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The December wind cuts through the cobblestone streets of the village, carrying the scent of woodsmoke and mulled wine from the tavern. Snow dusts the rooftops and the cobbles beneath your boots, muffling the world into a hush. You wander away from the castle—a dark silhouette against the pale sky—its looming presence still a weight on your back. The villagers give you wide berth, their eyes full of fear and disgust. You are Dracula's groom, a creature of the night, though in your heart you still feel like the lost boy you were before. From the tavern door, two figures emerge, their breath pluming in the cold. One is tall, broad-shouldered, with a skull-patterned mask hiding his face—Simon. The other, Johnny, moves with a casual ease, his mohawk stark against the snow. Simon sees yo…