I just want to make everyone aware: I am interested in joining this, however I am scheduled for shoulder surgery in a couple weeks and won’t be able to use both hands to type for about 6 weeks after.
No problem at all!
SilverSpring
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The night speaks in whispers
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No problem at all!
GMS: @Tpartywithzombi
Co-GMS: @Oso
Co-GMS: @Princess
Link to official thread: coming soon based on interest
Co-GMS: @Oso
Co-GMS: @Princess
Link to official thread: coming soon based on interest
"Built by blood, bound by lies."
The Premise
Tucked away between buildings and streets that seem to lead to nowhere, veiled beneath a sky coated in smog and soot, the city of Halcyon is a place that only exists in whispers and tales.
It was built that way.
Long before the first breath of humanity, Halcyon rose from the darkness, the ancient bloodlines of Halcyon struck a deal with dark powers that twisted the fabric of supernatural existence. The world had outgrown the fear of the dark, and the creatures that lived there — the Fae, the sanguine curse and the lycans, the things that should never have walk among men — would soon find themselves exposed, hunted, and nearly brought to extinction
To survive, they made a pact — not just to hide, but to erase their very existence from the world’s memory. To be forgotten.
With a spell of unfathomable power, the Fae wove the Glamour — a force so intricate, so absolute, that Halcyon itself was now hidden from the world. A city wrapped in shadows, suspended in time, its very geography defying reason. Maps crumble to dust. Memories distort and vanish. Those who wander too close to the city’s boundaries find themselves lost in endless roads that lead to nowhere. Few leave. Fewer arrive.
Inside the Glamour’s fold, Halcyon thrives, a twisted sanctuary where the monsters rule unseen and unchallenged. But their kingdom, built on blood and power, is not as perfect as it once was.
Beneath the surface of ancient stone and overgrown thorns, something is beginning to crack. The fragile peace that holds the supernatural powers together is weakening, the threads of their bond unraveling one by one.The underbelly stirring awake with chaotic energy.
The laws that once kept the darkness in check are beginning to bend, to break. The creatures that walked in shadow now hunger for more than just survival. And in the depths of the city, in the forgotten corners of Halcyon, something ancient stirs — a force that was never meant to be freed.
As the Glamour starts to falter, so too does the city’s facade. The creatures who once existed in the safety of Halcyon’s false reality now see the cracks forming, the whispers of rebellion spreading like wildfire. Betrayals fester in the shadows, and blood flows once again.There are those wanting to break free from the cracks while others are working hard to restore Halcyon to what it once was.
In Halcyon, no one is safe…
The Powers of Halcyon
Vampires - The Sanguine Curse - The Gilded Tyrants
The Vampires of Halcyon are a breed born of blood and power, their lineage stretching back centuries — ancient, rich, and unfathomably manipulative. They are the natural-born leaders, the kings and queens of the shadows, their dominion built on the backs of those who are forgotten by the world. These vampires are no mere creatures of the night; they are the architects of empires, weaving webs of influence through politics, money, media, and vice. Cloaked in the finest silks, surrounded by neon lights and glass towers, they command the skyline, their every whim catered to by those they enslave.
They are the Gilded Tyrants, rulers of Halcyon’s underworld, where wealth and decadence flow as freely as blood. Their existence is one of excess, indulgence, and control, sustained by a curse they neither welcome nor escape: the Sanguine Curse. They must feed to survive, but over the centuries, they have learned to bend this curse to their will. While some remain tied to the primal craving for human blood, relishing its warmth and vitality, others turn to synthetic substitutes — a more refined, less perilous alternative.
Yet even in their synthetic indulgence, many of the Vampires believe that true power lies in the taste of fear. The pulse of their prey, the trembling of a dying human, the rush of blood heightened by terror — to them, it is not just sustenance; it is control, a reminder that they hold dominion over those who are weak. Some of them even claim that fear makes the blood taste sweeter, more intoxicating.
Despite their centuries-long reign, the Vampires are not invincible. The Glamour, woven by the Fae, is what keeps their world hidden and protected. Without it, they are no more than monsters in the light, and the very city they claim as their kingdom would turn on them. But even as their empire crumbles beneath the weight of their own excess, they remain ever ambitious, ever ruthless, convinced that their bloodlines — their legacy — make them superior to all others. The cost of maintaining their façade is steep.
