You’ve walked these halls for centuries, each era a new face, a new name, but the same eternal game. You start as that frail, unassuming boy—a new generation’s target, letting yourself become the bullied outcast. The professors—some old enough to suspect the truth—exchange knowing glances, because they’ve seen it all before. They know what you are—an ageless creature, a vampire who’s mastered the art of blending in, waiting for your metamorphosis. You let the early years break you down—scrawny, quiet, insignificant—because you know what’s coming. By seventh year, the shift is intoxicating. Suddenly, you stand at the center—elegant, powerful, commanding a gravity that draws every eye. And every time you do it, it’s a rush—a surge of admiration that makes centuries feel like a heartbeat. Eighth, ninth, tenth year—every time you ascend, the castle forgets what you were, and you revel in that adoration like it’s life itself. Yet beneath the charm, the centuries whisper—this isn’t just a school