⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠠⢤⡶⣖⣺⡍⢍⠉⣍⢩⣁⠒⠄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⠄⢂⣉⣤⠔⣊⡴⢺⠏⢌⠀⡑⠀⡒⠈⠒⠒⢤⣬⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠤⡊⠅⠂⠉⠀⠔⣠⣾⡽⠁⡘⠀⠘⡀⠌⡰⠁⣀⡀⠤⠐⠋⠉⠉⠉⠉⣉⣐⡢⠄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠄⣺⡟⠥⠠⠄⢀⠔⠁⣴⡿⣽⢣⠔⠇⠀⠀⣵⠺⠙⠻⣉⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣶⣿⠷⠶⢯⡕⢆⠉⠂⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣋⣔⡼⠚⡈⠢⢀⠀⠈⢆⡮⠋⡼⣋⠴⢚⠰⠀⠀⡀⢯⡭⢍⠤⠤⠤⣄⣀⣀⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⣗⡤⢀⠈⠢⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠏⣴⡟⠁⠀⢡⠀⠀⠁⠢⢜⣁⣾⠭⠖⠒⢾⣅⢼⠃⡇⢸⠌⠭⣉⡛⠳⠴⣬⠼⢯⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⡘⢀⠊⠉⡉⠒⠤⣀⠑⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠞⠁⣼⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠡⡀⠀⠀⡀⢠⡙⠢⣀⠀⣘⣯⠑⠁⢁⢼⡇⠀⠀⠀⠉⠒⠤⣉⠛⠷⣬⣐⣂⣁⣐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠢⢀⠉⠢⢷⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⢁⡠⠊⣩⣻⣄⠀⣀⣀⣤⠚⣢⣀⢑⠤⣈⠐⢈⡞⢍⠀⠀⢄⠀⠠⠈⠢⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠢⡈⠓⢤⠓⣤⢳⢄⠀⢀⠀⢤⡄⠵⢄⡀⠳⣀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠊⣠⠊⣤⠞⠢⠤⢬⣿⢏⠁⣠⣼⡷⠀⠛⣭⠶⡆⡏⢀⢀⠂⠀⠀⠡⡀⠑⡀⠘⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠢⡀⠻⣄⣳⡖⢂⠕⠊⠁⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⢁⣜⣵⠟⠀⠀⠀⠠⡒⠻⡤⠇⠻⣻⣯⠀⠈⣷⠃⡌⡔⡑⢁⠫⣠⠠⡀⢠⠀⠐⠀⣄⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣄⣸⣿⣿⣏⡴⠊⢉⠀⠀⠀⠉⠑⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡜⢀⣮⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠺⢱⠀⠀⠹⣽⠀⣴⠃⠀⡇⡿⠎⡾⢁⠐⠥⠌⠾⡀⠀⢣⡜⡐⢵⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⣾⡿⣿⡿⠻⠤⠊⠀⠱⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⢠⢣⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡆⠀⠀⠹⣿⠁⣌⠅⣣⡷⠐⠃⠁⠛⠐⣾⣷⡷⠀⢰⠀⠀⡞⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡝⣧⠘⢧⡘⠀⠀⠀⠜⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣃⠀
⠀⠀⠀⢠⢇⣳⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⠀⠀⣀⡽⠰⡟⢬⣧⣷⣿⢿⡆⠀⠀⠈⠉⠇⠰⠘⡎⣴⢧⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠲⢍⣧⣤⣉⣲⠴⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢆⢹⠀
⠀⠀⠀⢸⣸⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢣⠉⠁⡇⣎⣿⣧⡿⣿⣳⣌⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠃⣸⢇⢣⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡟⠉⠀⠐⡠⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣾⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⢠⠒⢰⡚⣄⢀⡏⠱⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢲⡆⢿⡞⡇⢧⠘⠑⠛⠯⣖⡶⢪⡟⢠⢃⣼⣿⠧⠔⠒⠒⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⡑⢦⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣧⠀⠁⢹⢛⡏⠀⢀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡷⣈⢷⣼⣎⡄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠙⡩⠔⠋⡉⠂⢉⣤⢥⣤⡐⠘⠓⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡇⠀⠀⠀⢍⢦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠸⠁⠀⢙⡾⠉⠁⠐⠹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠍⠛⠛⠛⣿⢏⠀⠀⠀⠊⠀⢠⡬⠄⢠⠏⠀⠀⠹⣿⣆⣀⣠⣽⣶⣀⡄⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⡎⢦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢲⠀⠀⡏⠀⢠⠀⠀⡄⠹⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣇⣢⣰⡁⡞⢓⠒⠖⠀⠷⢄⠀⠀⢻⣿⡿⠿⠛⠋⠉⠁⢠⠇⠀⠀⢠⡙⠦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⣄⣇⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⣀⡧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡞⢨⣭⠖⠃⠀⠀⠹⣭⣤⣍⢹⣭⣭⣶⣲⠛⠉⠘⠀⠀⠘⡦⠄⣀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠂⠀⠀⢰⡐⢣⠑⠀⠀⠀⢸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⠸⠢⣤⡤⠄⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⣹⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣏⡙⣩⡇⣀⢿⢻⣏⡇⠐⠀⠡⣀⠄⡈⠢⡀⠉⢆⠀⡎⠀⠀⠀⢣⠘⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⠀
