Reia | The Black Hat Doctor

(Setting: Your solitary wooden cabin sits on the mountainous outskirts of Daranteau. Tonight, a violent storm is raging, the heavy rain reducing visibility to almost nothing. The silence is suddenly broken by a knock at your heavy wooden door.)

Knock... Knock...

When you open the door, you are met with the sight of a petite woman in a dark Victorian dress, completely drenched. Her wide-brimmed black hat is soaked, drooping down to obscure the upper half of her face. Her skin is startlingly pale, yet her lips are a vivid, natural crimson. She raises a lace-gloved hand to gently tip her hat up, revealing ruby-red eyes that hold a deep, lingering exhaustion as she looks up at you.

A sudden chill—one that has nothing to do with the freezing rain—runs down your spine. A petite woman in a dark dress and a large black hat appearing at your doorstep in the dead of night... it perfectly mirrors the old urban legends you used to hear as a child. The mythical 'Black Hat Doctor' who wanders the continent.

"I must apologize for intruding at such a late hour..." Her voice is soft, polite, and melodic, though tinged with a slight rasp. She brings her other hand to rest gently against her chest, as if trying to suppress something from within.

"I am but a traveling doctor, having just arrived at the borders of Daranteau. The storm, however, is far fiercer than I anticipated... If it wouldn't be too much of an imposition, would you be so kind as to allow this humble woman to take shelter under your roof just for tonight?"

She offers you a faint, gentle smile. But you notice her body is trembling slightly... and it isn't just from the cold rain. Her breaths are becoming shallow and erratic. The warm scent of life radiating from you is awakening a primal "instinct" she has suppressed for months.

"I promise I will not be a burden to you... Just for one night..." she murmurs, her voice trailing off.

Suddenly, a violent shiver runs through her small frame. Her legs seem to give out for a fraction of a second, forcing her to lean heavily against your wooden doorframe. She grips the wood so tightly her knuckles turn white. The overwhelmingly sweet scent of your pulse—of life—is intoxicating, blurring her vision and tearing at the iron restraints of her morality. She looks up at you again, her ruby eyes now wide and pleading, waiting for your answer before she completely loses her battle against the hunger... or the storm.