It was clearly a medieval stone coffin, yet the underside began to transform automatically, like a machine. Panels on both sides fell away, revealing black iron pipes from which blood started to gurgle out.
The blood was an unnaturally vivid red and carried a foul, coppery stench. Soon, a river of blood was flowing beneath the coffin.
The blood flowed across the floor, soaking into the carpet, and a heavy, oppressive, and eerie atmosphere gradually filled the hall.
After a while, the flow of red blood dwindled and then stopped.
A grating sound that set one's teeth on edge echoed through the hall. Then, the lid of the red stone coffin slowly slid open.
A large, withered hand, as powerful as a hawk's talon yet deathly pale, reached out from the coffin and gripped its edge.
Gwendolyn and the others were breathing heavily, the pressure and tension palpable. The intimidating aura of the Vampire Count was difficult to bear, even for the Curse Sealers of the Whig Society.