In Halcyon, they believe themselves gods in silk, rulers in shadow — but they are still bound by the very curse that made them what they are.
The Lycan — The Iron Claws
In the shadowed veins of Halcyon, where the city’s pulse runs dark and desperate — in the docks, the dive bars, the scrapyards — the Lycan thrive. They are not the refined rulers of the skyline, nor the hidden aristocrats of the night. They are the muscle, the brokers of violence, the raw power that keeps the city’s darkest corners alive. They are the loyalists and the outlaws, the Wardens and the enforcers, the ones who survive through grit, blood, and ferocity.
Organized into tight, brutal packs, the lycans are the backbone of Halcyon’s underworld. They are indispensable, for they control the black markets where weapons, flesh, and secrets are traded in equal measure. They are the ones who enforce the unspoken laws that govern the city’s hidden realm, settling disputes in blood and bone. Their word is law in the grimy back alleys and underworld dens, where only the strong thrive and the weak perish.
The Lycans may never have the luxury of money, but they have something far more valuable — their power, rooted in physicality, loyalty, and an unbreakable bond to the land they roam. They are the "boots on the ground" that hold Halcyon’s fragile peace together. Without them, the delicate balance of the city would unravel, and chaos would reign.
While the Vampires may own the city — commanding its wealth, politics, and status — it is the Lycans who run it. They are the enforcers, the protectors, and the heart of Halcyon’s streets. And though they may walk in shadows, their grip on the city is anything but invisible.
The Lycans’ claws are buried deep in Halcyon’s flesh..
The Fae — The Architects, The Hidden Crown
Ancient. Beautiful. Terrifying.
The Fae are the unseen forces that weave through the city’s undercurrents — their presence felt in every whispered deal, every stolen glance, every moment of dread that hangs thick in the air. They are rarely seen, their movements delicate and elusive, like shadows that shift just beyond the reach of light. Yet, they are everywhere. Artists, muses, crime lords, black market dream-weavers — the Fae are the secret architects of Halcyon’s very existence.
It is their magic, their ancient power, that maintains the Glamour — the intricate, unbreakable veil that hides the city from the world. Without it, Halcyon would be revealed for what it truly is:a city of nightmares. The Vampires and Lycan may wage their petty wars for power and money, posturing in their glittering fortresses and grimy streets, but the true power lies with the Fae.
For while they may control the surface, it is the Fae who keep the city hidden, and to anger them is to invite oblivion. The Fae’s power is not one that can be trifled with, for it is boundless, ancient, and unforgiving. To provoke the Fae is to summon the collapse of everything — the fragile peace between supernatural factions, the illusion of safety, the very foundation upon which Halcyon stands.
The Vampires may claim the skyline. The Lycan may own the streets. But they both know but without the Fae’s touch, their world would shatter in an instant. The Fae are the masters of Halcyon’s survival. They are the unseen hand that shapes the city’s fate, and their silence is more terrifying than any roar.
To cross the Fae is to walk a path from which there is no return.
Humans — The Ashen Few - Wardens
The Glamour, woven by the Fae, is a web of illusion that clouds human minds, erasing inconsistencies, fogging memories, and twisting the world into a dream of complacency. It nudges the curious into apathy, dulls the senses of those who would dare question, and hides the monsters beneath a veil of civility.
It was be hunted or become the Warden, they became the Wardens.
They see through the cracks — the faintest glimpses of the dark truths that lurk beneath Halcyon’s surface. These are the Wardens — the few who have glimpsed the horrors of the city, the inhuman creatures that crawl in the shadows, and the endless cycle of power that keeps them in control.
The Wardens are outnumbered. Isolated. Underequipped. They have no grand armies, no vast networks of resources. All they have is their resolve, their grit, and the fading remnants of humanity’s will to fight back against the unnatural tide that threatens to swallow it whole. Some hunt for vengeance, driven by the loss of loved ones to the creatures that rule the city. Others seek justice, hoping to expose the truth that the world has long forgotten. And some, perhaps the most tragic, fight because they can no longer look away — because the monsters beneath the mask have marked their lives in ways that cannot be undone.
