The world outside was fast, careless.
Inside Thorne & Bell's Book Restoration, time moved like honey — slow, golden, and heavy with silence.
Aria Voss sat hunched at her worktable, her gloved fingers carefully peeling back the brittle cover of a 17th-century prayer book. The leather groaned in protest, and the smell — old ink, mildew, and wax — filled her lungs. It wasn't pleasant. It was familiar.
She belonged in forgotten corners. Among the neglected and decaying.That's where she felt safe.
The bell above the shop door rang. Sharp. Jarring.
Aria flinched.
No one ever came in anymore.
Footsteps followed — deliberate, unhurried, like someone already knew exactly where they were going.
She stepped out from behind the restoration room and into the small, dim front of the shop.
A man stood there. Tall. Black coat. Black gloves. Silver eyes.
They locked onto her — and didn't let go.
Something inside her shifted. Like recognition. Like vertigo.
A flash — candlelight. A kiss. Blood.
His voice: "Do you trust me?"
Hers: "With my soul."
Screams.
Aria blinked, staggering slightly.
Not real. Just dizzy. You didn't eat today.
"Miss Voss?" the man said.
His voice was soft. But there was iron beneath it.
"Yes," she replied, wary.
He stepped forward and held out a black envelope. No name. Just a silver wax seal — a serpent swallowing its own tail.
"I require restoration work," he said. "Private collection. Discretion is vital."
She hesitated before taking the envelope. The paper was heavier than it should've been. Almost warm.
"Who referred you?"
"I've read about you," he said. "And you're exactly what I need."
Aria frowned. "You mean who you need."
The man smiled — barely. "That too."
As he turned to leave, she called out, "What's your name?"
He paused in the doorway. Light from the street caught his profile, casting half of his face in shadow.
"Lucien Morvain."
And then he was gone.
That night, Aria sat at her desk, the envelope unopened. Rain tapped softly at the window. The shop around her was dark, except for a single lamp.
She stared at the wax seal.
Something in her chest began to pound. Her fingertips trembled.
And then—
Another flash. She's standing barefoot on marble. Her hands are bloody. Lucien kneels before her, eyes wide with betrayal. Her voice: "Live forever… and suffer."
Aria gasped and nearly knocked over the lamp.
What the hell was that?
She tore open the envelope. Inside, a card.
Elegant. Simple.
MORVAIN ESTATE – WEST GATE.
ARRIVAL: TONIGHT, MIDNIGHT.
WE REMEMBER.
Her blood ran cold.
No phone number. No instructions. Just a time. A place. And two words that should've meant nothing.
We remember.
In the corner of the shop, a draft swept past the shelves. One of the old books fell from the top row with a hard thump.
It flipped open on impact — to a brittle, yellowed page. Aria walked toward it, frowning.
And there, in the center of the spread, written in spidery ink that glistened red under the lamp:
"I saw him again. In this life, in this face, in this skin.
And I knew: The blood moon is coming for us both."
— Diary of Aria Voss, 1893