The marble staircase of Ravenshade Manor gleamed beneath the early morning light that pierced through the high, stained glass windows. Each step curved with aristocratic precision, leading to a vast drawing room adorned with a vast drawing room adorned in deep emeralds and golds. A chandelier dangled above like frozen lightning- daring, dramatic and dangerously beautiful.
And from the very top of the staircase stood Master Julian. A sly devil. Devilishly handsome, strikingly beautiful. Pale skin kissed by shadow, hair tousled like silk soaked in ink, and eyes- those dreadful, divine eyes- a shade too sharp to be entirely human.
He paused. Not because he was uncertain, but because even the act of descending the stairs felt beneath him.
"Brother," came a musical voice from below. "It's your day off. I know because the entire manor breathes easier."
Julian's gaze slid to the side, icy and disinterested. "And yet your voice still pollutes the air."
His sister, a Lady Seraphine, spun around the velvet settee she was lounging on, a glass of crimson in hand. "You're going out? On your off day? Unbelievable. You must be dreadfully bored with immortality to start playing mortal."
The carefree pureblood vampiress, always smiling, laughing and taunting.
Julian continued descending like a king approached his throne- each movement as fluid as smoke.
"Did the weight of silence become too heavy for your brooding heart? Or…" she gasped mockingly. "Did a damsel's scent tangle your mind?"
He met her eyes with a faint smirk. "Do try not to spill your conquests across the country next time you prattle about my affairs. I have no taste for your borrowed scandals."
Seraphine grinned. "Still a sharp tongue beneath that soft voice. Don't worry brother. I'll keep my scandalous life away from your crypt of romance."
She twirled the wine glass taunting him more
"And brother? I can't wait to see your heart brooding over a damsel one day."
He smirked, walked past her, slipping into his overcoat with regal precision.
Outside, the courtyard bathed in silver fog as Julian stepped into the garden path that led towards his personal carriage park.
From a corner, Coleman- his loyal coachman, a fair, average height, blonde hair and grey eyes. He straightened with visible surprise.
"Lord Julian…you… you're heading out?"
Julian shot him a cold glance, sarcasm curling around his voice like smoke.
"No, Coleman. I wish to admire the curtains inside the carriage and return to bask in my own magnificence."
Coleman chuckled nervously and climbed into the driver's seat. Julian slid into the velvet- lined interior, a space as dark and pristine as his soul.
"To the theatre of Rosebury," he instructed.
The town theater loomed ahead like an ancient deity carved from crystals and dreams. Its pillars kissed the sky, and golden banners danced weakly under the morning breeze. But Julian's carriage didn't halt at the main entrance. Instead, it pulled into a narrow side corner, where the crowd thinned and shadows clung to brick.
The coachman reached for the handle.
"Open this carriage door," Julian warned without lifting his gaze, "and I'll assist you in parting ways with your fingers. They seem to trouble you."
The coachman froze, hands retracting swiftly, and settled quietly up front.
Julian leaned back and closed his eyes. His vampiric senses reached out- an orchestra of voices sang through the air, filtered through rain- damp cobblestones and heated tempers.
And then, there- he found it.
That voice.
The same daring, untamed lilt he heard by the graveyard last night. A voice that struck with thunder and twirled like fire.
Julian's lips curved. Barely.
He shifted towards the sound, using his vampiric sight, peering through a narrow slit in the velvet curtain.
Elowen stood just outside the theatre's lesser-used side gate, engaged in what could only be called an elegant duel of wit.
Her opponent: Braeswyck's Magistrate's eldest son- a pompous, arrogant, disgustingly perfumed man known more for seducing noble daughters than for any intellectual feat. The town womanizer.
"Come now, lass," the man drawled, draping a gold- ringed hand over his heart. "I granted you a ride all the way from Greydock lands to the theater of Rosebury, free of charge. A kiss is hardly too much to ask."
Elowen crossed her arms, her green eyes glinting like dew- struck leaves.
"A free paid with silence would have been a charity. Demanding a peck makes it a transaction, and I'm not in the habit of trading dignity for leather seats and sweat."
The man's grin faltered.
"I could make your life easier, you know," he said, voice dropping into what he thought was seduction. "Wealth. Dresses. A tittle, perhaps."
Julian could see it- the tiny twitch of irritation at Elowen's brow, the simmer beneath her breath. She stepped forward.
"Your tittle means nothing in a town that forgets its lords every time a bard sings. And your wealth? It reeks. No doubt stuffed with the same kind of rot that makes you think affection is for sale."
Around them, a few passerby paused. One or two laughed softly.
The magistrate's son flushed red. "You're no better than a theatre maid."
"I know," Elowen replied sweetly. "Which makes your desperation even more tragic."
From within the carriage, Julian's smirk deepened. A rare, genuine pull at the edge of his mouth.
The man argued further. "I could take care of your entire household, lady"
"Hmmm, says the lad... still growing?"
The man got more annoyed with the growing laughter from passerbys.
"She argues with Lords and coachmen alike," he murmured to himself. "A wild flower… trading thorns for words."