Lord Typhon's Stallion trotted slowly along the dusty path leading to his distant estate. The sun hung low, casting an amber glow over the tired fields. He had come to inspect the lands, and the taxes that should have been collected. All hands where on desk due to the impending ball and every Lord knew it's importance.
A group of villagers gathered near the gate, their faces hard and voices sharp muttering among themselves as Lord Typhon approached, flanked by his men. He raised a gloved hand, voice clear and cold.
"These lands owe the Crown. I've come for what is due."
A burly man stepped forward, face weathered with sun and grief.
"Milord, we've barely enough to feed our young. The wells run dry, and fields lie barren,yet you ask for more?"
Another spat bitterly, "We bleed for nobles who sip wine while our children starve."
The crowd growled in agreement, fists clenching.
Typhon's eyes narrowed, his tone sharp as a drawn blade.
"This is not a request. It is the King's order."
He stepped forward.
"You dare refuse the Crown?"
The murmurs stilled, but the hatred in their eyes burned louder than words.
A shrill cry pierced the air, not from anger, but from an infant. One of the village women stepped forward, her gown threadbare, a sickly child suckling weakly at her breast. Another followed, clutching two little ones close, their cheeks hollow.
"Please, milord," the first woman begged, eyes glistening.
"We have nothing left to give. The last harvest was ash and dust. My babe's milk dries by the day."
"We are loyal to the Crown," said another, her voice cracking. "But loyalty cannot fill empty stomachs."
The sight might have softened another man. But Typhon's face was a stone mask. His jaw clenched.
He looked to the weeping women, then over the silent, hollow-eyed crowd. His voice was cold, cutting through pity like steel.
"Loyalty is measured not by what you have, but by what you're willing to give."
He turned slightly, issuing a cold command to his men
"Take stock. Every barrel, every coin. Dues must be paid."
And just like that, the weight of the Crown returned to the starving hands of the forgotten.
***
Sapphire walked with purpose, the morning mist still clinging to the cobblestones as her boots echoed softly down the narrow street. She clutched her ledger to her side, her fingers tracing the name that had remained unpaid for too long. The fabric shop. The young woman with the trembling hands, the heavy makeup, and the haunting eyes. Sapphire had given her time, even took her mother's necklace as collateral.
She rounded the corner, eyes settling on the faded wooden sign swinging slightly above the closed shop door. But before she could step forward, a murmur rippled through the street. People were gathering, hushed voices, craned necks, the unmistakable tension that came with death.
Not far from the shop, two men emerged from a narrow alley carrying a wooden bier. A sheet was draped over the form of a woman, limbs still beneath its weight. Her shawl hung limply from one side, a glove missing from a stiff hand.
Sapphire's heart dropped.
No. It couldn't be.
Her feet moved without thought, cutting through the murmuring crowd. With every step, her stomach tightened, until she reached the bier and her worst fear settled in. It was her. The woman from the fabric shop.With trembling knees and a heavy heart, Sapphire stepped inside the shop, she couldn't believe that the woman was no more.
She barely registered the door creak behind her until a voice, low and heavy, broke the silence.
"You must be the collector," the man said.
She turned slowly. It was the husband, he had to be. His face was gaunt, dark eyes rimmed in red, from crying, she hoped. But there was something wrong in his expression. The tears didn't reach his voice. They didn't cling to his lashes.
He stepped forward.
"As you can see, I'm mourning... and can't pay the debt," he said flatly, brushing past her. There was no tremble in his tone.
Sapphire's eyes flicked down. A faint patch of crimson stained the side of his faded tunic. Not wet. Not large. But it caught the light just enough to freeze her breath in her throat.
He noticed her gaze.
"It's rude to stare," he growled, baring teeth that were too sharp, unnaturally sharp, for any ordinary man.
She straightened.
"My condolences," she said, voice calm though her heart raced. "But I'm afraid that was not the agreement I had with your wife."
Something flickered in his expression. Annoyance. Disdain. And maybe... guilt?
He reached into his satchel and tossed her a silver coin. It clattered at her feet.
"Be gone," he muttered.
But Sapphire stood still, her Curiosity grounding her
"How did she die?" she asked softly.
His jaw tensed. His shoulders stiffened. The air in the room turned still, heavy. Then, after a long pause, he tilted his head,not in sadness, but in warning.
"She was weak," he whispered, voice like gravel. "Weak things break."
Sapphire stared at him in disbelief. The sheer coldness in his voice. The detachment.
She had seen men treat women like pawns before, like extensions of their pride or tools for their comfort, but there should still be reverence in death. A pause. A moment of grief. Something human.
But this man… there was nothing.
Her fists clenched by her sides. A knot tightened in her chest—not just from anger, but guilt.
If only I had returned sooner… if I had pressed her when I saw the signs...
Her voice trembled slightly, but her words were sharp. "I saw her… stumbling, barely able to walk. Wearing gloves and a shawl when the cold hasn't even kissed the air yet. Her makeup, caked on so thick... it wasn't vanity, she was hiding."
His face darkened.
"Did you notice?" she asked , her tone turning accusing. "Did you care?"
"I believe," he said stiffly, "matters concerning my late wife and I are none of your business."
Still standing her ground
"Don't you find it strange?" she whispered. "I saw your wife a day before ... alive, sickly, scared,and now she's dead. And you stand here with dry eyes and a blood-stained shirt, asking me to walk away."
The man's nostrils flared. His eyes burned—not with grief, but something more primal. A flash of something old and dangerous.
"I suggest you collect your coin and leave," he said, stepping dangerously close.
But Sapphire's voice lowered, steady and slow:
"She told me... some things are best left unsaid."
And in that moment, she knew. Whatever had happened behind those doors, it wasn't natural. And it wasn't over.And before she could move, an arm coiled around her neck like a serpent. Fingers dug deep, pressing against her windpipe with enough force to bruise. She gasped, clawing at the grip as her breath fled her.
"You should have left when I asked nicely," he snarled, his voice no longer trembling with grief but saturated with menace.
"Why must humans always meddle where they do not belong? What if I killed her?"
Her nails scraped his wrist, her strength waning. Her vision blurred. Her lips parted in a breathless whisper,
"You… will… pay…"
"How would you make me pay?" he hissed, baring unnaturally sharp teeth. "You humans exist for one thing, our hunger."
Sapphire's vision blurred as the pressure on her neck tightened, her limbs growing limp beneath the vampire's crushing grip. Her fingers twitched weakly, reaching for anything—air, hope, salvation. Spots danced before her eyes, and the ringing in her ears drowned out the world.
Is this how I die? The question echoed in her skull, raw and unfinished.
Her son's smile flashed before her. The cure… the promises yet to be fulfilled. She couldn't die, not now.
Her defiance sparked.With a ragged breath, she forced the words out through clenched teeth, her voice hoarse but sharp like broken glass.
"Do you think… Lord Typhon would let my death go unanswered?"
The Man stilled, his hold faltered before he flung her violently against the wall. Her skull hit stone, stars bursting behind her eyes. Gasping, she crumpled to the floor, sucking in greedy, ragged breaths. Her throat burned, and blood sang in her ears.
"Be gone," he growled, the illusion of mourning long shattered
With shaking limbs, Sapphire pushed herself up, leaning on the wall. She staggered, then ran, heart pounding, limbs trembling, eyes blurred by tears she refused to shed.
Outside, the villagers had long since dispersed. Only whispers remained.
And from the darkened doorway, the man watched her vanish. His red-stained tunic flapped in the breeze, and a smirk carved its way across his face.
He would be seeing her again.He thought!