---
The morning bled into the penthouse in slanted gold light, filtering through gauzy curtains like the ghost of a sunrise. Paris shimmered below, restless and alive.
Aiyana Vale lay sprawled across her velvet bed, limbs tangled in sheets the color of spilled wine. Her skin glowed faintly beneath the morning rays — not from warmth, but from the power that hummed beneath her flesh.
The night's memories still clung to her lips: the pulse, the taste, the fire. But today, something felt… different.
Her heart — if it could still be called that — beat slow, deliberate, powerful. The air around her trembled, whispering secrets she didn't understand.
She rose, the sheet sliding from her shoulders like silk, and crossed to the window. Below, mortals hurried to their routines — the florist opening her shop, the café waiter arranging chairs, lovers parting with sleepy smiles.
They looked so ordinary. So human.
And then—
> She's the one from last night. God, she's beautiful.
Aiyana froze.
Her eyes narrowed. That voice — that thought — hadn't come from within her. It came from outside, from the street below.
She turned sharply, scanning for the source.
There — a young man leaning against the café railing, his eyes lifted toward her balcony. His face was flushed, his thoughts an open book, flooding her mind without permission.
> If she looked at me once, I'd give her everything. I'd die happy.
Aiyana inhaled sharply. The thought rang like a bell inside her skull.
She pressed her hands to her temples. "What… is this?"
But the world wouldn't quiet. The whispers grew louder.
> I should call my mother today.
The rent's due.
Who left that car parked there?
That woman… she's not real. No one's that perfect.
Hundreds of voices swirled, colliding, echoing. Thoughts, fears, lusts — the private chaos of human minds laid bare.
Aiyana stumbled back, gripping the window frame. Her breath came fast, though she didn't need to breathe. The noise pressed against her skull until—
Silence.
She forced her will outward, an instinct she didn't know she possessed, and the flood of voices stopped.
Only her own thoughts remained.
Slowly, Aiyana smiled.
---
The Gift of Minds
Hours passed before she dared test it again. She sat before her mirror, crimson silk robe loose around her, hair spilling like ink over her shoulders.
In the reflection, her eyes gleamed — sharp, knowing.
"Show me," she whispered.
And the world obeyed.
She felt the doorman's thoughts downstairs:
> Another bouquet for Madame Vail. Who sends her roses every week?
She reached further — to the café across the street.
> Her perfume drives me insane. If she ever walked in here again…
Further still — into the mind of a passing woman.
> I wish I had her beauty. My husband would look at me again.
The whispers came and went like radio waves, tuned by her focus. Each one made her feel stronger, sharper, alive.
It wasn't just hearing — she could push too. When she concentrated, she could nudge a thought, twist a desire, plant a suggestion like a seed.
She tested it on a courier who knocked at her door minutes later, holding a parcel.
He opened his mouth to ask for a signature — but when she looked into his eyes, his mind went silent.
"Forget you saw me," she murmured.
He blinked, dazed. "I… didn't?"
"Good." Her smile was soft as poison. "Now leave."
He obeyed.
When the door closed, Aiyana's laughter filled the room — soft, dangerous, delighted.
Telepathy. Mind control.
The words tasted like power.
---
The Temptation of Lust
That evening, she stood at her balcony once more, wrapped in black lace that shimmered like starlight. Below, Paris moved through dusk's golden haze.
Her admirers were easy to find — she didn't even need to look for them. Their thoughts called to her like songs.
> She's back.
If only she'd look at me.
God, those lips…
Each thought slid into her mind like a caress. She could feel their pulse quicken just by thinking of them.
She smiled down at one of them — a man smoking by the river, his eyes fixed on her.
> She saw me. She saw me.
Aiyana tilted her head, curious. She extended her mind, brushing against his like silk. Tell me your name, she thought.
His lips parted, his voice whispering into the night: "Julien."
Her smile deepened. She hadn't spoken — and yet he answered.
"Come to me, Julien."
He dropped his cigarette. His feet began to move. He crossed the street, climbed the marble steps, eyes glassy, enthralled.
Aiyana met him at the door, her gaze glowing faintly crimson.
"You shouldn't be here," she purred, stepping closer.
"I… couldn't stop myself."
"Of course you couldn't."
Her hand slid along his jaw, and she could feel his heartbeat like a drum beneath her fingertips. His thoughts spun out of control.
> She's an angel. A goddess. I'd die for her.
Her fangs ached.
"Not tonight," she whispered, brushing his temple with her lips. She could taste his pulse, feel the heat of his blood singing beneath the skin.
When she finally bit, she didn't drink deeply — just enough to feel the rush, the ecstasy, the surrender.
His mind opened to her completely — every secret, every memory, every fantasy. It flooded through her, a tapestry of mortal desire.
When she withdrew, she left him dazed, alive, trembling.
She sent him home with a whisper: Forget me, dream of the stars.
He left with tears in his eyes, smiling like a man who'd glimpsed heaven.
Aiyana leaned against the door, breathing out slowly. Her veins hummed with stolen passion.
"Poor mortals," she murmured. "They crave what will destroy them."
---
Power and Isolation
Days bled into nights. The whispers became constant companions — lovers, strangers, nobles — all unknowing participants in Aiyana's secret symphony of minds.
But power was a lonely thing.
She began to realize the cost of hearing everything. Lies. Lust. Jealousy. Fear. All the ugly truths mortals hid behind polite smiles — now laid bare to her.
The world had lost its innocence.
And yet… she didn't miss it.
Instead, she learned to enjoy the game. She played with her admirers' desires like notes in a melody. A brush of her gaze could make a man confess his sins. A whisper in the dark could turn envy to worship.
Still, some nights, when the moonlight hit her face just so, she felt the echo of humanity whisper from deep within her chest.
Aiyana would close her eyes then, reaching for silence — but silence never came.
The voices were always there. Waiting. Wanting. Watching.
And among them, sometimes, she caught another kind of whisper — deeper, colder. Not mortal at all.
> So the queen awakens…
Aiyana's eyes snapped open.
The voice wasn't from the city. It wasn't from any human mind. It came from far away — and yet, somehow, inside her.
She stared into the mirror.
Her reflection smirked back — but she hadn't moved.
> You're learning quickly, little blossom, said the voice. Soon, you'll be ready.
Aiyana's smile faltered. The air grew thick, pulsing faintly with crimson light.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
> You already know. I am what you drink, what you crave, what you'll become.
The mirror rippled. For an instant, another face shimmered over hers — older, regal, and terrifyingly beautiful.
Lady Seraphine.
The ancient vampire queen whose blood had created her.
The voice purred, amused.
> Play with your toys, my dear. But remember… even predators bow to their makers.
The mirror shattered.
Aiyana's eyes glowed crimson gold. A thrill of fear — and dark excitement — coursed through her.
For the first time since her rebirth, she whispered a truth that tasted like prophecy:
> "Then let the maker come find me."
Mortals are bound by chain of desires, some get trapped by misfortune while jump in it willingly never wishing to be free ❤️🔥
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End of Chapter 4