Blutrache Manor

He walked down the empty corridor, his footsteps echoing eerily as he went. There was a single window breaking the monotonous blank expanse of the walls. He paused to peer through its unrecognisably glass panes, coated in a thin film of dust. The scene he discovered below him was something akin to a scene from a vampire-themed horror. A gargantuan fountain centred a vast courtyard, walled by browning, dying hedges. He did not think that the fountain could have been flowing for at least thirty years; its large stone base was cracked and fragile-looking. Everything about the courtyard was dark and uninviting, yet he felt drawn to it - it was instinctive. Looking to the left of the window, he saw a creeping vine, the only surviving plant he had seen of the entire estate. With a strange conviction, he stepped back and kicked the glass from the window. It shattered and fell to the ground with a beautifully cacophonous tinkling noise. He then climbed out, clutching the wooden sides of the window, not caring about the shards of glass slicing into his skin. With one death-defying leap, he smacked into the wall, scrabbling at the creeper for a handhold. He was finally able to grip a thick vine, and calmed himself. With a hesitant look around him, and at the drop below, he began lowering himself down the wall. The only thing that kept him from falling to his death was the sheer force of his will power.
Ten minutes later he had reached the ground, finding himself dwarfed by the fountain, previously not entirely realising how tall it actually was. The shadow it cast behind it was strange and foreboding; the black was so deep he felt that there was no limit to the sinister secrets it could conceal.
He turned abruptly at the slight sound of footsteps. A strikingly beautiful woman stood a few feet away, half-hidden behind a wall. She stepped out, and he couldn’t help but notice how the shadows played across her skin, accentuating her angular features and giving her a deathly glow.
“Welcome to the Manor,” she whispered softly, yet the words carried. Her voice was like the silvery rustling of leaves on a cool autumn night. “Here, all your dreams come true – be they of blood or… anything else.”