not to—discouraged by his stern gaze and the heavy cane that tapped the floor in warning.

Lothar arrived on time, exactly two days later, just before sunset. This time, he was not alone. Behind him followed a retinue of five identical carriages that looked brand new. All were engraved with the monogram of their owner—an elaborate and imposing "G" that dominated both sides. Without wasting time, he led the lord's guests there, first informing them that everything was ready for tonight’s dinner. The two of them boarded last, together with him. Leto walked proudly beside her, happier than ever before. Her blue dress was flawless, but her fine golden curls remained unruly despite her efforts to tidy them. Ariadne, on the other hand, kept her head down and her mouth closed, never allowing her sister out of her sight. Almost two hours later, they arrived at their destination, and although the road was unpaved and muddy, she could not hide her admiration and surprise when she first beheld the mansion. It was magnificent, and if this place were to become her home, she had already decided it would be enough.

The double doors opened inward. Two impeccably dressed servants, clearly not locals, stood at each door, looking straight ahead with focused expressions. A narrow, dark corridor stretched before them. Their steps were swallowed by the thick red velvet carpet. Dark wooden panels adorned the walls, covered with floral patterns and strange symbols that reminded her of those on the stone case she had hidden on the ship. Two rows of heavy portraits, one on the right and one on the left, marked their way to the wide staircase with intricate railings. Each featured the likeness of a different man with a stern expression and a dark gaze that seemed to pierce through them. Lothar led the way until he finally stopped in front of an airtight door before turning toward them, grim-faced.

"The dinner will be served in an hour. I will introduce you immediately to Lord Claudio Giovanni and his guests, who are already awaiting your arrival. You are free to converse with them and get to know them until it is time for serving. Welcome."

With these words, Lothar lowered the gilded doorknobs and pushed the doors open wide. One by one, the guests entered the dining room, with Ariadne and Leto being the last in line. Before stepping through the threshold, Ariadne paused, looking bewilderedly at her benefactor.

"Lord Lothar, excuse me... Shouldn't we go to the staff quarters?"

"Don't be foolish, young one," he replied mockingly, then added, "Tonight, you are the guests of the lord. Make sure not to forget anything you've learned over these months, and for heaven's sake, don't embarrass me! Have fun and remember that you are extremely lucky to be here."

Their lives would change forever, and this new world that opened before them was far more than they had dared to ask for or dream about. In the center of the room to which Lothar led them stood a gigantic rectangular oak table, surrounded by twenty-six identical chairs upholstered in burgundy velvet. Twenty-six place settings were already set, complete with silver cutlery and glasses, pitchers of sweet wine, and thick white napkins neatly placed on each plate. In the center was an arrangement of blood-red edible flowers placed in a beautiful wooden basket woven with gold. Fourteen of the seats were already occupied by a completely disparate group of men and women. All abruptly stopped talking and simultaneously fixed their gazes on the door until it finally closed again.

The twelve newcomers stood frozen next to one another, utterly awkward. Even the nobles among them, who had surely grown accustomed to such gatherings, seemed to find themselves in completely uncharted waters. The man seated at the head of the table rose, letting go of the hand of the beautiful girl with thick, curly, fire-red hair that he had been holding tightly until then. Lothar positioned himself in front of everyone, and after a deep, servile bow, turned to his master and, with a sweet voice, said, "Lord Giovanni, esteemed lords and ladies, I could not be prouder to be here at this moment. After months of exhausting searches and repeated travels across Europe, I am pleased to present your guests. Behind me stand twelve of the most remarkable and rare specimens of humanity that I have managed to discover for all of you. I hope you find them to your liking."

A nod from his master was enough for Lothar to step back, leaving the space leading to the table open. However, before anyone could take a single step, Lord Giovanni looked at them all simultaneously, so intensely that it cut off their momentum. Although he was short and scrawny, his appearance was imposing, mainly due to his expensive velvet clothes and his characteristic soft hat with a brim and peacock feather on the side. When he decided to address them, his long, white, emaciated fingers barely touched the surface of the table. His voice was high-pitched and had a strangely melodic tone that suited him perfectly.

"Dear friends, my name is Claudio Giovanni, and I am delighted to welcome you to my new home. You are all my honored guests, and for as long as you are here, I want you to see my house as your own. Please, sit with us. Servants! Wine for our new friends, immediately!"

