Adrian walked past the servants without a word and headed for the chair in front of him.
He sat down on the well-carved wooden seat, posture straight, expression cold.
The moment he settled, Charles lifted his hand in a small gesture.
The servants bowed and quietly moved toward the doors.
Their footsteps softened and faded until the room held only three people:
Without a prayer, without waiting for anyone, Adrian picked up his fork.
He stabbed the steak, sliced cleanly through it with a knife, and brought the piece to his mouth.
Charles followed shortly after, cutting into his meal with slow, elegant movements.
Both brothers seemed to be enjoying the food
But on the far right side of the table,
Eleanor Niviane hadn't even touched her utensils.
She simply watched them.
Her eyes, sharp, cold, thoughtful, tracked the movements of her two brothers as they quietly ate their delicate, expensive dishes.
She observed for a while.
Then, losing interest, she finally spoke, her voice cutting clean across the room.
"You disgust me. You hypocrites."
The words slammed into the silence like a stone thrown against glass.
Both Charles and Adrian flinched.
Charles was the first to resume eating, as if nothing had been said.
Adrian followed a heartbeat later, mirroring the same indifference.
As if they didn't hear her.
As if the insult had slipped past their ears.
But they did hear.
And they flinched because of it.
They simply chose to let it slide.
"You should be grateful for delicacies," Charles said gently, almost tenderly.
"Stop pretending," Eleanor replied. "If you want to vomit, I won't mind."
Charles looked at her then
a gentle, forced smile curling at his lips.
The kind of smile that said nothing
and hid everything.
Charles and Eleanor stared at each other for a while.
The air between them thickened, heavy, sharp, tense.
Adrian was the one who finally broke the silence.
"Where have you been?"
"Does it matter?" Charles replied calmly.
Still slicing his food with perfect elegance, Adrian continued,
"I would like to know."
Before Charles could answer, Eleanor cut in smoothly.
"I would like to know too."
Her expression shifted into something inquisitive
Charles simply smiled.
A gentle, practiced smile that revealed nothing.
"I had important matters to take care of," he said.
"Important matters?" Eleanor pressed.
"Yes. I am a busy man."
"…Hmm."
Her eyes narrowed.
Then her expression twisted,
a slow, malicious smile curling across her lips as she leaned slightly forward.
"How was it?" Eleanor asked sweetly.
"Playing with them?"
"You shouldn't say that," Charles replied, still wearing that gentle smile.
"I don't care about your weird habits anyway," Eleanor said, her posture relaxing as she leaned back in her chair.
Then her eyes narrowed again,
cold, disgusted.
"That fake smile of yours disgusts me. I'll be taking my leave."
Eleanor stood, lifting her glass of red by its thin stem.
With quiet, graceful steps, she walked out of the room, the door closing softly behind her.
Charles watched her go, unbothered.
"I think our sister is mad at me today," he remarked.
Adrian didn't look up.
He had cut his steak into countless tiny pieces.
"When did you arrive home?" he asked flatly.
"When we met earlier," Charles answered.
"I see."
Adrian stabbed another piece of already-mangled meat, then added,
"It's because you haven't visited her since."
Charles went quiet for a moment, as if thinking about something.
Then he spoke again.
"So how have you been, Adrian?"
"Fine."
"You always say that."
"What do you want me to say?"
Charles exhaled softly and lifted his glass of red,
the same kind Eleanor had carried.
He held it up near his face, staring into the surface.
The liquid glimmered in the light, and his own reflection warped across the red surface, dark and distorted.
"Eleanor doesn't like them" Charles said quietly.
"What about you, Adrian?"
"…"
Adrian's lips tightened.
His eyes lowered.
He couldn't answer.
Charles slowly turned his gaze toward Adrian.
He studied him for a long moment, too long, his expression unreadable.
Then he stood, lifting his glass of red with the same graceful ease Eleanor had shown earlier, and began walking toward the door.
"I think they're just like us," Charles said casually as he passed behind Adrian's chair.
Adrian's hand froze over his plate.
Charles paused at the doorway, one hand on the frame.
"I'll pretend nothing happened today."
With that quiet, weighty sentence,
Charles stepped out of the dining room and disappeared down the hall.
Alone in the room at last,
Adrian finally let his knife and fork fall from his hands.
The clatter echoed faintly in the empty dining hall.
He reached for his own glass of red.
What does he mean by that?
The thought lingered in his mind,
heavy, sharp, unsettling.
Adrian raised the glass to his lips and took a slow sip of scarlet.
his eyes flared,
turning a vivid, glowing red.
He drank again.
And again.
Sip after sip,
until the glass was completely empty
and the last drop of red slid down his throat.