“Good Sir, a maid will come to your room in the night. Follow her, and come to my quarters.”

  That was what the little piece of paper inside the box said. No gift. No explanation. Just… that.

  Firstly, I would like to issue a heartfelt apology to my wife, Julia, for any misunderstanding that may arise from this message, as well as for anything I may have ever done to irritate her in this life here, or back on Earth.

  Secondly, as you can clearly see, I am an innocent man. Pure, stainless, unblemished by even the faintest whiff of the fuckery now unfolding around me.

  And lastly… why? Just why?

  Like, yes, fine, I understand I might be intriguing to look at, white hair, red eyes, pale skin, the whole “Haunted Transylvanian church painting, oh wait, is that a fucking Vampire?” aesthetic, but still. Give me a break. Visiting her? The wife of that pompous bastard? Stevin’s own mother? In her private quarters?

  This has to be some kind of joke I’m not privy to.

  But wait... I can just ignore this, right?

  Right. Yes. I’ll just ignore it. Good plan, Elio. Brilliant bloody plan, my boy. Let me put this stupid little paper exactly where it belongs and pretend I never-

  [New Directive: Accept the Duchess’s invitation to her Quarters.]

  Of course.

  Of course. Elio wouldn’t be Elio without his life being a constant, relentless HURRICANE OF BULLSHIT.

  And not even optional?! Not “recommended,” not “suggested”? Just a full, mandatory order. Perfect.

  ‘Ephe… sweetheart… what exactly do you want me to do there?’ I asked inside my head.

  [Go there.]

  Ah, I see.

  ‘One day, Ephe. One day, we will meet face to face. And on that day, I will slap you. For the first time in your existence.’

  [Ephe will be waiting… Your Grace.]

  “You know,” Relia said beside me, dragging me out of my bickering with the lunatic in my skull, “I’ve had a Duchess once. Their blood is quite sweet.”

  I closed my eyes and silently considered slamming my head into the thickest wall in the estate.

  “Good to know, Relia.”

  The last years of my life back on Earth were far more joyful than I ever told you they were.

  Julia and I had stable jobs, our own house, enough income to travel wherever we pleased, and most of all... I had her.

  Gods… her smile. Her eyes. Her laughter.

  I would kill, without hesitation, for even a single moment of it again. To feel her warmth against my skin, hear her soft snoring in the middle of the night, smell that ridiculously overpriced shampoo she loved, or let her drag me up some mountain whose name I could barely pronounce.

  Life was good back then.

  She even wanted children for a time, even though I didn't really, until the leukemia took that dream from her. And yet she still smiled, still loved, still held me as though I were something precious. But Gods, I would have given her twenty children if she wanted just to be here with me again.

  I never understood why; why she chose me; why she loved a white-haired, awkward, perpetually tired man with more anxiety than social skills. But she did. And I thanked whatever God or universe had sent her my way… only to curse them just as fiercely when they tore her from me.

  My dear Julia…

  How I would rather have you devour every last piece of me than let this Cataclysmic monarchic good-looking vampire take even a drop more of my blood.

  But life doesn’t hand out lemons. Life hands out pain. And this one hurt like a bitch.

  “Easy now,” I hissed, wincing in pain as my entire body stiffened. “Why so aggressive all of a sudden?”

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  “Shrry,” Relia attempted to mumble, fangs still buried deep enough that any actual apology came out as a muffled tremor against my skin. At least she went gentler afterward. Small blessings, I guess.

  It was night now, after all.

  Worry and a mountain of questions had carried me through the rest of the day, dinner with the rest included, so quickly that I barely registered any of it. And so here I was, lying on a blessedly comfortable bed while Relia lounged beside me, fangs sunk into some artery she seemed to have grown fond of, happily drinking away while I, for the better part of an hour, silently prayed for Julia not to smite me on the spot.

  A safety precaution. And a convenient way to block out the temptation lying next to me while I waited for the Duchess’s maid to come collect me like some kind of idiot sacrifice to Ephe's Directives.

  I wondered how Stevin was faring with his family, truly, I did, but I was knee-deep in my own bullshit at the moment. His problems would have to wait until morning. A morning I very much wanted to reach without further catastrophes.

  Instead, what arrived was a soft knock on the door.

  “Hide,” I whispered.

  Relia obeyed instantly, turning back into shadow and slipping beneath my clothes while I forced my half-numb limbs to respond and got up from the bed. I was exhausted, and every fiber of my being begged to sink back into the covers and pretend none of this existed, but a Directive was a Directive. Thank you, Bastard Gods.

