Alphard got up from the bed and descended the stairs with calculated steps, softening his weight so the creak of the old wood barely rose to a whisper. Crossing the dining room, his eyes caught a letter on the table that he'd missed on his way in.
Must have walked right past it in my hurry to get upstairs, he thought, picking up the envelope and breaking the seal.
The letter came from Helena, sent from the Villeroy residence. The reason behind it — and behind her early departure — was a night dance being held to celebrate Virginia's birthday, an event to which he was formally invited, and where he was expected at five in the afternoon.
Alphard let out a faint grimace of half-hearted reluctance at the social obligation; still, weighing the situation with a level head, he recognized the opportunity in front of him.
The dance was the perfect excuse to observe Virginia up close and figure out whether her odd behavior had any real connection to the God of Beasts, or whether she was simply an overzealous follower with some eccentric habits.
I shouldn't jump to conclusions without knowing her better, but it's a fact that something's not right with her.
He retraced his steps and climbed back upstairs to get ready. He took his time washing up properly and applied a few drops of a cologne typical of the era: a sober, distinguished scent led by opening notes of bergamot and lavender, which quickly gave way to a woody heart of cedar with a dry hint of clove and oakmoss.
Knowing he still had some time to spare, he lay back down on the bed to reflect on the tide of recent events.
He felt an accumulated exhaustion settling into his muscles; the constant use of his spiritual faculties was clearly taking a toll, made worse by the lingering discomfort of his unhealed wounds. Even so, the physical discomfort didn't dampen his resolve.
To pass the time, he flipped through the book on dragons he'd bought at the market. The opening descriptions carried a striking resemblance to the creature he'd witnessed in the ruins, but the reading soon took a grim turn, detailing how humanity hunted and dismembered these legendary beings to extract their cores and vital fluids for consolidating power.
Opening the case of his pocket watch, the hands read half past four.
Through the window, the sunset lit up the horizon in a tone of orange so deep it tinted the entire room, drawing an almost poetic line between the golden warmth of the setting sun and the absolute darkness beginning to claim the corners.
"It's time!" Alphard told himself in the room's dim light.
He adjusted the brim of his top hat with a precise flick of his fingers and tightened his grip on his cane, ready to face the engagement.
Though attending the dance ran against his true wishes, he understood the pragmatic value of the event: the evening wasn't only a prime opportunity to strengthen his standing within the city's social circles, but also the most direct route toward uncovering uncomfortable truths before his window to act closed entirely.
He stepped out onto the street, initially intending to walk the whole distance and enjoy the shades of twilight; but realizing the real distance to his destination and the narrow window of time left, he chose to hail a carriage for hire instead.
Since the Villeroy residence sat in a comfortable middle-class district, etiquette demanded flawless neatness. Mrs. Villeroy was known for being an exceptionally attentive and courteous lady, and Alphard flatly refused to project a discourteous image through a sloppy outfit, or worse, embarrass Helena by making her a spectacle in front of the guests.
Stepping onto the property, Alphard kept his back straight and walked with a firm, distinguished stride to the Villeroys' main entrance.
He knocked on the wood with three soft but confident raps, avoiding any unnecessary noise. A few seconds later, Mrs. Villeroy opened the door.
"Hi, Alphard! How are you? You look wonderful," she greeted him with a warm smile.
A faint, almost imperceptible flush crossed Alphard's cheeks before he immediately recovered his flawless composure.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Villeroy. Thank you so much. You look absolutely elegant yourself."
The woman smiled with gracious acceptance at the kindness. Still, a fleeting shadow of nostalgia crossed her eyes as she recalled the years of her youth and the radiant beauty she'd carried at her own first dances.
The melancholic thought dissolved almost instantly, though, the moment she thought of Virginia: in her daughter, she saw the exact reflection of her own past, as if time had offered her a perfect mirror.
For the occasion, Mrs. Villeroy wore an imposing formal gown of midnight-blue velvet. The corset, fitted and sober, showed a neckline trimmed with fine black Brussels lace that covered her shoulders with delicacy. The sleeves, slightly puffed at the cut, gave way to a flared skirt with layers of sober satin overlapping, whispering elegantly with the slightest movement, finished at the hem with discreet silver-thread embroidery.
