Evangeline's pulse raced, her fingers clutching the folds of her black lace gown. She forced herself to speak, her voice small but measured.
"Please… do not be impolite to… to Aurelius. He… he gave me these," she said, gesturing to the golden lilies in his trembling hands.
Thanatos's icy blue eyes lingered on the flowers, then flicked back to her, and she noticed something that made her stomach tighten: a subtle, almost imperceptible smirk curling his lips.
For a brief, uncanny moment, the lilies in Aurelius's hands seemed… different. Their golden petals, once radiant and flawless, appeared slightly muted, almost tired, as if the life had been leeched from them by the shadows surrounding Thanatos.
"You defend him," Thanatos murmured, voice low, smooth, teasing. "Curious. I would have thought… you would prefer something fresher… something… more alive."
Evangeline's breath hitched. "I… I only ask…"
He took a step closer, the candlelight flickering over the ruby heart in his hand, sending crimson sparks dancing across the black lace of her gown. "Of course, lady Evangeline," he said softly, almost a whisper, "if it pleases you to honor him."
Anna's voice rose, soft yet commanding, cutting through the tension. "Please, guests… dine, listen, enjoy. Lady Evangeline's evening is meant for celebration. Let the music carry the night forward."
The waltz began, slow and haunting. Candlelight trembled over the black lace of Evangeline's gown, shadows curling around her like smoke.
Thanatos stepped forward. One gloved hand brushed hers. Cold. Magnetic. Irresistible.
"Dance with me," he murmured. Voice soft. Commanding. Dangerous.
Her body moved before her mind could protest. Fingers slid into his.
Every step felt impossibly familiar. Her legs remembered movements she had never learned. Her body obeyed rhythms she did not know. Like they had danced before… somewhere beyond reason.
"You… you feel like…" she whispered, breath trembling. "I've danced with you before."
A faint smirk curved his lips. "Perhaps," he said, voice low, intoxicating. "Or perhaps… I have always been near."
Her pulse spiked. Her chest tightened. Her stomach fluttered. The ruby heart in his hand caught the candlelight, sending sparks across her black lace. She felt it—not in his hand, but in her own veins.
The hall dissolved around her. Music, light, even the air seemed to vanish. There was only him, and the pull she could not resist.
When the dance ended, the spell lingered. Her knees weak, her mind dizzy, she realized, with a thrill of dread.
He leaned slightly closer, the faintest heat brushing her wrist, and she felt a thrill run through her. It was terrifying. It was thrilling. It was inevitable.
"Lady Evangeline," he continued, his tone casual, almost teasing, "I have business in the village nearby. It would be… inconvenient to leave immediately. May I… remain here? Just for a time. If it would not trouble you."
Evangeline's pulse skipped. She should have said no. She should have drawn back. Yet the truth was… she wanted him to stay.
"My estate…" she whispered, a shadow of caution in her tone, "is not… well regarded. People say… my family is cursed. Misfortune follows the Rosenthals like a shadow. If you stay… you must endure whispers."
He inclined his head, icy eyes glinting. "Whispers are harmless to those who embrace them. Shadows… now those have substance. They suit you well."
"I… if you truly must," she said softly, voice trembling yet resolute, "then you may stay. But do not mistake my consent for ease. This place… it is not kind to strangers."
"I do not require ease," he whispered, and that smirk returned, dangerous and knowing. "Only permission."
Her chest tightened. Something deep within her stirred—a reckless, wild hope, a desire she had long thought buried. To have him here… in her home… in her life… The thought both terrified and exhilarated her.
And she knew, with a certainty that chilled and thrilled in equal measure: allowing him to stay would change everything.
Aurelius finally stepped forward. Golden hair catching the candlelight, posture straight, confidence radiating in every movement. His eyes met hers with a warmth that could melt ice.
"Lady Evangeline," he said, voice smooth, strong, certain, "may I have this dance?"
"Of course," she said, extending her hand.
Aurelius took it, his touch steady and warm. "You look… breathtaking tonight," he murmured, guiding her into the waltz with effortless grace. Every step, every turn, reflected the golden ease she had admired all her life. He moved as if born for the floor, confident, commanding, yet attuned entirely to her.
Aurelius leaned close, lips brushing her ear. "I've missed dancing with you," he whispered, voice rich and intoxicating in its own way, full of warmth and familiarity. "And I intend to make tonight unforgettable."
Evangeline felt a shiver—not of fear, but of exhilaration. Her chest tightened, torn between the golden light in front of her and the dark shadow lingering behind.
The waltz carried them through the hall. Every step with Aurelius felt effortless, like a warm tide pulling her into safety, confidence, and delight. But even as she smiled, a small, unsettling thought crept into her mind: she had never felt the same pull with anyone as with Thanatos.
The last guests had departed, leaving the halls of the Rosenthal estate steeped in silence. Candlelight trembled across the black lace of Evangeline's gown, and shadows stretched along walls that had not seen many outsiders in years.
The Rosenthals had not hosted a guest in decades. The family's isolation was near total, broken only by the whisper of history and the loyal servants who had walked these halls long before Evangeline was born. And these servants—Anna, the butler, and their quiet attendants—were all descendants of the original staff since the founding of the estate. Their eyes, watchful and discerning, carried centuries of memory and loyalty.
Thanatos stepped forward from the shadows, his presence cutting through the silence like a dark flame. Ash-colored hair, ice-blue eyes that seemed to see past the walls and through time itself.
"I trust the evening met your expectations?" he asked, voice low, intimate, teasing.
Evangeline's heart quickened. "It… was… eventful," she said softly, careful. "I trust you were not troubled by the guests?"
"They were curious," he murmured. "Distracted. None of them notice what truly matters."
Her pulse fluttered. She felt the gravity of him, closer now, the same pull that had haunted her steps on the dance floor.
"And… about staying here," he said, tone deliberate, dangerous. "I will make myself unobtrusive. A room, a table, perhaps a candle or two… nothing more."
Evangeline hesitated, aware of the thrill and the unease coiling in her chest. "Very well," she said finally, voice soft but firm. "You may stay. But you must understand… the estate is not ordinary. The Rosenthals… we are cursed, and guests are… rare. This place has not seen a visitor in years. And our servants… they are descended from the first staff since the founding of the estate. They are… vigilant, loyal, and patient. Missteps are noticed quickly."
He tilted his head, smirk faint, eyes glinting. "Shadows, vigilance… I have always preferred them. They suit you far better than any light ever could."
A shiver traced her spine. The candle flames flickered higher, as if drawn to him, shadows stretching longer across the centuries-old walls.
"And yet," she murmured, "you will be welcome. If you can endure… everything here."
"Endure?" His voice was a low caress, teasing, magnetic. "I make only impressions, Lady Evangeline. That is all."