crimsonlies

In a world ruled by ancient bloodlines, where vampires reign and power is dictated by the color of your eyes, Selene was never meant to exist.

While silver, gold, and black eyes mark noble ranks, hers burn crimson — a color cursed by history, feared by nobles, and whispered to be the bloodline of the long-dead Crimson Witch. The Council watches her every move, waiting for her to slip, to prove the prophecy true — that she is the danger they’ve always feared.

But Selene isn’t interested in fitting into their fragile society.

She's bold. She's dangerous. She's done playing by their rules.

As palace schemes deepen, old enemies resurface, and forbidden alliances form, Selene finds herself caught in a dangerous web of power, betrayal, and forbidden desire — especially when she crosses paths with a mysterious man who should be her enemy… but might become her greatest temptation.

In a world where love is deadly and power is everything, can Selene rewrite the fate written in her cursed blood — or will the Crimson Heir fall like those before her?

The crimson Heir

The night hid things the day dared not name.

Iria crouched beside me beneath the gargoyle archway, her honey-gold eyes shimmering like dusk fire. Her nose twitched once. "Three guards. One's bored. One's half-asleep. One's in love with the third."

I quirked a brow. "That's oddly specific."

"Observation is an art. I'm a masterpiece," she whispered, flashing a grin. "Now follow me — quiet as sin."

We slipped from the shadows, her beastborn instincts guiding us along blind spots and servant corridors until the crime scene loomed ahead.

The chamber of Lord Elric — found bloodless three nights ago.

No signs of struggle. No scent. No trace of entry or exit.

Just his body, pale as moon-ice, lips parted in a silent scream, veins blackened like spider cracks beneath his skin.

Iria pressed her fingers to the locking sigil.

Golden threads flickered between her fingertips and the ancient glyphs. They unraveled like silk.

I looked at her. "You're getting better."

"I had a good teacher." Her tone turned soft — a memory of me saving her, of stealing her from the hands of a noble auction when she was just a girl with wild eyes and smarter fists.

Elric's corpse had been removed, but the trace magic — residue of spells, blood, and death — still lingered.

I crouched near the blackened floor.

Symbols scorched into the stone. Not by fire — by intention. Magic carved with blood.

The spiral. The thorns. The slit through the center.

My mouth moved before I could stop it.

"The Thorn Sigil."

The symbol blurred before me — then shifted.

A ritual circle. Old magic burning in the air like incense laced with iron.

I stood at its edge, younger, or perhaps… not me. Not this version of me.

A boy. Beautiful in that sharp, quiet kind of way. Shoulder-length black hair. Noble posture. Unshakable calm.

But what struck me — what made my stomach twist — were his eyes.

Blue like truth. Like prophecy. Like oceans that remember every storm.

He was kneeling, hands clasped behind his back, head slightly bowed, as if offering himself.

And I — I was drawing something in the air with my fingers. The same spiral. The same sigil.

I looked at him — and he looked back at me.

And even though I didn't know him…

His voice was soft, full of gentle power.

"Whatever happens… I won't forget you."

The Thorn Sigil seared into the ground between us.

The mark on the floor shimmered — just for a second.

Iria caught my arm. "Selene? You said something. That name — that sigil. Where did you learn that?"

I stared at the floor. At the ancient bloodline spell that shouldn't exist.

My heart remembered the boy with blue eyes, even if my mind didn't.

And something inside me whispered…

But that wasn't his name in the memory.

Or maybe… he hasn't changed at all.

Far above us, on a distant tower, a figure stood in shadow.

Crimson eyes veiled behind a flickering illusion.

His voice was a breath to the night:

His hand curled around the railing.

And in the darkness, he smiled — full of memory.

The stained sigil..