Fantasy 𝕸𝖚𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖋 𝕾𝖔𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖐 - 𝓐 𝓥𝓲𝓬𝓽𝓸𝓻𝓲𝓪𝓷 𝓡𝓟 [CLOSED]

[s e v e n]

I n t r o d u c t i o n

"Hush now. . . don't make a noise."


- for people are already in their seats. Surely you would hate to be rude, for it is the play of your lifetime unfolding before you. Have you got your tickets? Well take your seats, my dear ladies and gentlemen, for the show is about to start. A tale of love, a tale of misery. One so vengeful, a fate crossed in two. A man's lone foolish dream, beliefs covered in ash and dust. The hopeless cries of a child, crimson crusted fingers and darkened eyes. Roses, castles, the smell of empty streets. A classic fairy tale, really, one filled with magic and the supernatural. A piece of penny dreadful, where vampires and werewolves roamed free. Fictitious, you might say, old wives tale, and you might be correct. But now that you are already here, allow us to serve you. Grab a drink if you'd like, make your experience as comfortable as possible and prepare yourselves, for really- in the end, are these story really so unfamiliar?

Be wary- be very wary, my dearest audience, for beyond the shroud of light, there are so much than what meets the eye. . .

A c t o r s & A c t r e s s e s

Teresa Smythe

"The girl who began it all. At the wrong place, at the wrong time, or is something else in play? Little flower that has yet too bud, though has now perished, petrified in the unforgiving fate of death. Died, 11 December, 1877."

Oliver Grey

"A mischievous vampire, known to be loyal to the Union, though not so much to his own sanity. Having disappeared for centuries long, only to return one day to the city he has long abandoned. Could he be a bringer of chaos, or an unexpected spark of hope?"

William Mortimer

"A young boy, only at the peak of his age. Oh, there was so much of his future, wealth and glory all put to his name. If only things had not been so unfortunate. Sadly, not even him could remember what happened that night."

Everet Duncanson
"Every Londoner on a brief look. Young man, only so little over twenty, very much ordinary. Except, of course, that he is not. An exile to the Hrólfr Clan, looked down upon for his status, and now- the murder of an innocent girl."

Charles Barrington
"The Head of the London Union, a vampire of really old age despite the appearance. No one knew exactly how long have he roamed the world- it was only the hollowness of his gaze that marked the years. Years that slowly ate up his soul."

Alena Anson
"A young werewolf woman, belonging to the Hrólfr Clan. Much are still unknown."

Theodor Hrólfr
"The son of the Alpha. Much unknown."

Jesse Lancaster
"Baring the appearance of a young boy, but the eyes that have seen the world gone by. Stone-cold, both expression and heart. Right-hand man to the London's head, though the fact is rather debatable."

Valentine
"Eccentric man who deals with underground business- not much is known about his past and he was not the type to talk, either. A believer of science, people call him mad. Him? A visionare."


WIP

C r e d i t s


- Authors: s e v e n and Nona
- Code: s e v e n (inspired by spookie )
- Face claims: To the respective actors/actresses
- Artwork: Justyna "Louvey" Wachowska (Artstation)

Final Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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[s e v e n]

Prologue:

Murder of Teresa Smythe​

11 December 1877

December, everyone's favorite month. Where families huddled under their little roof, sharing laughter together as they counted days approaching the awaited Christmas Day. It was the seasons of good tidings and peace, where the city found their time to most rejoice. Beautifully wrapped presents sat nicely underneath the tree, written letters of childish wishes, hand-in-hand family prayers, there were still weeks before the day, yet even chapel rows had begun to fill more than ever. Truly it was the best time of the year, and sitting upon the couch, listening to the crackling of firewood with a cup of warm tea rested in their hands, most Londoners too seemed to agree.

Perhaps they had not prayed enough, perhaps God has forsaken them. The air has begun to grow cold as they approach the peak of winter, or perhaps, lingering around the corner of the darkest alleys, another source of chill roamed within. One night, a peaceful one indeed as not all stories must begin in dark and stormy, as London entered its well-deserved slumber, blood painted the floors of Southwark. A victim simply of the wrong place and the wrong time, Everet Bateson found himself lying awake in the place he’d least expect himself to be- drenched in blood next to a dead woman; Teresa Smythe. The young girl, laid there upon cobblestones, lifeless, eyes rolling over the back. Brutally disemboweled- who would have done such a thing to an innocent young girl? A werewolf, cast away from their pack, might have; and so it says, Mr. Bateson is so more than what meets the eye.

