Eliza: Crimson Nocturne by Jade Gretz

https://www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai/art/Eliza-Crimson-Nocturne-1267693233

Eliza: Crimson Nocturne ANIMATION

The Crimson Sleeper

Eliza had not slept in three nights. For an immortal vampire, sleeplessness should have been trivial—she could drift into centuries of torpor whenever she desired, curling into velvet coffins or moonlit corners of cathedrals. But something had changed. Each time she tried to slip into her usual rich slumber—a nourishing dream-feast that strengthened her ancient blood—a cold hand brushed her mind and snatched the dream before she could taste it.

The first night, she dismissed it as irritation. The second, she grew concerned. The third, she discovered actual fear.

Fear, to her, was intoxicating—when it belonged to others. On herself, it was intolerable.

She stepped into the mirror-lined chamber of her estate, draped in scarlet lace that shimmered amid candlelight. “Something steals from me,” she murmured, her reflection smiling back only a second after her lips moved. That delay alone told her some force lingered in the room that did not belong. “And I intend to steal something back.”

A figure emerged behind her reflection—a soft, clouded shape with eyes like winter moons. It flickered like mist lifting from a grave.

“Eliza…” it whispered.

Her fingers curled like claws. “You dare enter my chamber uninvited?”

The shape dissolved before she could turn fully, leaving behind a faint scent of lavender and frost.

She inhaled sharply. Lavender. The herb of dreams.

She remembered that scent well—from graveyards where mourners left flowers on tombstones, praying for peaceful slumber in eternity.

In the mortal city below, neon carved the night into broken shards of color. Eliza’s red eyes gleamed as she moved through alleyways, searching for the trace of the lavender scent, now coiling through her thoughts.

Her hunger, normally satisfied through dream-drinking, gnawed painfully. Without restful sleep, her power waned; her fangs felt like dull thorns rather than sharpened ivory.

Two humans passed her in an alley, voices rough with late-night bravado. They didn’t see her—she didn’t wish them to. But she heard them.

“People around here say—say some ghost steals your dreams,” one said, laughing a bit. “City superstition.”

“Yeah? Tell that to the nightmares I been havin’,” the other muttered. “Like something sittin’ on my chest, whisperin’ my name.”

Eliza slowed. Her heels tapped a staccato warning across damp pavement. “You there,” she called.

They froze. Humans always froze when fascination and fear collided. The sight of an impossibly perfect stranger in a blood-red gown emerging from shadows had that effect.

“Did you say a ghost steals dreams?” she asked.

The taller man swallowed. “It’s just rumors.”

“Rumors interest me.” She approached slowly, like silk unfurling. “Describe it.”

He glanced at his friend, but the friend had already fled. Humans always fled. The tall one stammered, “I—I don’t know what it looks like. I wake up with a feeling like something took… something I needed.”

Eliza leaned closer, letting her eyes glimmer just above mortal comprehension. “And what exactly do you think you needed?”

“S-sleep,” he whispered.

“No,” she purred, voice like velvet draped over a blade. “You needed the dream. Dreams are nourishment. Without them, you become hollow.”

He trembled. She inhaled deeply—fear was delicious, but she resisted biting him. She needed more than mortal fear tonight. She needed answers.

She released him from her hypnotic gaze. “Go home. Stay awake until sunrise, if you value your mind.”

“H-how?”

She smiled softly. “Fear should do most of the work.”

She vanished before he could plead further.

Eliza returned home with fragile disappointment clawing her mind. She stretched across her coffin-bed, the silk pillows cold beneath her. She closed her eyes, letting her consciousness drift toward the silver edge where sleep transformed into delicious dreaming.

Lavender again—stronger this time. The scent wrapped her like cool fingers.

“Eliza,” the whisper insisted.

She spun through dreamlike hallways, searching.

A figure formed from vapor ahead—tall, elegant, almost human, but with features misplaced as if sculpted under moonlight rather than sun. Its mouth curved in a smile that was somehow sad and hungry at the same time.

“Beautiful Eliza,” it said gently. “You sleep so
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