In a dark room, not the empty kind of darkness, but a thick, layered shadow that seemed to cling to the stone walls and breathe with the slow patience of something ancient.
The ceiling arched so high it disappeared into blackness, supported by pillars carved with twisted bat wings and coiling blood runes that pulsed faintly, as if they still remembered the warmth of living veins.
The air was cold and heavy, scented with dried incense, old iron, and something deeper, something sweet and rotten that spoke of centuries of blood rituals layered one upon another.
Along the sides of the hall stood rows of royal vampire attire displayed on tall, black stands.
Each set was different, each carrying a presence that made the air subtly shift around it.
One robe was woven from midnight silk threaded with crimson veins that shimmered like flowing blood, its collar shaped like fangs curling upward.
