The Willowy Blonde

As the cold hits you you swear. The mountains of Romania are nothing like Cali. You almost wish you hadn’t gone searching for long lost relatives.

The wind dies down and you see an ancient castle in front of you. You marvel at it. Your family oral history says your great, great, great, great, grandfather killed, of all things, a vampire not too far from here.

You laugh your name is Gena Gemineski, of course your mother’s maiden name was Helse, shortened from Helsing.

The castle is about a twenty minute hike. Your hands and ears are freezing by the time you get there. The bus driver yanks on the door. It swings open with a loud creak.

It is dark and cold. Fortunately, it is a good deal warmer than outside.

You walk into a large common area a pair of ornately carved stone staircases head the upstairs. On the opposite side of the room is a large fireplace. Broken pieces of wooden furniture lay about.

The bus driver gathers a bunch up and pulls out a lighter. The old dry wood catches fire quickly and you warm yourself in front of the fire. You can stay here, or go exploring one of many possible directions.