He stared up at the ceiling, its cold, white panels offering little distraction. But in their simplicity, he found an odd comfort. The fear he had carried for so long—the terror of this exact moment—was curiously absent. In its place was a hollow calm, a strange detachment as though he were already watching himself from outside his body, a spectator to his own unraveling.
It wasn't death itself that frightened him anymore. Death, he realized, wasn't the monstrous unknown he had spent decades dreading. It wasn't the silent void or the eternal darkness that haunted his nights. No, the true terror came from the loose threads: the unspoken words, the unfulfilled dreams, the life unlived. Regret—that was the weight crushing his chest more than his failing lungs.
Adrian had once been full of ambition. As a middle-aged man now facing his end too soon, he couldn't ignore the bitter truth. His life had been small, unremarkable, and quiet—a string of ordinary days blurred together by the passage of time. He had meant to do more, to leave a mark, to be remembered. Yet, as his heartbeat faltered and his vision blurred, an unexpected peace crept in. Perhaps it wasn't about grand gestures or monumental moments. Perhaps it was enough to have existed, to have loved and laughed, even if only fleetingly.
A faint smile touched his lips as his eyelids grew heavy. The heart monitor's rhythm slowed, the beeps stretching into long, hollow pauses. Adrian allowed his eyes to close, surrendering to the quiet, to the inevitability of it all.
And then… it was over.
Or so he thought.
Adrian's eyes snapped open, a jolt of icy cold surging through his body. It wasn't the chill of hospital air conditioning—it was something deeper, sharper, more primal. He gasped, his body tensing instinctively as he tried to make sense of what was happening.
The bed beneath him was impossibly soft, cradling him like an embrace rather than a support. For a moment, he thought he might still be alive, that he had somehow woken in a luxurious afterlife. Blinking, he tried to take in his surroundings, but his vision was swallowed by an all-encompassing darkness. The beeping monitors, the fluorescent lights, the muffled sounds of distant hallways—all gone. Only silence remained, heavy and suffocating.
He reached out with trembling hands, feeling the smooth, velvety texture of the sheets beneath him. The air was thick, carrying a faint metallic tang that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Slowly, his eyes began to adjust, the darkness peeling away like a curtain being drawn back.
Above him, the ceiling came into focus. It was no longer the sterile, flat panels of his hospital room. Instead, it was curved and ornate, adorned with swirling golden patterns that shimmered faintly in the dim light. The patterns weren't static—they pulsed and writhed as if alive, their rhythm hypnotic and unsettling.
Adrian pushed himself up on shaky arms, his breath catching as he took in the room around him. The walls were draped in thick crimson velvet, exuding an opulence that bordered on suffocating. Dark wood furniture, intricately carved and inlaid with silver and gold, stood like sentinels around the room. A massive chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling, its crystals refracting the dim light into mesmerizing patterns that danced across the walls.
This was no hospital.
Adrian's gaze fell to his hands, and he was startled. They were pale—far paler than they had ever been—and unnaturally looking, the veins beneath the surface standing out in sharp relief. He flexed his fingers, the sight of them alien and unnerving.
"What… what is this?" he whispered, his voice hoarse and barely audible in the vast, silent room. The sound of his own voice startled him—it felt foreign, raspier and lower than he remembered.
Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, Adrian stood unsteadily. He had expected his muscles to protest after years of atrophy, but to his astonishment, his body responded with a strength and fluidity he hadn't known in years. The thick, soft carpet cushioned his steps as he moved tentatively, each movement a revelation. The subtle twitch of his muscles, the steadiness of his balance—all of it felt surreal. And yet, something was wrong. His throat burned.
At first, it was a faint discomfort, a dryness he could ignore. But it grew rapidly, escalating into a searing, all-consuming fire that clawed at his throat. Adrian stumbled, his hands clutching at his neck as if he could tear the pain away. The agony was unbearable, each breath a dagger of fire slicing through him. He collapsed onto the carpet, writhing as he fought to breathe, every gasp a new wave of torment.
Just as he thought the pain would consume him, a sound broke through the haze of his suffering—a low, eerie humming. It came from somewhere beyond the heavy door at the far end of the room. Desperate for relief, for help, Adrian dragged himself toward the sound. His body protested every inch, but he forced himself onward, the soft carpet muffling the desperate scrape of his hands and knees.
The door loomed closer, its ornate carvings glinting faintly in the dim light. When he finally reached it, he leaned his weight against the heavy wood, pushing it open with what little strength he had left. The door swung inward, and Adrian fell forward, landing in the middle of a dimly lit hallway.
Looking up, he saw a man standing before him. The man's gaze bore into Adrian, a puzzled expression flickering across his handsome face. His features were sharp and elegant, his skin smooth, flawless... and pale. His clothes were exquisite, a long, dark coat with intricate embroidery paired with a crisp white shirt and polished boots. Yet it was his eyes that held Adrian captive. They glowed faintly, a crimson huey that seemed to swirl and shift as if alive. There was something both beautiful and utterly unnerving about them, a madness barely concealed beneath their brilliance.
"You're alive?" the man said, his voice rich and smooth, with a playful lilt that sent shivers down Adrian's spine. "Well, color me surprised. I could have sworn you wouldn't survive the awakening. And yet, here you are."
Adrian tried to speak, but the fire in his throat flared, stealing his voice. "My… my thr… throat," he rasped, clutching at his neck.
"Ah, you're thirsty," the man said knowingly, crouching down to Adrian's level. Rolling up his sleeve, he held his wrist in front of Adrian. "This should help."
Before Adrian could comprehend what was happening, the man's fingernail elongated, darkening and sharpening into a talon. With a swift motion, he sliced his wrist, crimson blood welling up and dripping onto the floor. The sight of it ignited something primal in Adrian, something beyond reason or control.
The hunger overtook him, erasing all thought. He lunged for the man's wrist, his earlier weakness forgotten. His lips met the wound, and he drank deeply, the taste intoxicating and overwhelming. The man watched with a faint smile, his glowing eyes gleaming with amusement.
Adrian drank and drank, the burning in his throat fading with each gulp. Time lost meaning as he fed, his body trembling with both relief and horror at the intensity of his hunger. It wasn't until the man gently pulled his wrist away that Adrian realized he was sated, his body slumping with exhaustion.
"Well, aren't you a hungry one?" the man said, inspecting his wrist as the wound closed itself. "To think it took four liters of my blood to satisfy you. Astonishing."
Adrian's vision blurred, his body collapsing onto the soft carpet. Darkness swallowed him once more as the man's voice echoed faintly in his ears.
"Liam," the man called, his tone shifting to one of authority. "Take Adrian back to his room. Stay with him until he wakes. I'll come to him then."
"Yes, master," a cloaked figure replied, stepping forward from the shadows. Gently, he lifted Adrian's unconscious form and carried him back to the lavish room. Placing him carefully on the bed, the figure disappeared as silently as he had come.
And Adrian slept, his transformation beginning.