The night was colder than usual, even for the Vampire Palace. Shadows clung to the ceilings like spirits refusing to leave, and silence ruled the grand halls—thick, heavy, and unnatural. In the guest chamber nestled between forgotten wings of the castle, Mira lay curled beneath velvet sheets, her breath slow but uneven.
She tossed once, then twice.
And then—she gasped.
A sharp pain bloomed on her lips, sudden and deep, like a fang had pierced through delicate flesh. Mira's body tensed, her hands gripping the sheets as the pain lingered… yet beneath it, there was something else.
Gentleness.
The sensation wasn't violent—it was soft, lingering, as though lips brushed hers first, like a ghost's kiss, before the bite. Careful. Smooth. Almost… intimate. It was a contradiction that made her heart pound harder in her chest.
Her eyes fluttered open.
The room was empty.
Dark.
Only the moonlight filtering through stained glass bathed her in muted colors.
"…What…?" she whispered, fingers slowly lifting to touch her lips. Her fingers came away warm—wet. She jolted upright, swinging her legs off the bed, and dashed toward the long mirror standing near the wall.
And there it was.
A split on her lower lip. Not brutal, not messy—precise. A mark that looked like it had been made by a single, delicate fang.
Her breath caught.
"I was alone…"
But the wound said otherwise.
Suddenly, she felt it again—that presence. Heavy. Cold. Watching.
Her gaze darted to the shadows behind her, to the arched doorway.
Nothing.
The air shifted.
Someone… was here.
"Mira…" a voice whispered. Not aloud. It slithered inside her mind, like smoke through cracks. Her eyes widened as the mirror flickered—not cracked, not broken, but rippling like the surface of a disturbed lake.
A shadow stood behind her reflection, tall and still. Not one of the four Lords—this silhouette was different. Broader. Sharper. Regal. And impossibly dark.
"Who… who are you?" she whispered aloud, spinning around.
The room was empty.
She turned back—the shadow was gone.
Her lip—healed.
The blood, the pain, even the sensation—vanished as if it had never been. She stared at her own reflection, breathing hard.
What just happened?
The air in the room slowly returned to normal, yet Mira couldn't shake the eerie coldness wrapping around her shoulders like invisible chains.
Then, from the shadows just beyond her balcony, unseen eyes burned crimson.
And a voice, ancient and hungry, echoed in a whisper only the night could hear—
"You bear my mark now, little flame."