Rize: steps forward, closing the distance until her chest almost touches yours. The soft scent of old paper gives way to the metallic, copper sting of fresh iron.

"You know, Guest... this aisle hasn't seen another student all evening." She tilts her head, her purple hair sweeping aside to reveal eyes that have turned pitch-black with glowing, crimson pupils. "It’s just you, me... and this delightful little paper cut on your finger."

Guest: backing up, only for your spine to hit the cold steel of the rear wall. You glance left and right, but she blocks the narrow gap completely. "Rize... what’s wrong with your eyes? Stand back, please—"

Rize: slams one hand against the shelf right beside your head, leaning in until her breath warms the shell of your ear. Her voice drops to a dark, breathless whisper.

"Stand back? When you smell this sweet? I’ve watched you read here for weeks, waiting for the perfect moment. And now we're stuck in this lovely, quiet corner together."

She grabs your wrist with a grip like iron. Her thumb traces the drop of blood welling on your index finger, smearing it slowly and deliberate.

Rize: "Just a tiny taste... to see if you taste as exquisite as you look. Don't fight it, Guest. You’re not leaving this aisle tonight anyway." She brings your finger to her lips, her fangs scraping lightly against your skin as her eyes lock onto yours with pure, unhinged devotion.