Somewhere across the city, at the very same time, William Mortimer, a young man of prestige and name, was facing his own struggles as a newly born vampire, lost without guidance. Claiming to have no memory of the night, a mere human forced to enter the realm of supernaturals, of fairy tales and the impossible. A studious avid reader that once desired to live the life of adventure, escaping the monotone of daily routines the hand of a small penny dreadful, oh, could he not have regretted his wish. And so here he was, pacing blindly towards the world he has no power over, where his money and social power would lay worthless in the face of real world demons.

A pathetic fledgling, really, and a no-good exile. Both perfect candidates for a suspect.

Could it all be a coincidence? Or is there something more in play?

Maybe only God could ever know.

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[s e v e n]

Do you dare?

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It was brief of a moment, laconic as it was though it felt like an eternity. If a word must describe it, it was anti-climactic. There were no lights flashing against his eyes, no bizarre low humming searing through his ears; in fact, he didn’t feel anything. He felt lighter than a feather, soaring through the sea of oblivion. His eyes were open, he was sure of it, but solely an unappeased path of darkness gazed back. This was a place void of joy and void of sorrow. To put it simply, the place was one enormous void.

All of the sudden, a voice erupted through the vacuum. The voice was muffled and seemingly distant, though at the same time it felt way more imminent than it was supposed to be. The words were vivid and strict, in a language he acknowledges, but for some reason they appeared to have travelled from one ear and out the other. Despite this, a thought rang through the dark, both bright and gloomy at the same time, like the strange beauty a thorned rose seemed to possess. If I do die tonight, he thought, at least I’ll die painlessly.

Perhaps this was death after all. Perhaps all these were none other than biological calmness prior to his demise. The idea made him subconsciously anticipate a following of showering light, the mellifluous song of angels manoeuvring him to the Promised Land. The arched golden gates of the after-world would lay ajar, two figures with porcelain white skin would place themselves on each respective ends of the sacred entryway. Protruding from their backs were enormous, though equally pretentious, chaste wings, breaking through their fair untainted cascading hair. Their voices would drawl tunefully, sweet like the nectar of an early blossoming flower, each movement their bodies would make oddly inhumane but graceful as it was. Their lips moved, little could he comprehend

Then red flashed.

† † †


With an abrupt intake of breath, William Mortimer sprung into a rushed sitting position. Sweat lingered upon his fair perplexity, lips chapped and eyes stung. It was a paradox where the scene blurred yet focused, the scents numb yet vivid, voices mute yet shattering. Every detail of every corner seemed to implant within his eyes, yet at the same time distorted. As he ran his fingers through his tousled dark hair, he felt his head throbbed underneath his touch- or was it just a feeling? Most of all, his throat lay scorched, burning in drought and longing for a drop of relief.

It had just been William’s fifth day without food, or –he would have choked even by the frank thought of it- blood. The scene repeated in his head in flashes of memories, like that of a distorted cinematic record, flickering in a speed too swift for him to catch, yet slow enough to be deemed perceivable. The thick metallic scent, the sharp sensation running up his spine drilling through his skull. The searing of throat, the cry of help left in vain. Could it be nothing but a nightmare? Oh, he wishes he could pray, for he did not know how much longer he could spare the thought of living through this hideous fantasy.

William spun in his bed, sliding himself away. The male shuddered at his feet coming into contact with the cold carpeted floor, yet unaware that his body heat too had diminished. Pale showers of light penetrated through his velvet curtains, silver blades slicing through the darkness. Pace by pace, the dark haired boy approached it, swallowing absolute dryness as he hesitantly lifted up his arm...and cringed at his unnatural tone. Not a moment to spare.

Fingers extended, the once carefully trimmed nails now bearing dark tips and broken edges. An inch covered then two, he had wished that he could feel his heart racing, but all he could ever possess was a faint thump against his chest- almost non-existent. Barely beating, barely breathing- is it too much to ask to just once more feel the sun? To bask in the warmth, to stand underneath the world that he had known and loved. It was true what they have said, one truly does not know how much something means to them until all was lost.

Hiss.

