The pots had been opened, the pallet loaded with colour. All had been set up as it had been. The Canvas however, remained blank. That spark of inspiration she felt all those nights ago had been tapped out. No clear image to immortalise came to mind for the Nosferatu and she was not the type to throw paint around with wild abandon in a vain attempt to mimic Jackson Pollock.

So, here she was. Away from the confines of her Sepulchre and next to the ivy caked walls of an abandoned manor house she had found in her wanderings of the city. Other places had done little to stir anything within. And after the incident with the hunters, she found herself reluctant to return to the quiet, macabre surroundings of the graveyard that sometimes acted as her muse. Curiosity had struck her as she walked unseen over the cracked pavement to the crumbling entryway however. Windows choked with vines, weeds pushed forth from concrete pathways. It reminded her of the Caladarium before she took it upon herself to maintain it. The doors were left ajar. All it took was a pale hand to push them the rest of the way and for Cynthia to slip inside.

Little light penetrated the cavernous insides. What once might have been an impressive entryway to greet guests had become covered in dirt and dust. Scattered leaves from the previous autumn lay strewn about in decay. Cynthia took her first tentative steps inside, the light from her smartphone casting garish shadows about. She started her trek deeper within, her echoing footsteps her only company. Doors leading into other rooms were blocked. A few rooms had walls stained with old, flaking bits of something a shade of blackish brown that did not seem imminently identifiable.

A faint thud immediately pulled her attention to another room. The Nosferatu did her best to remain quiet as she slowly approached the source of the sound. Other than some furniture draped with whitish cloth and discarded sheets of paper, Cynthia did not spot any other intruders. She stepped into the room and looked around nervously. Nothing else seemed out of the ordinary, though some part of her mind was starting to inspire paranoid thoughts. The goth was about to leave when she spotted a small, leather bound book on the floor. Curious, she picked it up. Little remarkable about it, beyond the Ouroboros stamped into the leather. A few more fervent glances from her to the room before she tucked the tome under her arm and ducked out. She suddenly did not feel welcome here.

Minutes later she was outside and beyond the gates of the Manor. The oppressive feeling of panic that was starting to settle in her mind was starting to fade finally. thinking clearly she took out the book and opened it. A frown formed on her face as she read the first page. Rites of the Dragon... Lingering fear compelled her to keep moving but she was certain she had heard of this before. She snapped the book shut and walked down the darkened street, vanishing into the darkness of the night. A few ideas bubbled in her mind for her works. And new reading material was always a plus.