> “I don’t know. I’m sure a vampire spawn could still rip out your throat.” - Astarion

Nord's gaze was unwavering, her eyes drinking in the man before her—a mosaic of contradictions, beauty tainted by a darker nature. Adamastor, in return, waited for her judgment, his crimson eyes a window to a soul that had weathered half a century ago of solitude and stigma.

"A vampire?" she finally said, breaking the heavy silence that had enveloped them.

"A spawn," he clarified, "All the thirst, but none of the perks," he chuckled, "No power, no magic, no ability to turn anyone into an abomination, as I said, all the thirst without any fun."

She instinctively touched her neck, still tender from the sensation of needle-like fangs piercing her skin. The memory of it brought an uncomfortable shudder to her body.

"It was me," Adamastor confessed, his voice a mixture of regret and desperation. "I was hunting; I saw you, and something overcame me. I don't have words to explain. It was completely out of my modus operandi. I never attack humans or any sentient beings, only animals, I swear. Boars, deers, and, on an unlucky day, chickens and cats. But last night, I lost control. You were... enticing." He watched her intently, hoping for some reaction, some sign of forgiveness or perhaps damnation.

Nord, however, stood motionless, her eyes still fixed on his. She seemed lost in thought, her hand absentmindedly rubbing her sore neck.

"Please, say something," he urged.

She finally spoke, her voice surprisingly calm. "There are two moons in the sky."

Adamastor blinked, baffled by her response. But then, he remembered she was an outsider, new to the complexities and oddities of this world.

"Yes, they're just two moons," he agreed.

"Don't they have names?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No one ever thought to name them, I suppose."

"That's sad," Nord mused, her voice tinged with a melancholy that seemed to seep into the room. "Everything here is sad. And to think, I believed my life was shitty. It was shitty. Or maybe it's me that only sees sadness."

Adamastor looked at her, moved by her insight. "Then maybe, just maybe, we can find something less sad together."

Adamastor watched as Nord's eyes flickered from his face to some far-off point behind him as if she were trying to reconcile the reality of him—a vampire spawn—with her own disorienting experiences since arriving in this strange world.

Nord looked back at him, her eyes sharpening with newfound clarity. "But doesn't naming something give it importance? Doesn't it make it matter?"

Adamastor pondered her words, feeling the subtle shift in their conversation from a revelation that should have been shattering to a discussion of what it means to matter—to exist with purpose and meaning.

"Perhaps it does," he finally admitted.

Nord folded her arms, hugging herself.

"You gave me more than light, Nord. It was freedom, even if ephemeral. And in my long years, freedom has been a rare commodity," Adamastor said, his voice tinged with an emotion he rarely allowed himself to feel, let alone express: hope.

"And your freedom came because of me?" Nord's voice wavered between incredulity and a hesitant wonder.

"That's my theory, yes," Adamastor conceded, "I guess it was your blood."

She sighed deeply, seemingly weighing her next words carefully. "Are you going to..."

"No! Never!" he said louder than intended, " Unless... well, not without your consent."

Her weariness was palpable in her next words. "I'm really sleepy."

"You may rest in peace," he assured, already planning his nocturnal task. "I will take some clothing of Rosemary and wash them at the Lake. With luck, they will be dry in the morning."

Curiosity stirred in her. "You don't sleep?"

"Among other things."

Her inquiry continued, driven by genuine interest. "Like what?"

His explanation unravelled with a touch of vulnerability. "I don't eat food nor drink water. I don't feel tired, so I don't sleep. I'm always awake, but it doesn't mean I don't feel exhausted. I just can't find a place to rest and silence my thoughts or hunger. I'm always hungry... but I guess one teaches themselves to control it with time. Otherwise, I would have gone blood rage in town." Shame tinged his words, but he didn't push on.

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"Well... I still need to rest. I'm exhausted, I'm... I don't know..."

She moved towards the stairwell, ready to ascend, when his voice stopped her. "Nord?"

Pausing, she replied, "Yes?"

"It will get easier. It's not that bad, I guarantee you. There will come good days."

The scepticism in her response was raw and real. "I know you're trying to be kind, but... I don't think so. I don't think things will get better."

Adamastor watched her, his centuries-old eyes taking in her exhaustion, her emotional weight. "I understand why you'd think that way, given what you've seen so far. But, Nord, life has a way of surprising us when we least expect it. At least, it has to me..."

She paused at the foot of the stairs, looking back at him. "Like sunlight surprising a vampire?"

"Exactly like that," he said, a small, sincere smile crossing his face.

She nodded, not entirely convinced but perhaps a little more hopeful than she had been a few moments before. "Good night, Adamastor."

"Good night, Nord. May your sleep be peaceful and your dreams unburdened."

Her gaze shifted from the flickering candlelight to the shadows dancing on the walls. Everything felt surreal like she had stepped into the pages of some fantasy novel. The name Nyu echoed in her mind, punctuated by the faces of the people she had met earlier. Mayor, Adamastor, Sirona. All seemed willing to help her, yet also carried an air of expectation.

