Fantasy 𝕸𝖚𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖋 𝕾𝖔𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖐 - 𝓐 𝓥𝓲𝓬𝓽𝓸𝓻𝓲𝓪𝓷 𝓡𝓟

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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. Reed 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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Chapter One:

Within The Undead Manor​

The children of the moon meet the denizens of the night. Two entirely opposing creatures, unlikely meets unlikely. A single letter was sent right that night, one that insists the meeting of both parties, an order instead of a request. A talk over dinner, they have claimed, yet as two sides, despite their differences, had one same goal: that the treaty remains as it was. For who would have known, were anything to happen to it? Endless wars, bloodshed, all centuries of hiding in vain. All must be stopped at all cost- and they must act quick. This was their only choice, so feign a smile, light the candles, bring forth the feast, for truly these were all nothing but a show. Beings that were very much unlike the other, gathered together that night to celebrate - or perhaps mourn - the dawn of a new age. Staged in a theatre, empty seats and empty tables. A laughter in the distance. The story was, after all, only beginning.

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Chapter Two:

The Wolf and The Demon​

A pair of souls, much too different for their own good. A dweller of the night, lurking shadow in the woods. Mismatched, yet singular in goals. The following day has risen, and time is abut a relentless predator. Presented in a puzzle that is only either much too simple, or much too complicated. A stage-play or an orchestra of the greatest enigma, orchestrated by a masked figure hiding from the light. For in the end, they were no more than puppets on a string of a much grander scale. Could the two settle their differences, work hand in hand- for otherwise, what good would the treaty have done in a matter of years? Perhaps now, more than ever, is the greatest test.

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