The Wardens are the thin, broken line between humanity and the inhuman thrones of Halcyon. They are the last vestige of resistance, the fragile hope that there is still a way to break the chains that bind the city’s dark reign. They fight in the shadows, their struggle unseen, their victories fleeting. But still, they fight.
And every battle they lose makes the monsters of Halcyon stronger. But they fight anyway — because if they don’t, no one else will.
Present day
The treaties are weakening.
Old grudges and new ambitions are pulling the factions toward open conflict.
Some whisper that the Glamour itself is fraying.
Power is shifting.
Murders, disappearances, forbidden affairs — each splinter threatens to become a crack in the whole facade.
Who will protect the city and who will watch it burn? Will the veil shatter or will it grow stronger. Change is coming which side will you be on?
Race specific traits
There is no Hybrid characters permitted you must choose a specific Race
✦ Halcyon Faction Dynamics
The Wardens
The Wardens of Halcyon are ancient guardians, bound by oath and blood to protect humanity and uphold the Pact of the Veil — the enchantment that keeps the supernatural hidden from the human world. They do not trust the Fae, nor do they see them as allies — merely necessary evils. Wardens ultimately seek the downfall of all supernatural beings, including the Fae. However, they recognize that destroying the Veil prematurely would unleash monsters on the world again. Thus, they maintain a tense, temporary cooperation with the Fae — but assassination attempts, betrayals, and "accidental" killings between them still happen in the shadows.
The Fae
The Fae disdain the Wardens as crude, short-lived things — but tolerate them to ensure the vampires and lycans remain trapped within Halcyon.
However, Fae are inherently manipulative and capricious: they see Wardens as disposable tools, pawns to be used and discarded when the time is right.
Some rogue Fae delight in twisting Wardens’ minds, binding them to bargains, or leading them into traps.
Despite the political "treaty," blood is still shed between Wardens and Fae regularly.
The Vampires and Lycans
Both Vampire and Lycan factions chafe under their imprisonment.
Though historically bitter enemies, some among them see the Wardens and Fae as a greater common enemy than each other now.
Tenuous alliances, whispered meetings, and forbidden romances bloom in the shadows — but old hatreds die hard.
Pack loyalty and blood lineage remain strong forces. Unity is fragile and easily broken.
The True Nature of Halcyon
Everyone is using everyone.
Treaties are fragile masks — behind them lie ambition, fear, betrayal, and vengeance.
Individuals can defy faction expectations: love across battle lines, betray their own kind, seek peace or bloody revenge.
Halcyon is a beautiful, decaying war zone where trust is a currency rarer than gold.
Werewolf bites are toxic to both Fae and Vampires, carrying a venom that weakens and sickens them over time. Though rarely fatal, the wounds fester unless treated with specific cures. Likewise, vampire bites poison Lycans, causing fever, delirium, and violent bloodlust if left unchecked. Among the factions of The Wardens, these wounds are seen not just as injuries they can be changed or have life threatening consequences if not done appropriately like feeding off a Warden.
GMS: @Tpartywithzombi
Co-GMS: @Oso
Co-GMS: @Princess
Link to official thread: https://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/195286-beyond-the-veil/ooc
Co-GMS: @Oso
Co-GMS: @Princess
Link to official thread: https://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/195286-beyond-the-veil/ooc
"Built by blood, bound by lies."
The Premise
Tucked away between buildings and streets that seem to lead to nowhere, veiled beneath a sky coated in smog and soot, the city of Halcyon is a place that only exists in whispers and tales.
It was built that way.
Long before the first breath of humanity, Halcyon rose from the darkness, the ancient bloodlines of Halcyon struck a deal with dark powers that twisted the fabric of supernatural existence. The world had outgrown the fear of the dark, and the creatures that lived there — the Fae, the sanguine curse and the lycans, the things that should never have walk among men — would soon find themselves exposed, hunted, and nearly brought to extinction
To survive, they made a pact — not just to hide, but to erase their very existence from the world’s memory. To be forgotten.
