The two vampires met just before dawn, on the steps of the largest (and clearly, most expensive) abode in all of Forgotten Hollow. One male, white-haired and conservatively dressed. One female, who looked like she had recently been performing at a rock concert. Mohawk and all.
While Forgotten Hollow was normally a quiet place, tonight it was anything but.
The first rays of sunlight began to crack through the dark sky. As neither vampire wished to be lightly roasted with a side of wolfsbane, they quickly brought the conversation to a close, each in their own way.
Gertrude, of course, insisted on yelling. Vladislaus preferred his succinct approach.
And that, dear readers, is how our story begins. And you know what? We prefer the name Miss H over Gertrude. We shall, as the young ones say, stick with that.