Chapter 1: The Stranger of Hollowridge

It began in a town forgotten by time Hollowridge.

Nestled between misty hills and an endless forest, Hollowridge was the kind of place where the sun always seemed tired. The streets were narrow, cobblestones slick from the constant drizzle. People whispered more than they spoke. And when the church bell rang after midnight no one ever looked outside.

In Hollowridge, every newcomer is a curiosity. But Adrian was a mystery. He spoke little, walked only after dusk, and never ate at the tavern. Some said he was a scholar; others whispered darker things.By the by Adrian On the first night of winter, a stranger arrived — tall, pale, with eyes the color of dying embers. He came with no carriage, no luggage, and yet the innkeeper swore the wind itself carried his scent old roses and stormwater.

His name, as he wrote in the guestbook, was Adrian Vale.

One night, a young artist named Monica Moren crossed paths with him while sketching the old graveyard by moonlight. She dropped her lantern, startled by his voice — soft, melodic, as if carried by the night itself.

“You paint what you fear,” he said. “But do you ever paint what you miss?”

That was their first meeting.

People began to disappear. Livestock drained, shadows moving faster than wind. The townsfolk began to pray harder, lock their doors earlier, and glance nervously at the hills where the forest met the stars.

One night, the truth came bleeding out — literally.

She found him standing among graves, his hands red, his eyes wild with hunger and grief.

He fell to his knees before her, whispering,

“I swore I would never feed again… until you.”

The town’s church bell tolled — midnight.

And Hollowridge would never be the same again.