With a spell of unfathomable power, the Fae wove the Glamour — a force so intricate, so absolute, that Halcyon itself was now hidden from the world. A city wrapped in shadows, suspended in time, its very geography defying reason. Maps crumble to dust. Memories distort and vanish. Those who wander too close to the city’s boundaries find themselves lost in endless roads that lead to nowhere. Few leave. Fewer arrive.
Inside the Glamour’s fold, Halcyon thrives, a twisted sanctuary where the monsters rule unseen and unchallenged. But their kingdom, built on blood and power, is not as perfect as it once was.
Beneath the surface of ancient stone and overgrown thorns, something is beginning to crack. The fragile peace that holds the supernatural powers together is weakening, the threads of their bond unraveling one by one.The underbelly stirring awake with chaotic energy.
The laws that once kept the darkness in check are beginning to bend, to break. The creatures that walked in shadow now hunger for more than just survival. And in the depths of the city, in the forgotten corners of Halcyon, something ancient stirs — a force that was never meant to be freed.
As the Glamour starts to falter, so too does the city’s facade. The creatures who once existed in the safety of Halcyon’s false reality now see the cracks forming, the whispers of rebellion spreading like wildfire. Betrayals fester in the shadows, and blood flows once again.There are those wanting to break free from the cracks while others are working hard to restore Halcyon to what it once was.
In Halcyon, no one is safe…
The Powers of Halcyon
Vampires - The Sanguine Curse - The Gilded Tyrants
The Vampires of Halcyon are a breed born of blood and power, their lineage stretching back centuries — ancient, rich, and unfathomably manipulative. They are the natural-born leaders, the kings and queens of the shadows, their dominion built on the backs of those who are forgotten by the world. These vampires are no mere creatures of the night; they are the architects of empires, weaving webs of influence through politics, money, media, and vice. Cloaked in the finest silks, surrounded by neon lights and glass towers, they command the skyline, their every whim catered to by those they enslave.
They are the Gilded Tyrants, rulers of Halcyon’s underworld, where wealth and decadence flow as freely as blood. Their existence is one of excess, indulgence, and control, sustained by a curse they neither welcome nor escape: the Sanguine Curse. They must feed to survive, but over the centuries, they have learned to bend this curse to their will. While some remain tied to the primal craving for human blood, relishing its warmth and vitality, others turn to synthetic substitutes — a more refined, less perilous alternative.
Yet even in their synthetic indulgence, many of the Vampires believe that true power lies in the taste of fear. The pulse of their prey, the trembling of a dying human, the rush of blood heightened by terror — to them, it is not just sustenance; it is control, a reminder that they hold dominion over those who are weak. Some of them even claim that fear makes the blood taste sweeter, more intoxicating.
Despite their centuries-long reign, the Vampires are not invincible. The Glamour, woven by the Fae, is what keeps their world hidden and protected. Without it, they are no more than monsters in the light, and the very city they claim as their kingdom would turn on them. But even as their empire crumbles beneath the weight of their own excess, they remain ever ambitious, ever ruthless, convinced that their bloodlines — their legacy — make them superior to all others. The cost of maintaining their façade is steep.
In Halcyon, they believe themselves gods in silk, rulers in shadow — but they are still bound by the very curse that made them what they are.
The Lycan — The Iron Claws
In the shadowed veins of Halcyon, where the city’s pulse runs dark and desperate — in the docks, the dive bars, the scrapyards — the Lycan thrive. They are not the refined rulers of the skyline, nor the hidden aristocrats of the night. They are the muscle, the brokers of violence, the raw power that keeps the city’s darkest corners alive. They are the loyalists and the outlaws, the Wardens and the enforcers, the ones who survive through grit, blood, and ferocity.
Organized into tight, brutal packs, the lycans are the backbone of Halcyon’s underworld. They are indispensable, for they control the black markets where weapons, flesh, and secrets are traded in equal measure. They are the ones who enforce the unspoken laws that govern the city’s hidden realm, settling disputes in blood and bone. Their word is law in the grimy back alleys and underworld dens, where only the strong thrive and the weak perish.
The Lycans may never have the luxury of money, but they have something far more valuable — their power, rooted in physicality, loyalty, and an unbreakable bond to the land they roam. They are the "boots on the ground" that hold Halcyon’s fragile peace together. Without them, the delicate balance of the city would unravel, and chaos would reign.
