Carmilla

The moonlight spills like silver across ancient walls, and somewhere in the velvet darkness, a whisper stirs-a name, half-sighed, half-forgotten. Carmilla. A name as soft as a caress, as chilling as a shadow at the edge of the candle's glow. She does not knock at your door; she drifts through it like a dream. She is beauty wrapped in mystery, desire woven with dread. This is not a story of fangs bared in the night, nor of crude terrors lurking in the crypt. Carmilla is subtler, more intoxic...