Chapter 1: First Arrival

Chapter 1 The Beginning

Dawn was just breaking when Mary was awakened by the knock of the scullery maid. Bleary-eyed, she rose from her small bed in the attic and roused the other maid sleeping in the adjacent cot. Shivering in the morning chill, she quickly donned her maid’s cap and morning dress—a pink cotton gown with a small floral pattern. Since her morning tasks included cleaning the fireplace, she tied a coarse gray linen apron over it to keep the dress from getting dirty.

Mary was a housemaid for the Campbell family. The master of the house was the second son of a noble family. As the younger son, he could not inherit the family’s lands or estate, but he received a handsome annuity annually, allowing them to rent a townhouse near Soho Square rather than cram into a tiny apartment.

A few days prior, the master and his eldest son had departed for the Duchy of Francy and would not return for about three months. Currently, only the mistress and her two daughters remained at home.

Mary had to light the fireplaces and straighten the bedside rugs before the family awoke, ensuring they would step into warm rooms. She first attended to the mistress’s bedroom, then moved to the eldest daughter’s.

She did not go to the room of the youngest daughter, Elena.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to. A week ago, Elena had fallen ill. The family physician diagnosed it as typhoid fever, but even after several doses of medicine, she showed no improvement. The household took turns watching over her, but her condition worsened by the day. If nothing changed, she would soon meet her end.

Then, two days ago, the physician brought a mysterious visitor—a full-figured woman wrapped tightly in dark, heavy veils, shrouded in mystery. As she passed through the hall, the corridor was filled with a heady perfume.

In her five years with the Campbells, Mary had never seen this guest before. Moreover, due to Elena’s illness, the family had suspended all social visits for the duration.

After the visitor’s arrival, Mrs. Campbell announced that Elena had recovered. Yet, Elena had not come down for meals the day before, nor yesterday.

What’s more, Mrs. Campbell instructed the maids to stay away from Elena’s room entirely. No one was to clean the fireplace, light the fire, dust, or mop the floors. No one was to remove wilted petals from the flowers, collect laundry, or even deliver meals—which remained untouched outside her door.

Elena’s room had become a forbidden place in the Campbell household.

A firm boundary existed between the servants and the family: the servants lived in the attic, used the back stairs to move between floors, and exited through a side door. Housemaids like Mary were expected to remain as invisible as possible. Though they lived under the same roof, they were the household’s "unseen sprites."

Thus, if Mrs. Campbell wished to keep Elena isolated, no one could reach her.

In just two days, the servants had begun whispering—that Elena had died, or run away, or become a ghost. Mary dismissed these absurd rumors, but every time she passed Elena’s door, she couldn’t help but wonder: What had happened to Elena?

What had happened to Elena?

Elena herself didn’t know.

She felt as though she had dreamed for an eternity—a dream where she was an ordinary girl in the 21st century, growing up, studying, working, dying in a car crash, being reborn, growing up again, falling ill, and then lingering at death's door. She also glimpsed fragmented scenes—one of grotesque, hideous creatures with bloated bodies, crimson skin, and needle-like teeth, being captured, bound to crosses, and burned alive.

It was a terrifying dream, but even more terrifying was waking up to see a figure by her bedside who looked exactly like those monsters, nearly causing her to faint.

"I tried to persuade your mother," the woman rasped, pulling on gloves and adjusting her dark veil, "but she insisted on saving you."

She handed Elena a mirror. In it, Elena saw her own face—swollen, her skin a deep red.

The horror was beyond words. Not that she could be blamed—anyone waking up to find themselves disfigured would react the same way.

As Elena sat frozen, the veiled woman set about gathering her implements. She extinguished candles burning in the room’s four corners, collected a dagger inscribed with strange symbols, a sprinkling vessel woven from thread and herbs, and a silver tray holding salt, sand, and unfamiliar herbs. The air still carried traces of smoky incense and blood.

"This was the ritual to transform you," the woman explained, noticing Elena’s gaze. "I’m glad you survived and joined us. I’m Vera."

Though still dazed, Elena sensed a mentor-like presence in the woman’s demeanor and instinctively asked, "Us?"

"Let me start from the beginning. Your family’s physician is a curious man. He knows one of us—we have a club," Vera said patiently. "You were too ill for him to save, so he suggested to your mother that I transform you into what I am—a creature of the Goddess Hecate. Have you heard of her?"