⠀⠀⠀⡖⢦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⠤⠵⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣹⡿⠳⢤⣀⡴⢼⣋⡽⣷⠉⣻⣏⣿⣷⠻⡀⠆⠀⣇⠀⣴⡤⡈⢆⠘⢷⡁⠀⠀⠀⠢⠡⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⡇⠀
⠀⠀⠀⢣⠈⢇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠾⢻⠀⠀⠚⢻⠘⡿⣷⡻⠛⠛⠛⠉⠉⣯⠀⡇⢰⠀⢹⠛⠋⢠⣼⣧⡵⣿⠅⢂⣉⡱⠦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠁⡇⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠈⡆⠈⢦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠂⠉⠀⠉⠂⠾⣦⣄⣤⣾⡏⣿⣿⣟⣅⢆⡠⠐⠚⡀⢧⡀⢸⠀⢸⡽⣿⣿⣿⡴⢛⣅⡴⢧⠋⠀⠀⠈⠀⡐⢱⠀⡇⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡌⢌⢣⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠐⠁⠀⠈⠉⠁⠛⠛⢿⡜⠗⣖⠛⡬⢽⣦⣿⣼⡦⡸⠃⢟⡻⣭⢀⠀⢻⡏⡽⡖⠢⢄⢀⠈⢀⣧⡼⠁⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢄⢢⠑⣄⠀⠀⢀⡠⠚⠀⠀⠀⠈⢑⠂⢰⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⠌⢊⠢⡀⠀⠈⠹⣿⠿⣽⡂⣼⣵⠶⢾⢳⡾⣿⣄⠘⠢⢀⡀⠀⣠⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢦⠱⡄⠱⡴⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣸⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠑⡈⢄⢠⣰⠇⢓⡌⠙⢿⣗⣼⣿⣿⠀⠙⠫⢗⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠳⣜⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣷⣎⣣⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣄⠻⣽⡆⡞⣧⠀⣸⣿⣿⠿⢻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠓⣲⠿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣟⢻⡓⣏⢗⣿⡑⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢦⠀⠀⠀⠈⠣⡘⢷⡄⠀⠰⣣⣿⣁⢒⣼⣧⠀⠀⠀⡀⣠⠴⠋⢁⣠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡟⣬⢳⡝⡜⣎⢖⡳⡄⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠱⡀⠠⠀⠀⢙⣆⠙⣦⣸⣿⣟⣯⢿⣝⡾⣄⣤⣾⣛⠥⠔⢊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡔⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡟⣿⣿⣯⣷⣹⣝⣾⣼⣳⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣦⣾⣿⣿⣞⣯⣿⠾⣽⣿⠉⠁⢀⡤⠲⢧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠜⡍⠢⡝⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣟⣯⣿⡷⣿⡶⠚⠁⠐⠤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡏⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⢁⠐⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⢟⡟⢯⠓⡖⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⣤⣀⣼⠁⠀⢀⡼⠿⠿⢿⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠘⣜⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⢳⡿⢧⠤⢴⣿⣤⡈⠄⠙⡆⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠻⠦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠘⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⣺⣄⣳⣘⡇⠀⣠⠊⠑⢦⡀⢣⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣾⣷⣆⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⢹⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⣧⠬⠽⡤⠽⢻⡇⠀⠀⠀⠉⢪⠇⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⠛⠛⠻⠷⣄⠀⢀⡀⢀⠟⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠑⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⢈⣶⠉⣀⣠⠞⠣⠀⠀⠀⡴⠏⠑⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢦⡆⡈⠣⢄⠈⡉⠙⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠖⠚⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⡼⠀⠉⠁⣼⠀⢱⠀⢀⠞⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡜⠀⠀⠈⣠⣵⢇⢠⡾⠟⣿⠿⠿⠿⠃⠀⠀⠀⢀⢌⠤⠒⠉⠀⠀⠀
⢰⡇⠀⠀⢰⡿⡀⠀⠂⡜⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⠢⢄⠀⢻⡁⠜⠛⢖⠐⢉⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠓⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣶⣶⣾⠇⠱⠀⢠⠃⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡽⢾⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⡏⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠙⢿⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠡⣈⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠃⠀⡄⠀⢂⠴⠡⢻⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠀⠀⢠⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣯⣿⣿⡾⣿⣿⣟⣿⡧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⢣⣠⠂⠀⠀⠀⢳⠀⠀⠀⠀