  I opened the door to see a young maid standing there. She bowed shakily, voice barely more than a whisper.

  “Sir.”

  Poor girl was sweating through her uniform. Terrified of me.

  So I simply nodded, not planning to fuel Stevin's propaganda machine further. Luckily, she turned without another word. I followed with equal enthusiasm, written all over my face.

  We took two sharp lefts, then reached a narrow staircase that led to a small service door.

  “This is the servants’ entrance,” she explained as we stepped out into the warm night air.

  From there, we approached another near-identical door on the mansion’s side that connected to the main body of the mansion, where all the earlier talks had taken place. It was unmarked and entirely unguarded as she led me inside.

  Down plain hallways with bare walls, meant most likely for servants, we climbed to the upper floors, cutting through three empty rooms before slipping into yet another hallway. Whoever designed this fucking place must’ve had a fetish for labyrinths.

  “We’re here,” she exhaled, relief shaking her voice.

  The hallway ahead was long, lined with rooms to the right and half a dozen tall colored-glass windows to the left. Moonlight poured through them, throwing smeared patterns of crimson, blue, green, and gold across the opposite wall. Beautiful… and eerie. The sort of hallway that had the precise mood of a prelude to whatever fuckery was about to go down.

  Not in the slightest way reassuring.

  The maid pointed toward the last door, larger and extravagantly ornate, telling me all I needed to know.

  It didn't require a damn physicist specialized in Quantum Mechanics to figure out that the fancy door led to the Duchess’s quarters.

  “I will be waiting for you here, sir,” she muttered before she glued herself straight to the wall between two windows, facing the door opposite to her as if waiting for me to leave her be.

  And despite my anxiety for what was to follow, I at least had the grace to spare the young maid of her own headaches, so with a sigh, I turned toward the door in the distance and started walking to whatever waited for me there.

  “Come in,” said the Duchess with a casually pleasant voice to my earlier knocks.

  Planning to end this as soon as possible, I did as she invited me to and opened the door, closing it behind me once I made my way inside.

  For a few moments in my earlier session of brooding, I was worried that this could be some silly trap, an attempt at assassinating me, but with the powers I had, not to mention the strength of the shadow currently on a casual stroll through the backside of my pants, I knew I would be alright.

  But I didn’t expect to be received in a fucking nightgown by a Duchess. How was I supposed to react to this? How was I supposed to defend myself in front of Julia’s Judgement?

  [Directive ‘Accept the Duchess’s invitation to her Quarters’ Followed - Registered.]

  [Reign Index Increased: 0.30% → 0.31%]

  Thank the Gods that no new Directives were added to this shit.

  “D-Duchess Alice,” I bowed lightly, unsure of what to do or say, “I am here as you requested.”

  “That you are,” she chuckled lightly, rising from her bed and lifting a still-burning candleholder. The added light chased away some of the shadows in the poorly lit room as she moved around the bed filled with an absurd, coma-inducing mountain of comfort. “But don’t act so stiff. The savior of my son doesn’t need to speak to me as if he owes me money.”

  As she spoke, she crossed the room and set the candleholder on a small table in the corner, between two chairs.

  “Come. Sit,” she invited, her smile warm and motherly.

  Unable to refuse, and since I was already here, I nodded and moved to the chair she indicated. She took the other, sitting sideways to face me.

  Was it even worth mentioning that the chairs were right next to each other? Or that when I sat down, our knees were practically touching, like we were old pals who’d fucked once or twice and never talked about it again? No? Alright. Cool.

  “So...” I cleared my throat, sweat beading on my forehead as worry twisted my gut, “What can I do for you?”

  “Something only you can help me with,” she said, tilting her head, her smile never fading. “I know you are not a simple man… Sir Elio. Which is why I need your help with something as complicated as your origins.”

  “Oh?” I asked, looking into her eyes, worrying why she said it so… oh no, did the Stevin bastard snitch on me? Did he spew propaganda to his own Mother?! Please, God, tell me he didn’t. “What… exactly do you need my help with?”

  And although she acted in a more feminine manner than when I saw her today, the words that left her mouth, the expression her smile turned into, had washed away all the doubt, anxiety, and worry I wore. Reminding me that I forgot something important.

  This Duchess, this woman in front of my eyes, was first and foremost a mother.

  “Please… take my son away from this place. I will do anything for you, just take him away before they butcher him like a dog in the streets.”

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