Elena certainly hadn’t. Her father, Mr. Campbell, was a devout follower of the God of Fortune and Prosperity, while Mrs. Campbell prayed daily to the hearth goddess—both were orthodox deities with parishes and churches, widely worshipped. Hecate clearly had no parish in Lunton, if anywhere at all.

"Most in the club are those on the verge of death, begging Hecate to extend their lives," Vera continued, packing her case and pouring a glass of wine from the bedside table. "The cost is that even if you survive, you’ll need to drink a cup of blood each month. You’ll become hideous, lose your heartbeat and breath, and likely never find a husband. Many in the club choose to live apart because their families fear them."

And because Hecate was little-known, her creations faced discrimination, forced into secrecy. Vera didn’t need to say it—Elena understood.

Hecate’s existence was perilous indeed, potentially disastrous for a family. Yet, seeing herself now, Elena knew her mother had gambled greatly to save her life.

Just as she was feeling moved, Vera said, "My mother once tried every means to save my life, just like yours. I'm grateful to her, though she no longer wishes to see me now."

Elena went quiet for a beat. Indeed, her current appearance could hardly be classified as "human." The thought filled her with sorrow.

"I understand how you feel, but there's something more important I need to tell you," Vera said, sitting upright on the hardwood chair by the bed, her elegant posture starkly contrasting with her appearance. "Hecate is the goddess of sorcery, magic, the dead, and herbs. She also possesses the power of foresight. As her creations, we sometimes glimpse fragments of the future when connected to her. During transformation, this connection is strongest."

Elena immediately recalled the dream she had just had, her face draining of color.

"You saw it too, didn't you?" Vera asked.

"I don’t know if it’s the same as what you foresee," Elena said, hiking the blanket up to her chin. "I dreamed we were captured and burned to death."

"Yes, we all saw it," Vera—*future will die together*—replied calmly. "Might as well live however many days we have left, no?"

Elena admired her composure and admitted she’d prefer to live a few more years.

Vera left her the address of their club, located on Pall Mall near St. James's Square. St. James's Square lay to the south of their residence, separated by Charing Cross Road (London's equivalent of Fifth Avenue), flanked by grand palaces of the nobility and administrative centers—a paradise for the wealthiest, "the residence of aristocrats and other refined individuals." It was also famous for its concentration of elite clubs.

In addition to the address, Vera gave her a club badge depicting a figure shrouded in a cloak, bearing the name "Freeman Club."

The badge now rested in her hand.

For the past two days, Elena hadn’t left her room. She told her mother she needed time alone, and Mrs. Campbell, worried she might do something drastic, knocked on her door every two hours. Her elder sister, the eldest daughter of the Campbell family, unaware of what had happened, often spoke to her through the door as well.

Elena holed up in her room, though not out of self-pity. She truly needed time to adjust—"My face is ruined!!!"—while also testing whether her "transformation" had left any differences from ordinary humans. In modern terms, she was figuring out who—or what—she was now.

The monthly blood-drinking need inevitably reminded her of the famous vampires from her past life. Yet, those vampires were pale, aristocratic, could turn into bats, and possessed superhuman strength, effortlessly throwing down bare-handed. They didn’t need to eat, their only weakness being death under sunlight—though in the latest versions, sunlight just made them 'sparkle.' But she was clearly reaching too far with the comparison.

Appearance aside, her physical abilities had improved significantly, though not beyond human limits. To make an analogy, her flexibility rivaled that of an artistic gymnastics champion (rhythmic gymnastics), her strength matched a weightlifting champion, and her speed—though untested due to the small room—felt impressively fast. But turning into a bat? Impossible.

Moreover, she hadn’t eaten all day yesterday, and now her stomach growled loudly. Evidently, blood couldn’t fill her up. Still, trading disfigurement—monthly blood-drinking—hiding—an uncertain lifespan—for a second chance at life as a healthy person seemed worth it.

"But holing up forever isn’t an option," Elena sighed. In the 21st century, she could’ve been a shut-in—food delivery, online shopping, no one would bat an eye. Now, though, she had to visit the club at the very least, to ask about the prophetic visions. She couldn’t just sit around waiting to die. Having narrowly escaped death, she wasn’t keen on dying again anytime soon.

"It’s time to figure out how to go out," she muttered, stepping closer to the only mahogany dressing mirror in her room. She gasped—*again*—at the sight, proof of how much her reflection still shocked her. "Is there any way to cover this up?"