DONG... DONG... DONG... DONG... DONG... DONG... DONG... DONG... DONG... DONG... DONG... DONG...
Twelve chimes echo from the grand clock tower of John Hawkley's estate, marking midnight — the exact moment of Melania's thirteenth birthday.
«So? No one's wishing me a happy birthday? You know, turning thirteen is a big deal for a succubus,» Melania grumbles, still curled up on the lap of the mysterious Raelos, her hand tucked inside his pants. She's clearly having fun teasing the man — a peculiar kind of stress relief.
But no one pays her any attention. Everyone's eyes are fixed on the black, cloud-covered sky. Honestly, I don't even know why I'm staring up too, but since Raelos, John, and his two lackeys — Frank and Olivia — are all doing it, I just follow along. I guess Melania's father must be coming from the sky.
And then, after only a few seconds... FLASH! A blinding violet light bursts above our heads.