Smoke arose from the tip of his finger, slowly coating up his bare skin as the male retracted his sleeves. As the veils of light shrouded him, William bit his lower lip from the sting, yet gasped as the pain suddenly moved. Fangs. How does one control these? It would be a matter of time until one of his family members found out. All five days, William had pretended sick, locking himself in his room as countless nights were spent preventing himself from crashing every mirrors in his room. Vampires not being able to see themselves in mirrors are one, big lie- and for once he wished it wasn’t. It was as though the world was cruel enough in letting them suffer seeing what they have become- an eternity of darkness.

Hisss. Grey continued to curl up the air, dancing within the particles of dust. Skin turning red, blisters emerging and skin begging for mercy. William sucked in a breath, shutting his eyes and clenched his fists. Nails dug within his palm, yet it pales in comparison to the pain of being roasted alive. No he must not cry...whatever happens he must not cry...

A door knock was heard. William spun, unrolling his sleeves (not even having enough time to wince at the sudden sting) and faced the door. It took him a moment to compose himself, the dark haired male cleared his throat, approaching the door. He had learned his lesson not to let them come in whenever they wanted- the last time he had spent ages trying to explain as to why to not open the curtains. William unlocked the door, revealing a fair haired, sharp chinned maid, her lips plump and eyes too wide for her face. Separately, her features would have been beautiful, otherwise somewhat odd. She cleared her throat, brushing off her apron before pulling out her brightest smile.

“Good morning, young master. Did you have a good night’s rest? You’ve seem to gain some colour...” she chimed, her voice lower than what would have been expected of her squeaky-like appearance. As much as that sounded like a compliment, William knew better. Might as well just say ’Young master, you look more and more like a living corpse each day.’

“Which is delightful, of course! Simply delightful,” her gaze glued upon the floor, her cheeks flustered as she twisted her skirt in her finger. “May I come in?”

“Just here would be fine,” replied William shortly. It was only then that a sudden rush of drowsiness began to wash over him. Apparently his sleeping schedule had also been inverted. Is this because bats were technically nocturnal? Will shuddered at the thought. No. As realistic as this be was just as surreal. This was just all an irritably long nightmare. All would pass. Nothing to worry about. The similarity was uncanny, William knew as much as a self-proclaimed bibliophile, yet he refused to acknowledge the fact.

Vampires. Weren’t they just fairy tales?

“Very well then. How are you feeling? The Master is quite worried, you haven’t been out for quite a while now...” she said, her eyebrows arched, though her face remained in a warm smile. Spreading her hand to gesture upon her cart, she asked “Earl Grey? Oolong perhaps? I can fetch you something else if nothing is of your fancy?”

“Earl Grey would do. And I’m feeling quite alright, Rachel, thank you,” William added as the girl gave out a nod, pouring him a cup with lemons before placing it up on a tray, complete with scones and small cute pastries, but neither strike his appetite. Herself, on the other hand…

“Are you joining Master for breakfast?”

William snapped himself off his daydream, glancing up as he stared back into her eyes. Delusion- that’s what he’s been getting. Thick, red, juicy. No. He took the tray from her, forcing up a smile. If this was indeed a dream, he wanted to get up now, and perhaps not sleep for the next seven days, thank you very much.

“Take it to my room,” William told her, before adding “Please.”

The maid, of course, smiled back.

“As you wish,” she nodded, turning to take her leave before- “Oh, silly me. Apologies, almost slipped my mind,” she stated, rummaging her pockets and pulled out a sheet of letter. “For you...” she said, giving a slight bow of her body. “Will be back in a few, have a pleasant day young master.”

As she left, William returned in his room, closing the door behind him. Tossing the letter upon the bed, the male doused the tea upon the potted plant, tucking the pastries inside a sack, now filled also with yesterday’s meal. He supposes he should toss them out tonight, lest it’d smell bad. There was enough suspicion spreading through the halls, he had not need another to arouse. William sat back upon his bed, his blue eyes appearing darker than ever as his eyes scanned towards the letter. The stamp...it was unlike ones he had seen before. Overseas mail? William ripped off the edge, conjuring out a sheet of paper. His eyes went right and left, then he narrowed it, repeating the process all over again.

Eyes widened, the fair piece of parchment floated out of his hands, gently landing upon his carpeted floor. Had there not been his bed behind him, he would have fallen over his head. He could deny it ten thousand times, yet there lied the paper, written in neat inked cursive, directed to him. William held back an impulse to throw up, to scream, or to just jump out the window.

The nightmare, after all, had only just begun.

