The Vampire Who Melted – 2/5

The next night began like so many others, or at least that's what Lucien wanted to believe. The castle pulsed around him, bringing echoes of the same laughter, the same moans, the same emptiness that made his bones ache.

Even so, Lucien walked into the main hall, naked under a black silk robe, letting the servants watch him as if admiring a precious relic. They whispered, teased, exchanged glances loaded with mischief and longing, but to Lucien, it was nothing more than an old play he already knew by heart.

On the couch, two servants were making out, exchanging hungry kisses, bodies entwined with no fear of the world. A third, skinny and golden-eyed, took off his clothes slowly, dancing just for Lucien, with no shame at all.

"Come see up close, count," he teased, smiling, hands caressing his own chest, naked thighs rubbing against each other.

Lucien just shrugged, continuing to walk. It was always the same: the same empty invitation, the same lack of meaning.

He sat in a corner of the hall, where the shadows were thicker and the smell of candles and wine stronger. He watched from afar, a couple playing by the fireplace, another hiding behind the curtains, bold hands exploring bodies, hungry mouths searching for pleasure.

Sometimes Lucien tried to let himself get carried away, but it was like listening to music muffled behind a locked door. The desire of the others, so alive and hot, wasn't his anymore. A heavy sadness settled in his chest, as cold as the castle's marble.

Then, the unexpected happened.

Suddenly, an irresistible scent filled the air. Sweet and spicy, a mix of ripe black fruits with pepper, burnt sugar, and a slight touch of cinnamon. The aroma spread quickly, dominating the hall like an invisible wave.

The servants stopped what they were doing, lost looks, flared nostrils. Lucien felt a shiver run through his body, as if something that had slept for centuries finally woke up. The candles flickered, a cold breeze swept through the windows, and, before everyone, the impossible took shape: the stone floor glowed, cracking into lines of neon blue.

A whirlwind of golden and violet lights rose in the center of the hall, spinning until it lifted the curtains and knocked over wine glasses. The servants stepped back, naked and breathless, between awe and fascination. The scent became even stronger, almost intoxicating.

And there, where there was only emptiness before, appeared a golden facade, full of magical arabesques and blue velvet curtains. The Gelato del Peccato ice cream shop materialized in the heart of the castle with an almost disrespectful boldness.

The door opened by itself. A cold, sweet wind slipped out, spreading a bluish light through the hall, bathing the skin of the servants and lighting up Lucien. Marble tables appeared, surrounded by velvet chairs. Magical details danced across the surfaces: crystals floated, golden spoons stirred themselves, pendants changed color according to the desire of whoever looked.

Above the door, the sign shone: "Gelato del Peccato."

The hall, once only empty lust, was now pure anticipation. The servants, hesitant, approached, almost drawn by invisible strings. The scent of ice cream was addictive, promising not just pleasure, but novelty and danger, something impossible to resist.

That was when she appeared.

Zafira Blu walked through the door, hair light blue and shining like a summer sky without clouds, capturing every glance. Her eyes, the color of provocative rubies, always with a mischievous smile, as if she knew the deepest desires of everyone there.

She wore a black vinyl bodysuit, so tight to her body that no one could tell how she managed to get into it, leaving every curve in evidence and imaginations running wild. The neckline was so deep and daring that it seemed her breasts, round and full, might jump right into the mouth of anyone who looked too long.

Just by walking, Zafira made everyone hold their breath, her presence mixing challenge, sensuality, and mystery in an impossible degree to ignore.

Lucien, overwhelmed by the vision, rose from the shadows, his voice hoarse, full of authority but betraying a hint of vulnerability.

"Who dares to invade the limits of my castle uninvited?"

Before he could even finish the sentence, Zafira slid through the hall with supernatural confidence. In an instant, she was in front of him, so close that her perfume took over everything around.

Smiling, she ran her hand over the count's bare chest, feeling the cold skin beneath her fingers. She kept moving, never losing contact, her hand gliding across Lucien's muscles, tracing his body, up his back, until returning in front of him. It was a touch of invitation, challenge, and provocation.

Lucien's body reacted in a new way. On the outside, the same impassive expression; inside, he felt every part of himself awaken. A different heat rose from his chest to his face, to his lips, down to his groin.

Zafira leaned in even closer, her ruby eyes reading everything he tried to hide.

"Good evening, my sinners," she said, her voice sweet and sharp echoing in the hall. "I see I arrived at just the right moment. Who has the courage to taste a new desire?"

The servants, some still naked, others trying to cover themselves, glanced at each other in fright, but curiosity was stronger. No one looked away.

Zafira flashed a direct smile at Lucien, a silent challenge.

"You, count, seem the hungriest here. What are you seeking in the shadows?"

Lucien swallowed hard, unable to answer. For the first time in ages, he felt his cheeks burn with shame. It was as if everyone there knew: he, the devourer of men and women, was now nothing but a starving spectator.

Zafira strolled through the hall, running her hand over the shoulders and hair of the servants, provoking shivers and nervous giggles. She sat at the newly appeared counter, crossed her legs, made a gesture with her magic spoon.

"Gelato del Peccato only appears for those who are ready to get lost. Are you ready?"

The servants came closer slowly, still wary, exchanging nervous looks, but too fascinated to step back. The mood was fear and desire, as if everyone knew that nothing would ever be the same after that night.

Lucien stood up, shaky, legs strangely weak. He walked through the hall as if in a dream, ignoring glances, nudity, even the voice of ancient pride that told him to retreat. He stood before something unheard of.

Zafira awaited him with that mysterious smile, the scent of ice cream mingling with her own.

"Your turn has come, Lucien," she whispered just to him. "Do you really want to feel again, or will you just keep watching?"

The count's heart beat so hard it felt like it might explode.

The night was just beginning. The hall had transformed, the old routine of empty pleasure now just a backdrop for something new, dangerous, and irresistible. Desire was taking another form, no longer just brute, soulless sex: it was hunger for novelty, risk, for something capable of making even a centuries-old vampire tremble.

And, in that instant, Lucien understood that everything was about to change forever.

The castle's hall, once nobody's land, was now the stage for the most coveted magic in the world.