Despite the preparations, the reception wouldn't be held at that house. Mrs. Villeroy explained that she and her husband, along with Helena and Virginia, would shortly board a large carriage to make their way to the mansion of one of high society's most influential families.
That lineage, closely tied to the Villeroys, had reserved the celebration for an exclusive circle of guests, taking full charge of the dance's logistics in honor of the young woman's birthday.
"Please, come in. Have a seat on the sofa," Mrs. Villeroy indicated, gesturing warmly toward the sitting room's furniture.
"Thank you very much," Alphard said, settling onto the upholstered cushion.
"Give me just a moment; they're still helping Helena adjust her dress upstairs."
"Of course," Alphard nodded politely.
Mrs. Villeroy climbed the stairs with a delicate step until her figure vanished completely.
Left alone in the room, the weight of exhaustion began to take its toll. The day's drain on his spirituality, layered atop the lingering pain of his wounds, threatened to lull him into the quiet stillness of the house.
Fighting the tedium and the drowsiness pulling at his eyelids, he tilted his head back and fixed his gaze on the plaster molding of the ceiling. He used that silent stretch of waiting to review his convictions in his mind, clearly outlining his goals and the fundamental reasons driving him to keep moving forward through this game of shadows.
Just as the wait threatened to stretch into eternity, the echo of footsteps against the wood announced Mr. Villeroy's arrival, who came down the stairs and let Alphard know his sister was ready.
Rising from the sofa, the sight at the top of the staircase stopped time for a moment. Helena descended with a slow, distinguished grace. She looked simply beautiful.
She wore a refined silk ball gown in satiny ivory tones; the piece featured a classic boat neckline that bared her shoulders with youthful elegance, paired with a fitted corset finely embroidered with lace across the chest, and a voluminous skirt that rippled in heavy folds with every step.
Her jet-black hair was styled in the period's formal fashion: an elaborate Victorian updo braided high at the crown, from which delicate curled ringlets fell to caress her temples and the nape of her neck, held in place with discreet pearl-tipped hairpins.
The style elongated her neck and highlighted the features of her face, making her emerald green eyes shine with a magnetic intensity beneath the room's light.
Alphard studied the ensemble with genuine wonder, dazzled by the fineness of the lace and the flawless drape of the silk, while mentally calculating the extravagant cost of such a design.
The quality of the fabric confirmed instantly that this wasn't just any ordinary evening — something he'd already been warned about.
Helena stopped in front of him, holding his gaze with a mix of expectation and confusion at not receiving an immediate compliment. Alphard, though, stood impassive, lost in his own thoughts, until she broke the silence with a note of impatience:
"Well? How do I look?"
"Good. That dress suits you very well," he answered, offering a friendly smile.
Despite the warmth of the gesture, Helena's brow furrowed slightly, unsatisfied. She read the line as an automatic compliment, dictated by simple politeness rather than genuine admiration.
Alphard, attuned to the slightest shift in her body language, caught the subtle stiffness in her shoulders and the light tightening of her grip on her gloves, identifying the misunderstanding instantly.
"I mean it, Helena. You really do look beautiful," he reaffirmed, adjusting his tone with more conviction.
Helena's expression softened a little, though she tried to hold onto her indignant posture for a couple more seconds, unwilling to give in too easily.
Finally, she accepted the words with a restrained sigh and walked down the hall to where Mrs. Villeroy was waiting for her.
Not long after, Virginia made her entrance, descending the stairs with calculated grace. She wore an elegant formal gown in pale lavender tones, its silk folds swaying with every step, while her striking grey — almost ashen — hair sat elegantly gathered at the nape of her neck.
Though her face carried a radiant smile for everyone present, a chill ran down Alphard's spine. A pang of unease and physical heaviness settled into his chest as he recalled their previous conversation; the warmth of her expression did nothing to dispel the unsettling shadow that seemed to wrap around her presence.