The day of the gathering had finally arrived.
Nobles and royals swept into the mansion like winter wind—adorned in velvet, silk, and secrets. Laughter rang through the marble halls, brittle and hollow beneath the chandeliers' cold glow. The air smelled of rosewater and lies.
I lingered by the dessert table long enough to swipe a handful of delicate sweets, wrapping them in my handkerchief with a quiet, satisfied hum. I didn't belong in that room. I never had.
Soft footsteps. A familiar voice—deep, firm, with that unyielding tenderness I both feared and loved.
"Little one," Kaelith called, his tone dipped in warning. "Don't make me chase you."
I froze, peeking from behind a golden pillar. His tall figure moved with purpose, scanning the crowd, silver armor gleaming faintly beneath his cloak. His jaw was tight, his brows pulled in that way they always were when I misbehaved.
He was searching for me. He always did.
But I turned and slipped away, heart pounding with rebellion.
Through silent corridors I fled, past the musicians' hidden alcove, past the whispering walls, until the air changed—cooler, freer. The garden doors beckoned. I pushed through them and ran, laughing softly, clinging to the handkerchief like a stolen treasure.
The garden was quiet—eerily so. Moonlight laced the roses in frost. Somewhere, Kaelith's voice called again, distant now.
"Come back. It's not safe out there.", Kaelith called out to me.
But I didn't stop.
Not until I reached the secluded grove behind the willows—where the shadows grew thicker, softer, like velvet drawn over candlelight.
That's when I saw him.
A boy—no, a being—laying in the grass. Pale as snow, still as death. He looked young… too young to be here alone. His dark lashes fluttered against skin that barely seemed to breathe.
My steps slowed. The handkerchief slipped from my fingers. Cookies scattered.
"W-Who is…?" My breath caught in my throat. "Is he d-dead…? He looks…"
So cold.
So beautiful.
Drawn by something I didn't understand, I knelt beside him, hesitantly placing my ear against his chest, searching for that fragile rhythm of life.
Silence.
Then—soft, delicate, and laced with something ancient—
"I'm still alive."
I gasped, pulling back.
His eyes opened.
And they were not the eyes of a boy.
They were silver—no, deeper—crimson red, like smoke curling beneath moonlight. Eyes that should have belonged to dreams long lost… but held a stillness that chilled my soul. Something… forbidden.
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