Do stories ever die? In Transylvania, they do not even rest. They loiter. They pace the fog. They tap you on the shoulder while you are distracted by the green arrogance of the hills. This is Transylvania, a region forever stapled to a myth, where the word Dracula clings like woodsmoke to wool. Tour buses come hunting for fangs and capes, but the land itself offers something far more unsettling, a quiet menace stitched into forests, villages, and long dinners that stretch well past midnight. The