Hesitantly, the guests rushed to take the available seats around the table. Leto looked at her sister with eagerness, and Ariadne swallowed hard as she guided Leto to an empty chair next to an old man with piercing hazel eyes and gray hair so extravagantly styled that it looked fake. She gently touched her shoulder, feeling strangely— as if she had never done it before— and finally moved to the nearest vacant seat. She sat uncomfortably between a woman in airy, provocative clothing with emerald eyes and exotic black tattoos on her arms, and a nearly square, muscular Arab with a brown turban on his head, a black curly beard, and a beautiful, sharp damask dagger hanging from his left hip. Five servants scattered among them filled their glasses with wine, then returned to their previous positions, silent and unseen, as if they were part of the scenery and not people. An orchestra of four musicians that she had not noticed earlier began to play a melancholic tune from the back of the room, enveloping everyone in a mysterious atmosphere. Claudio Giovanni raised his glass, and when everyone mirrored him, he spoke again.

"I feel the need to make a toast. To the most important night and the most unforgettable dinner you will ever experience." He said, and before bringing the glass to his lips, he added, "There is ample time for us to get acquainted. As I like to say, an interesting conversation is like fine wine: it whets the appetite. Before you get involved in that, however, allow me to introduce the esteemed lords and ladies who honor this event and you all personally."

With these words, the necessary introductions took place, and only then was it truly realized how different yet unique Lord Giovanni's friends were. Among them were aristocrats from the Holy Roman Empire, such as the elegant yet dry Lady Jadviga Almanov, or from the Iberian Peninsula, like Lord Leopoldo Valdemar with his long, pale face that made him look like a wax figure. Perhaps the strangest presence was that of Matriarch Violeta, who sat at the edge of the table, wrapped from head to toe in a travel cloak and wearing a leather mask that concealed her features. There were others without titles or honors, such as the burly blond Marsetus, Theophano with her cloudy eyes, as if a storm were raging endlessly within them, or Demetra with her wild, feline gaze and huge, unkempt nails. There was also Kasimir with a heavy cloak the color of night, who was referred to simply as a lord without further clarification, Gabriel, who had skin the color of chocolate, and the towering Mietzisław with his heavy cloak and bony face with deep-set black eyes. The old man next to Leto was simply referred to as Wekenslas, although it was noted that he was one of the most talented writers in Prague. Finally, there was Amisa, the woman sitting next to her, who looked at everything with lewdness and raw, unabashed sexuality. Ariadne noticed that the gazes returned with disgust or even hatred each time they teasingly fell upon the silent Arab. His name was Bajazet Al-Nazir, and that was the only information Lord Giovanni provided about him.

Lord Claudio never took his eyes off the girl with red hair, nor did he bother to introduce her to anyone. She sat still, tolerating his touch on her porcelain face, and although she tried to hide it, it was obvious that she would prefer to be anywhere else. Soon, most of the attendees rose, and a pair of doors opened on the eastern wall, revealing a large banquet hall suitably decorated for the occasion. At the same time, the servants opened the glass doors leading to the dark garden and then scattered among the crowd, ready to fulfill every wish. She saw Leto wandering away confused from the table. The child's little hand had gotten lost in the wrinkled and brown-spotted hand of the old writer, who guided her toward the hall. Ariadne stood frozen for a moment, unsure of what to do. When she finally decided to follow them, a strong, rough hand abruptly grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to return to her seat.

"Salaam alaikum, aimra’a."

She turned sharply towards the Arab who had greeted her. By the time she looked back at the hall, Leto and Wekenslas had vanished. Trying not to seem rude, she lowered her head in respect and hurried to return the greeting.

"Alaikum salaam, sayyid Bajazet." 

Back in the dining room, everyone appeared absorbed in lengthy discussions, while others, like Leto, were nowhere to be found. No one seemed to notice the anxiety and stress that made her awkward body tremble. Her gaze darted around, searching for Bajazet. He stood at the opposite end of the room, seemingly occupied with Lord Valdemar and the woman who had come with them from the inn. Before she could take a step, the Arab’s keen, piercing gaze fell upon her. As soon as he gestured that he saw her, she was assured that this game was all too real. Before Ariadne could think further, Bajazet had vanished. Exhausted and confused, she began to wander aimlessly among the crowd, struggling to comprehend how she would manage to kill one of the guests without being noticed.