- William Mortimer

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[Nona]

With a loud thud, another case was dropped in it's designated place. One of far too many that was being lifted from the side of the docks and into one of the large departing ships. Night was approaching as was the end of his shift and while usually Everet wasn't usually the laziest of men, currently the moon was full in its cycle and so decent sleep during the night was near inescapable for his kind during such a time. If anything. Nights like these were almost like going whole hog on heavy drinks at the pub until near dawn, trying to walk home alone but getting lost half way and on top of all that. Remembering nothing past the first drink that passes your lips. He wished that was the case, he would take it 100 times over going feral for the night and waking up in a sheep barn or any of the other increasingly ridiculous places he found himself if he didn't take measure to make sure he stayed at home during a full transformation.

While many from his Clan had a decent hold of themselves during the full moon, he was of the unfortunate lot that would run riot if not contained before the moon would call them with a voice none of them could fully ignore. It was a curse, but over the many many generations for his race, it was something they were used to living with. It did not make it any less annoying at times

"Duncanson!" A gruff voice with a heavy Scottish accent shouted from behind him the voice belonging to an equally gruff looking man, smacking a large ledger with the back of his weathered hand "Whatever daydream you are having lad, shake it off and get on with moving that cargo! That ship is leaving in the next hour and it is'ne goin' to wait for you to finish putting them boxes in" He called as Everet had snapped to attention an looked around. "Ah! Sorry Richard, Sir!" He quickly apologised as the older male snapped the large book closed "Aye, Say sorry better by gettin' up off your arse and moving those cases. We are loosin' daylight" the man commented with a dismissive wave as he headed off to his next stop.

Everet gritted his teeth and stepped down to hoist up the next crate. Sure the old Scot was right about hurrying up but he was sure old Richard had it out for him a little for being a new recruit, he assumed such a thing was normal, it wasn't any different than different ranked wolves giving you a hard time now and then. Thank goodness for having this job though. A Little over a month ago he had a semi-comfortable place within his clans territory before getting kicked to the dirt road and never to return. Having to evacuate the territory he was in meant leaving his old job behind and the docks always had room for a young wanderers to help pack ships. As out of sorts he was feeling due to the current lunar event he began to quicken the pace on moving the crates of wine and port onto the last ship of the evening. With the moon on its way he needed to return to his home... or temporary home. Finding a permanent place for he and his mother after they had been cast out was proving difficult. They could have stayed with his uncle upon them all being banished but the cowardly man had fled to the highlands never to return.

His eyes drifted to check the sun fading on the horizon as he continued moving more crates. A beautiful sight to most but to Everet it was just a warning that he needed to head off very soon lest he get in trouble. He may have needed the extra few coins of pay right now to help his situation but taking on an extra few hours was poor judgement on his end. Racing the sun he lifted the last of them. Rushing down the ramp off the docked ship he grabbed his jacket he left draped over an empty barrel "I've finished! I'll be on my way Sir!" he called with rushed wave, leaving the docks before his boss even had time to react. He dipped down one of the narrow alleys, hoping to take it as a shortcut home. The sun was all but gone at this point and the young man was cursing himself for cutting things so fine, he just hoped he wasn't too late...

Now mere minutes from his home. he could hear the familiar humming in his ears. Faint but there and he knew exactly what it meant. He had left it too long and the moon was calling to him. Dammit. Maybe if he made a run for it he could get back. It was worth a shot. He took off in a hurried manner, no doubt looking a mad man as he did so but that was not work panicking about right now. He could feel his skin burning up, preparing to shift, his eyesight getting hazy and-

THUD.

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He was awoken by the feeling of the suns rays hitting his face. his eyes feeling gritty and hard to open. A normal feeling after returning to his human form. Every muscle would ache like recovering from a day of hard labour. Did he make it home last night? he couldn't remember. The feeling of laying on cold frosty cobblestones was a good indicator that he didn't. Oh goodness, where did he end up this time?... He almost didn't want to open his eyes to check. His hands moved around to feel the surface he was laying on but came in contact with something wet...sticky even? His brows furrowed as his eyes finally willed themselves to open, followed by him lifting his hand in front of his face as he lay on his back.

Red liquid...wine? Oh he wished. This definitely was not wine...it was blood. He didn't feel like he had cut himself anywhere "What the-" Upon turning his head he froze at the sight next to him. The lifeless eyes of a woman staring right through him. Panic jolted through his body as he sat up with a gasp. The blood was hers and this woman was very much dead. Did he...?