In the heart of the Victorian era, a vampire princess was born into the world of men. Her name was Dawn, a name given in the hope that her existence might one day bring light to the darkness that surrounded her kind. She was the child of ancient blood, with eyes that glimmered like stars, and a heart untouched by the corruption of time. In her infancy, she was unaware of the hatred that lay in the hearts of humans towards her kind, innocent in her royal silence.

As Dawn grew, the world revealed itself to her, and so did the deep-seated animosity between humans and vampires. She saw, with a soul both kind and gentle, how cruelly the world of men sought to rid the earth of her people. She learned of the relentless hunt, of torches and stakes, of fear and superstition that painted all vampires as creatures of malice and evil. The world was unforgiving, and though Dawn’s heart longed for companionship, she understood the danger of her existence in their eyes.

Yet, with every passing year, as Dawn grew wiser and more aware of both her gifts and her burdens, the fire of hope still flickered within her. She could not accept the idea that humans and vampires must forever live in opposition, locked in an eternal struggle of fear and misunderstanding. She yearned for a world where both species could coexist, where her people could show the kindness that lay hidden beneath their immortal nature.

For countless years, Princess Dawn sought to bridge the divide. She travelled across kingdoms, disguised as one of them—humans, who could not see the truth behind her pale skin or the power that flowed in her veins. She whispered tales of peace to rulers and scholars, pleading for understanding, offering friendship, and revealing the compassionate side of her kind—long-buried under centuries of bloodshed.

Many times, her heart shattered as she was met with rejection, or worse, fear. She watched as humans recoiled from her, as they called her a monster in whispered breaths. Still, she pressed on, ever hopeful. She shared with them the stories of her ancestors, of vampire lords and ladies who had once known peace with humanity, only to see that dream dashed by the relentless march of time and war.

But Dawn, unlike the vampires who sought vengeance for the wrongs done to them, never gave up. She fought not with fangs or claws, but with her unyielding belief that the world could be different. Her kindness was her weapon, her patience her armour.

Yet, despite her tireless efforts, the years grew heavy, and Dawn began to wonder if the dream she clung to was truly possible. Could humans ever look beyond their fear? Could vampires learn to trust a world that would rather see them destroyed?

Dawn did not know, but she continued, one step at a time, fighting for a world where dawn and dusk could coexist, where kindness could conquer hate, and where the world of men and the night-born could finally walk side by side. The world might not be ready yet, but Princess Dawn, in her innocence and her wisdom, believed it could be.