Every time she spotted him, every time she attempted to approach, he would catch her off guard and disappear, only to reappear moments later somewhere else. That quarter of an hour he had granted her was perhaps the most torturous of her life. She could still feel the sharp touch of the blade grazing her cheek. Only a minute remained, and Ariadne felt herself slowly sinking in the black sand of the hourglass. Breathless, she approached one of the servants and abruptly grabbed him by the arm. Despite her rudeness, the man seemed unfazed.

"How can I assist you, miss?"

Ariadne leaned in and pulled her old knife from her clothes. It might be impossible to kill him, but perhaps it would be enough to convince him that she could. She held the weapon with the blade pointed downwards and extended it towards the servant, trembling.

"I want you to give this to Lord Al-Nazir. He will understand. I hope..."

The last word echoed only in her mind. Although she didn’t know what to expect, the servant politely nodded, surprising her as he took the worn dagger and walked away. Ariadne hid behind the doorframe, following the servant with her eyes until he reached the armchair where Bajazet was seated, conversing with Marsetus. She saw her knife ready to change hands. The Arab's fingers hovered, poised to close around the handle. Just a few more seconds. Ariadne took a deep breath. As she exhaled, she felt almost relieved, until she saw his hand freeze in the air before touching the weapon. His eyes were locked on her. Outside, beneath the willow, the last grain of sand in the hourglass fell, severing the thread of her life.

The beautiful garden resembled a labyrinth, yet Ariadne had lost not only her thread but also her composure. Darkness surrounded her, dense foliage and an old cabin that likely served as a shed. She immediately dismissed it as the most obvious choice. She began to run until her steps led her back to that willow. It stood tall, full of leaves and branches. Perhaps if she hid up there, she might have some hope. She hurriedly climbed, finding the thickest branch to sit on, leaning against the sturdy trunk. She couldn’t see him anywhere. Five minutes. She only had to endure for five more minutes. Confused, but above all terrified, she buried her face in her hands, trying not to cry. Something cold brushed against the outside of her palm, slowly creeping up to her elbow. Her eyes widened, and she nearly fell when she saw him sitting calmly across from her, holding her knife pointed at her.

"Why did you run?"

"Because you saw me, my lord."

"And why did you see me?"

"I... I don’t know..."

"You had a good plan. If you had faith in it, you would have succeeded."

"Will you kill me?"

"I could," he remarked, raising her knife to her throat, "No one would know, and no one would care, would they?"

She swallowed hard. Tears streamed down her face, which she could no longer hold back. With a swift motion, Bajazet turned the knife in his hand and held it by the blade before returning it to her.

"The destiny of a woman is not to fight. That is not her role. Make that your purpose, and perhaps then you will cease to fear death."

Bajazet leapt to the ground with an unexpected jump from a height of at least four meters and, to her astonishment, landed upright without even flinching. He hurriedly gathered his hourglass and was about to leave when he heard her quietly ask, "Who won?"

"Don’t tempt fate, young one."

Ariadne didn’t realize how quickly the rest of the time passed until the servants announced the start of dinner. Everyone was in their places except for Lord Giovanni. Strangely, the food had not yet been served. Moments later, the double doors swung wide open, and their host appeared, with Lothar silently following behind him. He paused for a moment at the entrance, waiting to see the reception he would receive, and only when he saw everyone rise and applaud did he proceed to his seat, smiling broadly. Lady Jadviga was the only one who remained standing. Her stern gaze softened as she raised her glass towards Lord Claudio.

"A toast to our host, who has offered us such an extraordinary evening! A toast to the one who has managed to bring intensity and flavor to an already magnificent dinner! A toast to the one who so cunningly dared to betray his own blood without remorse! Raise your glasses to Claudio Giovanni. Drink to the impending downfall of Yaveth, son of Cappadocius!"

Applause and words of approval drowned out the final remarks. In stark contrast to his guests, the people who had come from the inn appeared frozen and anxious, or at best, confused. Claudio rushed to please his audience, rising with his glass in hand, his high, irritating voice filling the space.