While the Vampires may own the city — commanding its wealth, politics, and status — it is the Lycans who run it. They are the enforcers, the protectors, and the heart of Halcyon’s streets. And though they may walk in shadows, their grip on the city is anything but invisible.
The Lycans’ claws are buried deep in Halcyon’s flesh..
The Fae — The Architects, The Hidden Crown
Ancient. Beautiful. Terrifying.
The Fae are the unseen forces that weave through the city’s undercurrents — their presence felt in every whispered deal, every stolen glance, every moment of dread that hangs thick in the air. They are rarely seen, their movements delicate and elusive, like shadows that shift just beyond the reach of light. Yet, they are everywhere. Artists, muses, crime lords, black market dream-weavers — the Fae are the secret architects of Halcyon’s very existence.
It is their magic, their ancient power, that maintains the Glamour — the intricate, unbreakable veil that hides the city from the world. Without it, Halcyon would be revealed for what it truly is:a city of nightmares. The Vampires and Lycan may wage their petty wars for power and money, posturing in their glittering fortresses and grimy streets, but the true power lies with the Fae.
For while they may control the surface, it is the Fae who keep the city hidden, and to anger them is to invite oblivion. The Fae’s power is not one that can be trifled with, for it is boundless, ancient, and unforgiving. To provoke the Fae is to summon the collapse of everything — the fragile peace between supernatural factions, the illusion of safety, the very foundation upon which Halcyon stands.
The Vampires may claim the skyline. The Lycan may own the streets. But they both know but without the Fae’s touch, their world would shatter in an instant. The Fae are the masters of Halcyon’s survival. They are the unseen hand that shapes the city’s fate, and their silence is more terrifying than any roar.
To cross the Fae is to walk a path from which there is no return.
Humans — The Ashen Few - Wardens
The Glamour, woven by the Fae, is a web of illusion that clouds human minds, erasing inconsistencies, fogging memories, and twisting the world into a dream of complacency. It nudges the curious into apathy, dulls the senses of those who would dare question, and hides the monsters beneath a veil of civility.
It was be hunted or become the Warden, they became the Wardens.
They see through the cracks — the faintest glimpses of the dark truths that lurk beneath Halcyon’s surface. These are the Wardens — the few who have glimpsed the horrors of the city, the inhuman creatures that crawl in the shadows, and the endless cycle of power that keeps them in control.
The Wardens are outnumbered. Isolated. Underequipped. They have no grand armies, no vast networks of resources. All they have is their resolve, their grit, and the fading remnants of humanity’s will to fight back against the unnatural tide that threatens to swallow it whole. Some hunt for vengeance, driven by the loss of loved ones to the creatures that rule the city. Others seek justice, hoping to expose the truth that the world has long forgotten. And some, perhaps the most tragic, fight because they can no longer look away — because the monsters beneath the mask have marked their lives in ways that cannot be undone.
The Wardens are the thin, broken line between humanity and the inhuman thrones of Halcyon. They are the last vestige of resistance, the fragile hope that there is still a way to break the chains that bind the city’s dark reign. They fight in the shadows, their struggle unseen, their victories fleeting. But still, they fight.
And every battle they lose makes the monsters of Halcyon stronger. But they fight anyway — because if they don’t, no one else will.
Present day
The treaties are weakening.
Old grudges and new ambitions are pulling the factions toward open conflict.
Some whisper that the Glamour itself is fraying.
Power is shifting.
Murders, disappearances, forbidden affairs — each splinter threatens to become a crack in the whole facade.
Who will protect the city and who will watch it burn? Will the veil shatter or will it grow stronger. Change is coming which side will you be on?
Race specific traits
There is no Hybrid characters permitted you must choose a specific Race
✦ Halcyon Faction Dynamics
The Wardens
The Wardens of Halcyon are ancient guardians, bound by oath and blood to protect humanity and uphold the Pact of the Veil — the enchantment that keeps the supernatural hidden from the human world. They do not trust the Fae, nor do they see them as allies — merely necessary evils. Wardens ultimately seek the downfall of all supernatural beings, including the Fae. However, they recognize that destroying the Veil prematurely would unleash monsters on the world again. Thus, they maintain a tense, temporary cooperation with the Fae — but assassination attempts, betrayals, and "accidental" killings between them still happen in the shadows.
