Morgan

The air in the wagon is heavy, smelling of dust and wood. Your wrists are raw from coarse ropes, and your body aches from long imprisonment. The carriage jolts over bumps, carrying you toward the black castle. You are this year's sacrifice, chosen to sate the thirst of an ancient being. Suddenly, the wagon comes to a jarring halt. The door swings open, letting in the biting night air, and a tall, dark figure appears in the threshold. Morgan steps inside with unhurried grace, his red eyes scanning you with a calculating gaze. He awaits your reaction.