"True friends. That is what you are to me, and I thank you for everything. Another year has passed, and Isaac's conspiracy is finally on the verge of success. I owe you all my gratitude, and tonight you are here so that I can repay your goodwill, starting with this dinner. And this brings me to our guests!" Claudio declared passionately, his small, shiny eyes glinting with eagerness as he continued, "I welcome you once more, dear friends. It’s time to discuss something we all have in common: food. We all steal life to survive. Yet our nourishment is not, and should not be, merely about sustenance. The aroma of good food excites us and whets our appetites! Is it not anticipation that heightens desire? This is what distinguishes us from the simple, crude peasant who thoughtlessly devours his bread. Anticipation! The circumstances of a meal are as important as the food itself. Consuming food is a sacred act, and in respecting this, we must ensure that every drop remains eternally etched in the memory of our palate. One must always strive to choose the best. It must be prepared properly and treated with care. You must develop a unique and special relationship with your food before consuming it. Only then can you appreciate all that it offers you and savor what you have contributed along the way. So, allow me, dear guests, to present your dinner!"

No scent wafted from anywhere. The metallic clatter of platters or dishes never reached their ears. As Lothar opened the doors once more, the guests' eyes widened, while Claudio and his friends' lips curled into sardonic smiles. A heart-wrenching bleat filled the room as a pristine white sheep was dragged in by two servants, struggling futilely against its fate.

"Ha! It has character! Such a rare thing for its kind. Well, here is your dinner!" the host said nonchalantly as the creature was led closer to the table. Everyone stared in stunned silence, eyes wide and bodies frozen. Ariadne looked around, bewildered. Leto was in tears.

"What kind of joke is this, Lord Giovanni?" Lorenzo Bandzio broke the awkward silence, clearly offended, and attempted to rise.

"Sit down," ordered Lady Jandviga, who sat beside him. To everyone's surprise, the arrogant merchant complied without protest. Claudio seized the moment again, clearly relishing the dramatic scene.

"I don’t understand why you are outraged. Did you truly expect a calm and bloodless dinner? Don’t be willfully blind! When you eat, you destroy! When you eat, you become the death of something! So, which of you will take the honor and responsibility to deliver this death?"

Silence.

Claudio looked disappointed.

"What a pity. Truly, a shame." He finally conceded, and drawing his sword, he added, "If none of you have the courage to prepare your dinner, it is my duty as your host to do it myself."

The strike of the sword was swift and precise, so much so that the sheep never even had a chance to draw its last breath. Its head tumbled to the floor. Ariadne's horrified gaze fixed upon the now vacant brown eye staring unseeingly at the vaulted ceiling. The woolly body collapsed to the side with a thud. One of the servants knelt beside it and began filling a pitcher with the rich blood flowing from the clean wound of the animal. Soon their glasses were filled with the thick, crimson liquid.

"Taste your food. Surrender to your meal. Become one with your prey. The relationship between the hunter and its victim is always evident in the final flavor. It is the bond of life and death that distinguishes an ordinary meal from an unforgettable feast," Claudio proclaimed with flair and grandeur, as if delivering the speech of his life. For a moment, he paused, making it clear he wanted to see his guests at least try the blood, if not relish it. A few trembling souls did so. The majority, seemingly regaining their lost courage, jumped to their feet, beginning to protest. Ariadne was ready to do the same, to join her voice with theirs, when the wild Arab whispered threateningly in her ear, "Sit down. It will be over soon."

"Silence!" Lord Giovanni shouted, his voice resonating in the space like a bell. Everyone obeyed, bowing their heads in defeat, unable to do anything else. "We have already delayed too long. Allow me to reveal the real reason you are here tonight. You are not here to dine; we are here to feast upon you," he stated plainly as he stood. He slowly circled the table, lingering behind each guest, letting his cold fingertips brush against their sweaty, anxious faces.

"I have spent a great deal of money and time for Lothar to find you and bring you here. You may thank fate. My servant has a unique talent for recognizing the qualities that make you special without ever seeing them. He perfectly understands the right flavors that I and my friends wish to savor: ambition, courage, knowledge, youthfulness, enthusiasm, hope. Arrogance and pride, sincerity, strength, bravery, and vitality. All these traits reside within you, seasoning your blood just right, making it the most exquisite delicacy for us. Consider yourselves fortunate, mortals. Your lives will gain a meaning tonight that most out there can’t even dream of. It is time! Marianna, please stand up."

The red-haired woman who had spent the entire night at his side trembled uncontrollably. Tears streamed down her beautiful, almond-shaped eyes, yet she hurried to obey his command. She stood up, and Claudio lazily pulled the thin, woolen shawl from her shoulders. The white fabric fell gracefully to the ground, disappearing into the pool of blood left behind by the sheep. His right index finger stretched out, horrifically tickling the girl’s pale neck as she tried in vain to swallow her sobs.