The Fae
The Fae disdain the Wardens as crude, short-lived things — but tolerate them to ensure the vampires and lycans remain trapped within Halcyon.
However, Fae are inherently manipulative and capricious: they see Wardens as disposable tools, pawns to be used and discarded when the time is right.
Some rogue Fae delight in twisting Wardens’ minds, binding them to bargains, or leading them into traps.
Despite the political "treaty," blood is still shed between Wardens and Fae regularly.
The Vampires and Lycans
Both Vampire and Lycan factions chafe under their imprisonment.
Though historically bitter enemies, some among them see the Wardens and Fae as a greater common enemy than each other now.
Tenuous alliances, whispered meetings, and forbidden romances bloom in the shadows — but old hatreds die hard.
Pack loyalty and blood lineage remain strong forces. Unity is fragile and easily broken.
The True Nature of Halcyon
Everyone is using everyone.
Treaties are fragile masks — behind them lie ambition, fear, betrayal, and vengeance.
Individuals can defy faction expectations: love across battle lines, betray their own kind, seek peace or bloody revenge.
Halcyon is a beautiful, decaying war zone where trust is a currency rarer than gold.
Werewolf bites are toxic to both Fae and Vampires, carrying a venom that weakens and sickens them over time. Though rarely fatal, the wounds fester unless treated with specific cures. Likewise, vampire bites poison Lycans, causing fever, delirium, and violent bloodlust if left unchecked. Among the factions of The Wardens, these wounds are seen not just as injuries they can be changed or have life threatening consequences if not done appropriately like feeding off a Warden.
Time: Dinner Time
Location: Banquette
Mention: @Helo Callum,
Interactions: @taeThea, @Lava Alckon Drake, @Oso Milo
Appearance: Light blue gown with Silver accents
Ariella sat with her jaw gently clenched, watching the cracks splinter across Thea’s carefully built facade. She recognized the look in her eyes—that hollowed ache of being torn open by the people who were supposed to protect you. The feeling of being too much and not enough, all at once.
As Duchess Alice's voice sliced through the air, Ari felt the same old cold fingers curl around her spine. Even when it wasn’t her mother, the tone was always the same: scolding, controlling, designed to shrink you until you barely took up space at all. She should’ve felt triumphant that her mother had finally stormed off earlier, but instead, all she felt was a gnawing irritation at how Drake had handled it.
Why was he always so compliant? Still so eager to smooth everything over instead of standing up and calling her out for being such a bitch. Ari had already become the villain in her mother's story. She was so quick to gloat about Ari and Cal, and yet little did she know that one of the reasons they bonded so well was due to her and the other people of society. So she supposed she could thank her for that—being her nasty, vile self had certainly given them something to speak about.
Ariella's fingers tapped once, sharply, against the side of her glass. Her mother had stolen her memories—and yet Drake still played the dutiful son, still scolded her like a child for reacting. He played such a political role that it frustrated Ari.
Her gaze flicked toward Thea again, watching as she rose and drifted from the table, bottle in hand, wrapped in all the elegance expected of her rank. Ari’s heart pinched. That ache behind Thea’s eyes—it wasn’t unfamiliar. No, it was far too recognizable.
She shifted slightly in her chair, letting her eyes scan the table. “I’ll go check on her…” she said softly, toward Drake in particular. Her eyes glanced toward the King's table as she caught a look at him.
Callum.
Her breath caught for a beat too long when she saw him. She looked at him for a moment, wishing he was present tonight. She felt a need for him—she knew he would have laughed about the spilled wine, and maybe they would have snuck off to the pantry, raiding it for all the alcohol they had. A soft smile curved on her lips as she thought more of the idea. But tonight of all nights, she couldn’t even reach for the one person who steadied her. Though she missed him, she was glad she had found her own strength—and perhaps she could offer some of that to Thea too.
And just as she turned—
A chill. Prickling at the nape of her neck. Her eyes lifted—and there he was.
Milos's steps were calm and precise, but it was the way he watched her that made something in her ribs clench. His eyes didn’t just look; they saw. Uncomfortably so. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. She offered him a soft smile, attempting to avoid his eye contact as she moved from her seat, walking toward him.
