Chapter Six: The Veil Between Worlds
A cold wind swept through Blackthorn Hall as if the mansion itself sensed a change.
For days Lucien avoided Elara completely. Doors closed when she approached, corridors that once seemed open turned labyrinthine.
Yet the distance only sharpened her awareness of him. She could feel when he was near—a hush in the air, a faint pressure in her chest.
The suspicion
At dinner, Darius Vale's gaze lingered on his son. "You look unwell," he said, tone too mild to be kind. "Have you been feeding properly?"
Lucien's hand tightened around his glass. "I manage."
Darius turned to Elara with a smile that never reached his eyes. "And you, my dear? Adjusting to our ways?"
Elara forced a nod. "It's…different."
"Blackthorn is ancient," Darius nodded and said. "It keeps its own customs. You'll learn which doors to open—and which to leave closed."
Lucien's eyes flicked up sharply, a silent warning.
A message in the mirror
That night, as Elara brushed her hair, the mirror fogged though the air was cold. Words formed in the mist, curling like breath:
He knows.
She spun around, but the room was empty.
In the gallery
Unable to sleep, she wandered into the portrait gallery. Candlelight revealed generations of Vale faces—stern, elegant, inhumanly still.
At the end hung a new canvas: Lucien's likeness, painted as if he'd posed only yesterday.
Footsteps echoed behind her.
"You shouldn't be here," Lucien said quietly.
"Your father suspects something," she whispered. "He looked at me as if—"
"He's testing me," Lucien said. "He can sense what ties us. The more I fight it, the stronger it becomes."
"Then stop fighting."
His expression darkened. "If I do, you'll pay the price."
He lifted a hand as though to touch her cheek, then froze, eyes closing. "I swore never to cross the veil between our worlds again."
"Maybe it's already too late," she said.
A flicker of lightning threw their reflections across the painted faces—two figures half-lit, half-shadow, bound by something neither could name.
Darius's command
The next evening, Lucien was summoned to his father's study. Elara overheard only fragments through the heavy door:
"…the girl has become a distraction."
"…the ritual will proceed at the next blood moon."
When Lucien emerged, his face was pale even by his standards.
"They mean to erase your memory," he said. "Every trace of me."
"You can't let them."
"I may not have a choice."
He glanced toward the window where the moon was rising—bright and full, veiled in crimson cloud.
"There's one way," he said finally. "But it will bind us forever."
Elara met his gaze, fear and defiance mixing in her voice. "Then tell me how."
Outside, thunder rolled across the hills. Inside, the candles flared and went out, leaving only the glow of Lucien's eyes.
"When the veil breaks," he said, "you must choose which world you belong to."
And in the darkness that followed, Elara realized the decision would come sooner than either of them imagined.