"Our meal is delicate. The shock of sudden death imparts an unwelcome bitterness to the blood. On the other hand, if the prey doesn't realize it's dying, our meal becomes dull, as if it’s lacking salt. For a long time, I have wrestled with this question: What are the ideal conditions for our dinner to be worthy of us? The answer was in front of my eyes all along. The bitterness of fear is necessary in small doses. What changes everything is that this fear should be followed by the sweet taste of resignation and acceptance. This is precisely what I have planned for all of us! Just one dose of panic combined with a gradually fading hope of survival, until the soul leaves the body."

The five servants scattered among the motionless, terrified guests and stood at attention. In their hands, they held large silver trays that bore twelve identical metal collars. They fastened them around the guests' necks, locking them mechanically, ignoring their protests and pleas. No one moved—not because they didn't want to, but because it was impossible. Something mysterious held them there, glued in place, unable even to contemplate escape. Claudio placed one of these collars around Marianna's neck, then drew a steel, pointed, and heavily decorated stiletto from his belt. He inserted the sharp tip into the hole and twisted it three hundred sixty degrees. The girl screamed, and he smiled widely at the sight of blood dripping down her back. His tongue flicked across his lips, and almost simultaneously, his friends mimicked his actions. It was as if they were all perched on the edge of their seats, ready to leap to their feet at any moment. For the first time, there was something common and unmistakably recognizable in all their gazes: hunger. One by one, the guests met Marianna's fate, filling the space with groans and sorrow.

Ariadne felt the sharp pain of the stiletto at the base of her neck, but she jolted violently only when she heard her sister's childlike cry. The wound was precisely calculated to ensure it wouldn't kill them instantly. Her blood began to flow, soaking her dress, while the shock of that moment numbed her body. Once their macabre work was complete, the servants withdrew, and Claudio's friends stood up. They positioned themselves behind the guests, allowing the precious blood to fill the metal goblets they held. With great effort, Ariadne turned her gaze to the side, searching for Leto. The old man loomed directly above her, gazing at her with longing as he savored her blood. The little one cried, and through her sobs, Ariadne could hear her whispering her name over and over again.

"Ariadne... Ariadne..."

"My dear friends, the time of waiting is over! Raise your glasses and taste our victory! Our purpose will be fulfilled in just a few nights, and whatever Hunterstadt and his followers attempt no longer matters. No one can stop us now. Drink to our efforts! Drink to the death of Yaveth! Drink to us!"

Thirteen goblets were raised high. Thirteen faces transformed from human to demonic. Thirteen monsters drank the warm blood and howled with pleasure. Thirteen tongues flicked, striving not to let a single drop go to waste. Thirteen pairs of fangs unexpectedly sprang forth in the mouths of the vampires as their goblets refilled from the human barrels.

At this pace, hours would pass before the relief of death arrived. Gradually, the scenery around her began to blur. Somewhere in the distance, she heard indistinct conversations mingled with groans and laughter, drowned out by sobs and pleas. Dazed, she leaned as far to the right as she could. She wanted to stretch out her hand and grasp her sister's, but even the thought felt exhausting. She looked wearily to the side. Leto’s head hung limply on her shoulder. Her blonde curls had taken on a horrific shade of pink, soaked as they were in Ariadne's blood.

“Princess, I’m sorry…” Ariadne whispered. Every word felt like a razor against her throat, but she had to continue. The only thing she could do now was to comfort her. “Close your eyes, my little one. Soon, we will be together again, I promise.” She tried to focus her gaze on her sister. She saw Leto's lips trembling as she struggled to find the strength to respond.

“Aria…”

The weak voice was lost behind the sound of a bell ringing outside with ferocity. The thirteen vampires immediately stopped drinking and leaped to their feet. The doors flung open violently, slamming against the walls. A breathless soldier rushed in and stumbled. He wasted no time trying to get back up. With his face twisted in a grimace and his voice distorted by terror, he said, “My lord, we are under attack! They have surrounded the mansion! It’s Hunterstadt’s men, my lord! We won’t make it; it’s impossible!”

Ariadne smiled unconsciously. Perhaps somewhere beyond those doors, there was still hope. If what their macabre host had said held even a grain of truth, at that moment, her blood must be more delicious than ever.