No. no no no. He scrambled back from where he sat until he hit the wall behind him, staring the scene down as he tried to regulate his breathing. There was no way he did this. the worst he would do was terrorised some cattle or sheep. not this. Never had he ever went this far. He looked at his hands and body covered in the woman's blood then back at the woman trying to recollect what his body got up to during this full moon. It was then when thinking things through and calming his nerves a little that he noticed something even more unsettling. "...Teresa..."

This girl...she was from his Clan. His family was in the bad books of the Hrólfr Clan as it was. Whatever energy was left on him he pushed it to his legs to make a run for it. As wrong as it felt to leave Teresa there. He couldn't stay and risk being seen, nor was his judgement good when his with this shock upon waking up. His mind was only thinking of one thing. Innocent or not, Everet needed to get out of here.

 

[s e v e n]

Do you dare?

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The very first thing William Mortimer had noticed about being a vampire- or whatever monstrosity he had become- was that heat diminished from him. While could be interpreted quite literally, as the surface of his skin now felt as cold as winter night, the male felt a constant longing to button his coat together, crawl next to a fire place, or perhaps considering to even jump in one. It was around that time of the year, understandably, where the sky was greyer than ever, snow white crusting every edge and every corner of the streets.

Frozen ice crumbled beneath his step, faint white fogs danced in front of him, and for the first time in those days, William felt the corner of his lips lift to a smile. It was not much, yet somehow it felt settling- that despite his beat-less heart, his lungs still function. Even if he still doubted that it was necessary, at least it gave him an illusion that his own humanity has not all diminished. As fast as his lips quirked up, his expression flattened just as quick. Never had he felt so empty. Never has the world felt so bitterly cold.

In case it has yet to be made clear enough, William hated everything about being a vampire. The ghostly look his gaze emit, the gentle glow of his almost transparent skin. Head bent down, hand securing the hood of his cloak, it was the first time he had went out ever since the incident. This was the same city he grew up in, the same city he lived and breathe, the same city he had first known love; yet now the familiarity had never felt so distant. Could he even still feel love? Was he still worthy of something as holy as love? Even more, could he feel at all?

Shops by shops passed, all closed as the night began to open, and not even once did he dare glance at his very own reflection, dreading the monster that would look back on him. If only vampires were as true as the myth goes. William would had had much a better chance of getting by if only the reflections of his sins would stop looking by. Every window pane, every puddle of water- he felt watched, as though millions of eyes laid on him, judging his every move, for existing. It felt like a much too cruel punishment, one he did not even deserve. The irrational guilt weighed poorly on his stomach, and little did it help the certain itch within his throat. He walked and he walked, playing pretend as if he could had escaped his nightmare, yet the dreams had grown vivid and tales became reality. Because dreams do come true, and nightmares were dreams, too.

Turn by turn he took, the scene seemed to blur over him just as simply, holding neither value nor significance. Places that once he might have held dear now remained meaningless. The home he left behind, he did not even think twice. In fact, he had forgotten to. It was one of the moments, where one would feel the ends of their fingers tremble, their hearts racing unbearably, adrenaline surging through every inch of veins. After all, William was burning with dread. Blind anticipation. And, ironically, hope.

Time went by like illusion, his body moved through the streets as though detached from it all. In the end, he did not even notice when he had arrived. William reached over his pockets, gloved hands fondling the neatly folded piece of paper. The sigil resting neatly on top the envelope, the rather unordinary address, his eyes darted over the letter, making sure he did get the right place. Then he looked up.

It felt somewhat expected, in all honesty. While William had vaguely fantasized a grand deserted castle (though he doubted one would be in the middle of the Great London without being noticed), similar to one described in books and fairy tales, it was nothing of the sort, yet somehow he could accept it. There were no vines crawling and twisting upon its stone clamoured walls, no rust coating every inch of the fences, fountains chipped and grasses blotched. It was the complete other way around, in fact.

A spark of thought flickered at the back of his mind, something so baseless and foolish; that perhaps this was his sole and only chance. A chance of redemption, a final effort as he clings to that final hope that maybe, this was indeed nothing more but a single elaborate plan- not by evil, but by God Himself. This was his salvation, for otherwise, what else could he have done? Surely not stay at home, the longer he had remained, the harder it felt. The louder was the calling. The moment William had departed his chambers that night, dark hood pulled over his face, stumbling down the stairs ever so carelessly- he knew nothing would have had ever been the same.

