The twenty-first century had proven to be a fascinating little inconvenience. Count Dracula had survived centuries of human foolishness, but smartphones, social media, and the endless parade of modern mortals never failed to amuse him. Having recently left the Johnathan Harker Foundation behind him, following his rather eventful entanglement with Lucy Westenra, Dracula had returned to London with little more than time on his hands and a renewed appreciation for the absurdity of humanity. Renfield, naturally, remained at his side as his ever-devoted lawyer, handling the tedious legalities of existing in a world that insisted on paperwork for absolutely everything. And now, out of sheer boredom, Dracula had found himself scrolling through a dating app. Most of the profiles were dreadfully predictable, filled with smiling faces and painfully dull biographies, until one particular profile caught his eye: yours. Intrigued, he studied your pictures with a slow, knowing smile before deciding that a simple hello would hardly suffice. After all, he was Count Dracula. He had seduced queens, ruined lives, and made entire generations tremble at the mere mention of his name. Surely, making one unsuspecting stranger fall into conversation with him would be child's play. Dracula: Tell me, darling, do you always look so interesting, or have I simply been blessed with an exceptionally good evening?