Fog hung over the classical buildings, remnants of the mid-13th century, like a secret reluctant to be unveiled. Cold dew dripped slowly from tall objects as if mourning along with memories dissolved without mercy.
The dew seemed to reflect the sky's transformation from a dull gray into a soft golden blue as night began to fade. Yet it never vanished completely, for the sun and moon would always coexist.
The wind carried whispers left behind by the night, meant for a past not yet fully buried. Beneath neatly stacked stone walls, Seraphina stood, surrounded by shadows born of her own mind.
"I want this child to be born."
Seraphina placed her hand gently on her still-flat belly as if feeling a heartbeat that had never been there. Yet in the silence, her thoughts birthed a seed that only she had planted. Alaric remained still, unwilling to react to her words.
Only silence hung in the air, like a knife yet to fall.
After all, no one had ever truly touched Seraphina, for Alaric had only ever whispered darkness into her, not the seed of life. Had she not given herself to that nobleman just to feed a fleeting ego, only to kill him and return to Alaric, perhaps Alaric would have kept her, preserved her in a place worthy of his eyes.
But the night had been stained, no matter how beautiful it seemed, and the bright morning sky now looked withered, its beauty displaced.
"Alaric."
Not a single word escaped Alaric's lips, as if even the air refused to carry a response to Seraphina's fragmented sentence. Alaric's silence was not born of reluctance but of cold neglect, etched into the space between them like a chasm, as deep as wounds time never had the chance to mend.
In that silence, it was as if an invisible rope bound her heart, pulling it to dance in a game she never chose to join but it was Alaric who had chosen her to dance a hatred born from the rhythm of a once-warm love, now slowly crumbling from its foundation.
Each second that passed under Alaric's gaze was a lash that chipped away trust and built pridem watching Seraphina drown in an ocean of emotion, caught between ripples of vengeance and waves of love not entirely dead.
Their mistakes didn't draw them together but left them to embrace their own wounds.
"I once loved you, Alaric."
Seraphina no longer hid the simplicity of those words, as if she also refused to conceal her hatred.
"But I still like you."
And yet, Seraphina's didn't hide her admiration either, even as her despair pulled her deeper into imagination make her second sentence falling with no tremor. A despair over love once tainted; the red had darkened, like loyalty still present, though the light of love had become something only her eyes could feel, not her heart.
Seraphina saw the look in Alaric's eyes seems half serene, half sharp, like a night wind that could not be embraced. It carved sadness into Seraphina's core until her lips screamed their protest, tears falling, hands reaching as if not wanting to let go.
"Seraphina."
Seraphina smiled beautifully when she heard Alaric's voice echo through the frozen air, piecing together every letter of her name. In that frozen space, Alaric's voice became a ghostly breeze grazing Seraphina's skin, sending her heart racing not from love, but from past wounds reawakened.
"Stay as I am."
It carried a meaning only Alaric could interpret. That gaze neither warm nor cold was like a shadow behind a fogged window, unclear but real.
Their silence was a conversation unspoken, and within that quiet, feelings still refused to die. Perhaps it was anger, regret, or merely the ghost of a love that had long lost its name and color.
"Luke."
The ornate door creaked open, followed by footsteps calm, yet bringing a rhythm of death familiar to the room. Luke stepped in and slowly bowed, placing his right hand on his chest in a gesture of loyalty toward Alaric, as if swearing fealty.
Luke turned to Seraphina, who still looked only at Alaric, ignoring his presence. Alaric and Seraphina were like two suns burning each other, though the light in Seraphina's sun had dimmed or perhaps, it had never shone at all.
Luke took no offense, only wore a calmness that veiled his disgust.
"Feed her."
The phrase sounded more like a command meant for pampering a pet. Luke said little else, only affirming his understanding and willingness to fulfill Alaric's request. Luke aligned himself with Seraphina's height, then slit his wrist. The scent of noble vampire blood tempted Seraphina, who slowly approached as her first instinct, then drank the red liquid down her throat with refreshing gulps.
Luke was a noble vampire, bound by generations of loyalty to House Mournveil. Luke wasn't just a shadow, but also Alaric's personal secretary—bound not merely by status, but power.
Luke felt no resentment toward this role, despite being equal in rank. Yet even that equality still hid a chasm, like a shadow that mimics form but never holds substance.
"Mid-level, is it?"
Alaric murmured, observing Seraphina's behavior. Alaric's dark red eyes glinted slightly not in interest toward Seraphina, but something else. Alaric admired the noble's wisdom for turning Seraphina into a wanderer-class vampire, though he could have easily granted her a seat beside his own, as a fellow noble.
Sometimes, there are men who are never seduced by beauty.
As day and night exchanged places, as seasons and temperatures danced in time's embrace, Seraphina became lost in a blend of imagination and reality.
"Hold me."
The night aged over ruins of time, as moonlight crept through cracks in old windows. Seraphina arranged her thoughts until shards of logic formed a field of memory not perfect, but strong enough to sever one binding thread. Within Seraphina's remained seeds of betrayal, and from that wound, she longed for growth even if the mirror was cracked, the lines of denial still visible in the reflection.
"I'm hungry."
Luke responded the same way every time those words left Seraphina's lips, even in Alaric's presence. Alaric watched them in silence, showing no emotion as lips he once found as sweet as honey now pressed against another emptiness. Alaric's expression wasn't blank from ignorance, it was the result of understanding too well.
"Lord Alaric, she is no noble."
Alaric knew and understood every piece on the board that moved under his control with sensing every hidden intent behind each step and glance.
"This is more interesting."
Alaric understood the game of fate woven through his grasp, letting time erode and shatter memories that would one day fester into poison, if only he waited long enough.
Alaric studied human behavior because of the curse dwelling in Seraphina. Time's flow used her, but every motion was part of a grand design Alaric had orchestrated, savoring each second of his players dancing upon his magnificent stage. As they moved along the fine line between hope and ruin, Alaric stood silently for watching, as if already knowing the story's end.
In the end, Seraphina fell into a curse that took root and embraced her with thorny arms.