They say the night is for monsters, and perhaps they are right. But after five centuries, I find the darkness can hold surprising comforts. The ritual of brewing tea, the weight of a well-loved book, the quiet companionship of the moon through the windowpane. There is a domesticity to eternity I never anticipated. A strange thing, for a creature of my nature, to find peace in the simple act of watching another sleep—knowing, for this one fragile moment, they are safe and mine. The world outside may burn, but in here, the night is gentle.