As she walked past him, she offered him a friendly nod. “Mr. St. Claire” she spoke softly, the name tasting like a secret. As she passed him, the feeling of unease still sat unsteady within her. She glanced over her shoulder once as she walked toward the doors.
Ariella approached Thea slowly as her arm reached out. She wrapped it around Thea's arm with a gentle hold as she greeted her with a warm smile but no words. She too reached out to a passing server, grabbing a secondary bottle of wine off the tray so Thea didn’t need to feel so alone.
Finally speaking, Ari attempted to lighten the mood as the two walked: “Mothers?” she offered awkwardly, her voice light, but not teasing. “Am I right?” She smiled again as she led Thea past the doors, out of the prying eyes of the court. Tonight was a pure example of how fast and vicious rumors and accusations could spiral—even from something as simple as a glance.
“You’d think after mine left, I’d feel relief. And I do, mostly. It’s quieter without her hissing insults across the table. But…” she trailed off, eyes narrowing at the ceiling like it might offer answers. “She threatened me again, on her way out. I didn’t even bother responding this time. Karma’s coming. Sooner or later.”
She lifted the bottle of wine to her mouth, her teeth digging into the cork as she pulled it out before spitting it off to the side. A lone attendant, attempting to ignore the spectacle, made a huffing sound as the two women walked slowly down the exit.
Another attendant opened the door, and a gust of fresh air hit the two women with a rush as they strolled out onto the front steps.
Ari didn’t say much else as her arm released Thea’s—offering enough to say *you’re not alone*, without having to speak the words. Because sometimes, when her own mother turned her to ash, all Ari ever wanted was someone who stayed.
She took another swig from her bottle, glancing at Thea from the corner of her eye. Now that they were alone, she figured it was a safe space to finally ask:
“Are you doing okay?”
Time: Nighttime Sola 28th
Location: Dinner event
Interaction: Roman @ReusableSword Alexander @FunnyGuy Mina @Tae Wulfric @SilverPaw Calbert @Princess
Mentions:
“If you're going to make backhanded compliments, you should put some more power into it… Like when you slapped Violet in the face.”
Violet sat in stillness, the flickering candlelight catching the edge of her wine glass, casting fractured shadows across her porcelain features. The commotion around her was drowned beneath the hum of something far more unsettling. Her name had been spoken. Not once, but many times now by those at the table. Once with that charm-laced cadence that pulled at the softest parts of her, and again with a compliment so perfectly timed, so carefully dressed, that she might’ve blushed had she not already built a fortress beneath her skin building layer by layer as her secrets were laid bare for all the hear.
Her lips parted slightly as if to speak but she stopped herself. Scarlet stirred like an ember roaring into a fire.
A prickle beneath her skin. Not fear, something older. Something colder. Her chest felt hollow and full all at once, like a breath she could never finish taking. Her pulse, throbbed in her neck, not fast, not slow, just there. Reminding. Repeating. Her face sotfening into an eerie calmness.
The memory of his warmth—it flickered. His promises once felt like refuge, like a fire in the dead of winter. Now, they lay curled in ash. Forgotten. Her mind reached for them, grasped, but they slipped—like fog between fingers.
She took and idle sip of wine as the rest stained her lips, a smile that wasn’t hers played at the corner of her mouth. Sharp. Knowing. Tired.
Inside her, Scarlet twisted, coiled. Not a scream. Not a cry. A hum. Low and biter.
The sting on her cheek returned. It was not fresh, but not healed. Just present. A ghost of the flesh.She blinked once, slowly, and saw it all again: the kiss meant for someone else, the crowd, the gallery, the slap.
Trust turned to rot, affection to theater. The man she thought she had love for was a trick of the light just like her reflection in a cracked mirror. Her hands trembled, just slightly, before stilling again.
Why did this moment feel like she was at the stables again? Her face being smothered deep into her truth but would she bite.
Roman’s forked words came again, jabbing at Alexander’s bloodline, his worth.