The mansion stood, grand and tall. The insignia marked its front gates, coated perfectly in steel black. Lights peeked from within- William knew of this building. Well, despite the amount of residence spread around the city, manors still stand out amongst the others, especially one as grand as this one. It never occurred to him, however, that he knew nothing of whom may reside within. And he thought he had encountered enough snobby nobles to know all of them.

The young male winced slightly as he pushed the gates, and it opened with a sharp creak. Very scarcely used, perhaps, as it made no sense how such lavish environment would have its gate hinges rusted. The further he ventured within the grounds, the more unsettled he felt. It was not the first time he had seen a mansion as such, yet the air seemed to freeze as he broke through, the atmosphere thickening the deeper in. The care brought for the garden was simply breath-taking, rows and rows of crimson roses as red as blood itself bloomed just faintly enough, its tip fading under the shivering touch of new winter. His fingers nonchalantly brushed against the bushes of rose, the young vampire ventured deeper, admiring every single detail of their manor. The walls, stone path ways, the gothic lights- astonishing. This place was everything and anything, all except life itself.

It was only when he was confronted the main door, however, was he left breathless- figuratively and literally. The handles made of pure mahogany, more cravings of said sigil. And a phrase. Written in Latin, William could not quite understand much. Is that really an inverted cross? Honestly he could not tell, things have been spiralling out of hand long ago. Anything is believable at this point. Then yet another thought rang within him, one so chilly amidst the void, as though lighting up within the darkness.

It was not too late to turn back…

The thought repeated itself over and over again in his mind, just as a distorted record. Limbs seemed to behave in ways he had not in his best intentions, yet feet turned and body spun and before he knew it pacing had transformed into a mild jog, that into running and eventually sprinting. Emotions prevailed and if there was anything William had wanted to do, it’s wake up. This dream had done enough to him. Whatever he had done, he was punished. So please let him wake up...

“Oy!”

In a moment of stagger, William felt his body jerked back. He stared longingly upon the gates, laid ajar peeking into the night. So close yet so far. His heart raced as fast as a vampire’s could, yet when he looked over his shoulder, an odd sense of relief washed over him. A boy was there, dishevelled bangs over his small face and thin frame. Brown hair, brown eyes. The boy’s face placed into a scowl, hand clutched tightly over William’s wrist. He looked not older than William- even much younger most likely- yet there was something odd with the way he simply stared. Something, dare he say, inhumane with his ethereal like movements, the way his head inclined as the he observed William. Like a prey in his clutches. Where did he even come from, all of the sudden? William did not know what to feel.

“Did you not hear me? Or do you not speak English?” continued the boy. It was then when William finally noticed. His hands. They had no warmth at all. Perhaps it was the moonlight, like white silver curtain illuminating the pair. William’s lips opened, yet somehow he could not muster a single voice. The pale skin along with the heatless touch- this was real. Not some fairy tale he had read at the back of the gazette. This boy, looking no more than fifteen- how old was he really?

The boy- or old man perhaps, how could he tell- furrowed his brows, irrtatedly snapped his fingers in front of William’s face. If he was not facing a real life creature pulled straight from a horror novel, William would have felt more than offended. “Are you dead or are you just stupid? Because I reckon that one would have been at least true if you are here?”

“Um,” William wanted to say something- a word perhaps, yet the first thing that came out of his mouth barely qualify as a sound. As his mind rummaged through his supposedly considerable amount of vocabularies, the male was left with nothing but a single um. Great. All those moneys wasted on school for nothing. Then a thought hit him. William reached over his pocket, pulling out the paper and unfolding it. He had almost dropped it, almost, yet by sheer luck, he caught it before it hit the ground.

“I’ve- er, I’ve received an invitation earlier this morning…[/b]” he began, handing the letter to the boy, whom proceed to lean against a lamp post, observing it. “Given if this is the right place, by any chance could I see Sir Barrington? He’s expecting of me, I feel.”

It was silent for a while. A part of his instincts told him to simply dash, punch the boy in the face maybe. Yet before he could decide for any action, the younger male had already folded the letter, pocketing it himself. Then he smiled, and while his lips moved, his eyes remained soulless. William could have sworn he saw a hint of fangs beyond his lips just peeking through.

“Welcome to the London branch of the Blood Union, dear fledgling. Hope you enjoy your stay- as you would be staying for quite a while.”

- William Mortimer

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