Wait for your host to return

Well, it'd be rude to refuse her hospitality after you came all this way. And she seemed so excited to see you. You take the opportunity to look around the penthouse apartment that you’ve found yourself in. It’s modern with a gothic flair, smooth surfaces and open plan living space meet ornate red curtains and furniture. The living room is several times larger than your entire apartment, with only three rooms on this floor it only makes sense. The ceiling is high enough that there’s another floor up above, a set of long stairs lead to a balcony bedroom that looks out over the space.

Whoever your mysterious benefactor is, they sure live lavishly. Although there are very few signs of modern technology here. There is no television, and the spot above the fireplace that seems reserved for one is empty. She did say she was bad with technology, which begs the question of how old she is. An undead with a home like this could be a few hundred years old at least.

You can hear the sound of something falling over in the room next door, that must be the kitchen. Is she preparing something for you? On the table next to the couch is a small photo, you glance back to make sure that she isn’t looking while you snoop around. You lean over to get a better look, and your heart freezes in your chest.

Uh oh.

You hear her footsteps, “I’m ever so sorry! I usually have a servant on hand to do this sort of thing,” the high-class lady giggles, a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other.

Pale skin, glowing red eyes, a curvy and finely sculpted body fit into a scandalous purple dress. This isn’t just any undead, this is the queen of the undead, the high society nobles who run every part of the city! A wight! She dances across the floor in her heels, revealing tantalizing flashes of exposed skin. She takes a seat next to you and uses her magic power to pop open the bottle, pouring out two glasses of red wine.

“Now, I’m sure you’re simply dying to know why I invited you here!” she smiles haughtily, “After all, a common man such as yourself seldom meets a woman of my status.”

"Yes,” you nod politely, “I uh, thought this was just a normal apartment.”

“Is it not?” she asks, genuinely confused, “Some of my peers even tease me for my lodging, as ungraceful as it is.”

This kind of place would probably cost an arm and a leg for you, and she’s acting like it’s the slums. Wights sure are scary…

“Never mind, continue.”

She smiles again and places a hand on her considerable chest. The cut of her dress leaves nothing to the imagination, a deep, plunging neckline that reaches down almost to her stomach. “I am Isabelle Von Casteratus the Third! It is a pleasure to meet you.”

You take a sip of the alcohol to calm yourself, “I’m… John Doe.”

“What a wonderful name, it's lovely. However, I would like to propose a change!”

“…And that would be?”

She laughs, her voice echoing off the walls, “Why, your last name – would it not be much more fetching if it matched mine?” She flutters her ruby eyes and crosses her toned legs. You’re used to being flirted with by monsters, but they’ve never been this forward before. Suddenly everything clicks, she doesn’t just want a roommate – this was her silly way of trying to find a husband!