Blood On The Marble

The night air was cool, heavy with the scent of withered roses and something old--familiar, yet wrong. Selene stood by the marble arch of the stone terrace, her fingers brushing the railing carved with forgotten clan symbols. Beyond the courtyard, moonlight spilled over the distant woods like spilt silver, untouched by time.

Beside her, Iria leaned against a shadowed pillar, twirling a blood-red ribbon around her fingers.

"You're wearing that look again," Iria murmured, eyes narrowing. "As if you're dissecting the moonlight to extract prophecy..."

Selene didn't answer at first. Her gaze lingered on the heavens as if seeking answers from constellations that no longer answered.

"Does it ever feel... like something's missing?" Selene asked suddenly, voice soft.

"Missing?" Iria blinked.

"Not something you lost," Selene murmured, "but something stolen. Something taken before you even knew it was yours."

A moment of silence passed between them.

"That's rather grim," Iria replied, forcing a teasing smile. "You're not letting this cursed ball get to your head, are you?"

Selene gave a dry laugh, though her eyes didn't match the sound.

She turned slightly, catching her reflection in a warped bronze mirror affixed to one of the carved pillars. The glass was cracked, jagged through the center. For a moment--just a breath--her own crimson eyes flashed back at her from deeper within the mirror.

But the eyes weren't hers.

She blinked. Gone.

Just a trick. A memory. Or something else.

Before Iria could speak again, the heavy silence of the night was shattered by a scream. Not a woman's shriek, but the hoarse cry of a man--sharp, guttural, desperate.

Selene stiffened, already turning.

"Stay here," she said, but Iria was already moving. So was Auron, materializing from the shadows with a grim expression.

Together, they rushed back toward the grand hall.

Even as she moved, Selene's mind echoed with caution. Rumors had been thick as blood tonight--noble whispers, veiled looks, names carved into empty wine glasses. She had known they were watching. Plotting.

And yet--she ran.

Inside, the ballroom had descended into chaos.

Velvet and silk-clad nobles parted like a tide, their faces pale and horrified as they circled around something in the center of the marble floor. Selene pushed past a stunned noblewoman whose jeweled veil had slipped from her brow.

At the heart of the commotion, a figure writhed.

Lord Adrastan Vexmoor.

One of the oldest among the highblooded. A relic of wars forgotten and magic forbidden. His power had been legendary--unmoving, immovable.

Now he clawed at his chest, gasping.

His mouth foamed with blood.

His silver brocade robes were stained dark, and his pale face twisted in terror no vampire of his stature should ever know.

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

Selene stepped forward instinctively. Her eyes locked onto his. Ancient. Clouded. And then--they cleared.

And saw her.

He choked again. Blood sprayed from his lips, splattering her cheek.

His voice was rasped and broken, but the ballroom fell into a heavy silence as his words spilled out:

"He's... back... the blood-shadow walks again... and so is she... the crimson doom--she wears her face... her eyes..."

Auron moved to shield her, but Selene did not step away. Her eyes narrowed.

"The curse... the curse is awake--!"

He reached toward her. Fingers trembling. As if to ward her off.

Then--

He froze.

Still.

Unmoving.

Dead.

A thick silence swallowed the hall.

Somewhere, a goblet fell and shattered.

Then--

Whispers.

Selene heard her name.

"Crimson..."

"She cursed him."

"That's two nobles dead near her."

Auron placed a hand near his blade.

He didn't move to shield her--he couldn't. Not when every pair of eyes was waiting to see where his loyalties lay.

But his hand hovered near his sword, and his eyes--cold, calculating--lingered a second too long on Selene's face. Not with suspicion... but something dangerously close to concern.

Iria stepped closer to Selene, her face unreadable.

A withering sensation coiled at the edge of Selene's senses--like something had just slipped away. Not just a life. A memory...

High above, the chandeliers flickered.

Then--the Council's enforcers moved. Black-cloaked, silent. Sealing the hall.

Doors closed. Magic rippled. No one left. No one spoke too loudly.

Selene stood still, the blood of a once-untouchable noble drying on her skin.

Iria gently took her hand.

"Don't react," she whispered, voice cold. "They're watching."

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