Two moons. The words from Nord's own video reverberated in her thoughts. Could she really be so far from home? The notion unsettled her, twisting her stomach into knots.

She sat up, pushing the covers aside. The candlelight seemed to beckon her closer, its flame flickering as if in sync with her racing thoughts. Her hand subconsciously reached for the mobile device on the nightstand.

The message "Don't Forget!" was still there, taunting her with its ambiguity. She rubbed her temples as if that would clear the fog of confusion.

Nord sank back into her pillow, staring at the phone as if it held some untapped wisdom. Vampires and spawns—she tried to reconcile the words with the myths and stories she knew from her world. The idea that these beings were real, and she was sharing a house with one, felt like a script from a gothic novel.

Adamastor, was that his real name? He seemed more subdued than the voracious bloodsuckers she had read about or seen in movies. A true Cullen. She wondered if he glittered under the sunlight. The idea made Nord chuckle.

He had mentioned something about "spawns" being different, less menacing perhaps. Still, her thoughts were too scattered at the time to fully absorb the nuances.

The humans here seemed all too familiar, a blend of self-interest and hypocrite. Mayor Paxton had looked at her as if she was some kind of saviour, yet no one had thought to check on Rosemary for years. The irony wasn't lost on her.

She let out a long, weary sigh. Her fingers clutched the soft bedsheet as though grounding herself in this new reality. She'd always been adaptable. She had to! But this was something else entirely—a leap from the known into the unfathomable.

Nord rolled onto her side, mentally jotting down the priorities for the next day. She felt an emptiness thinking about Kirara, her beautiful orange tabby cat. She had her for ten years. It wasn't just about having a pet; Kirara was a piece of her past life, a life that seemed more and more like a distant dream with each passing minute.

"Kirara, you better not be messing with any spawn or whatever they have here," she mumbled to herself, knowing full well that the cat couldn't hear her. "Just come back to me."

She was resolved to venture around the manor grounds and the nearby Lake. Even if the worst had happened, she needed closure. The not-knowing was a weight on her mind.

As for the second point, understanding this world called Nyu was crucial. She couldn't afford to wander aimlessly in ignorance. Adamastor had mentioned something about the Morningstar business and how resourceful it would be to keep the Hallow at bay. Maps would give her spatial context, but she also needed to understand the culture, the people, and the potential dangers.

What had she gotten herself into? It was overwhelming, like stepping into a book mid-story and trying to catch up on the plot. She couldn't return to her previous chapters but could certainly strive to understand the current ones. And with that thought, she pulled the comforter up to her chin.

Nord's thumb hovered over the screen, her finger trembling as it touched the play button. The video resumed, her own face staring back at her from the device.

"But if you don't believe me, go check the sky," the video version of her advised, her voice thick with urgency.

Nord furrowed her brow, her eyes flicking from the screen to the window, contemplating.

"I can't spill everything all at once; it's a massive info dump, and even I can't imagine how I'd handle it," continued the Nord in the video. "But I need you to know that I'm doing everything I can to remember. God, I don't want to forget."

The words hung in the air like fog, dense and opaque, making it hard to breathe. Nord's eyes blurred, and she felt a tear escape, tumbling down her cheek as she clutched her phone tighter.

It wasn't just a tear; it was a catalyst. She felt it coming, a swell of emotion too powerful to name. Her eyes swam with tears, clouding her vision until she was enveloped in a murky world of her own making.

The sob that erupted from her was unlike any she'd ever known. It wasn't a simple cry born from a singular pain. No, it was complex, knitted together from threads of sadness, confusion, and a profound sense of loss. It was a cry that cut deep, as if she'd been hollowed out and was now echoing with emptiness.

"What did I forget?" she whispered to herself, the words nearly inaudible under the weight of her emotion. "Why does it hurt like hell?"

With her finger hovering over the screen, Nord felt a heaviness grip her chest. The Nord in the video seemed so sure, so resolute, even while fighting back tears. And yet here she was, a fractured mirror image—unsure, anxious, and now, inexplicably heartbroken.

She pressed 'play' again, but her doppelganger in the video had already said her piece, leaving her in silence with her thoughts. The weight of her words lingered in the air, haunting. What could be so agonizing that her past self, clearly so much stronger and more resilient than she felt now, would break down?

Nord felt a tear escape, sliding down her cheek. It wasn't a tear of self-pity, nor was it born from the confusion and disorientation that had marked her last 24 hours. This was a tear for the unnameable, for the intangible emptiness that had seized her, for the losses she couldn't remember but somehow felt so keenly in her bones.

She wiped the tear away and took a deep, shaky breath. Whatever she had forgotten was lost in the past she could not yet recall. A hollow space in her memory that her past self seemed to hint was critical.

"And why does it scare me so much to forget?" she wondered aloud. Was it a person, a place, an experience, or perhaps something even deeper—some vital essence of herself that had been left behind?