Pulling from her thoughts, Violets head turned slightly toward Alexander, her eyes watching his hand as it stabbed into the food on his plate. No ring. Curious. Alexander without his ring at such a large gathering with the king here no less. That didn’t seem like a choice. It made sense now. Protective. Angry. Honest. She felt the storm brewing between the two men and the tension curl beneath her ribcage. She wanted to feel angry at his remark about the slap, to feel betrayed that he would air out such a private situation so freely at the table but Alexander only spoke what Violet was too afraid to say outloud.
Alexander had treated her with a harsh hand, that much was true, but she started to see as time continued on that he had kept his word to her.She would have died had he not forced her awake. And yet she was faced another lesson that he attemped to show her. One he had once asked her about, Could she trust Roman. Her answer had always been yes. Until recently.
She set her wine glass down, the sound sharp but not loud.
She turned to Wulfric, who was watching her with that knowing, princely quiet. She tilted her head ever so slightly in acknowledgment as the others at the table awaited her response, to confirm or deny Romans actions.
“I find myself less interested in choosing between the two of them,” she said, calmly addressing the entire table now. “And more interested in understanding why I was ever made to feel I had to.” She responded to Wulfric in an unamused tone.
Her eyes glanced back to Roman as he continued to speak. His words were sharp amongst his laughter, eating as if the words he spoke had no effect on the person who had held him in such high regard.
She felt the burn behind her eyes, her throat closing as her eyes fell from him shutting for just a moment as she attempted to center herself. Her breath caught in her chest as the knife he weilded so freely stabbed her, deep and slow with each word that left his lips. His laughter twisting the blade with ease as her fingers clenched at the fabric of her dress hidden from anyones eyes.
Her scarlet eyes glanced up at him.
Violet didn’t flinch.
Not at Roman’s laughter, nor his smirking glances, nor even the wink he dared toss in her direction like they shared some private joke. The only betrayal more deafening than his words was the ease with which he delivered them. As if the promises he'd once whispered to her were nothing but kindling for his amusement now.
He had said he would start a war for her… to help her find a way from this curse. Instead he strips her naked with his words shaming her in front of everyone while attempting to imply Alexander as a horrible husband to Leanna. Throwing her in the mud was one thing but going after Alexander was another. Scarlets eyes depend with a building flame. She had been wrong, she had been so wrong about everything.
Her fathers words caught her at surprise as she glanced over at him, feeling the warmth of his hand graze hers. “My darling,” he murmured, the gentleness in stark contrast to the storm he had just conjured, “you owe no one here an explanation. Not him. Not this court. If you would like me to handle this, I will. If you would like to speak further, you need not look for permission. Only know…” “…I will stand at your side, no matter what.”
Her chin rose as he finished speaking. “Thank you” she said softly so only he could hear her. “I would like to handle this myself” Scarlet said softly before directing herself to Roman.
Her voice was soft and razor-edged. “You seem to find great satisfaction in feeding yourself, but far more in starving others of dignity Lord Ravenwood.”
Her eyes lifted to meet his—no warmth in them now, no trace of the girl who once fell for his smile. “Insults masked as jest. Compliments given with a cheek still wet from someone else’s kiss.” She let out a gentle laugh as the irony amused her as she glanced for a moment at Mina.
“It’s curious, though. You claim concern for a woman’s reputation…” she tilted her head just slightly, “…while dragging mine so elegantly through the mud. You speak of virtue and passion as if it's something to be mocked—while you, in the same breath, muse aloud about imagined entanglements between a husband and his wife, creating scandal where there was none until you decided to offer false entertainment while gorging yourself with the grace of a street dog.”
Her voice dropped as her eyes narrowed in on him “I am not a tale for you to twist. My reputation is not a game piece on your board for your amusement. I am Lady Violet Damien, and if anyone here has forgotten what that name means…” She leaned forward, just slightly, her voice lowering “…I invite you to continue.”Her sharp crimson eyes pierced at him with an even sharper edge then the blade he so freely twisted into her.
She reached for her glass of wine as swirled it slowly within the glass “If that was your idea of passion, I assure you, your touch left no warmth worth remembering.” her voice cracked under her breath, the small truth of hurt peeking behind her mask that only someone with a keen ear could hear. She lifted the glass to her lips taking a long drawn out sip before setting it down.
”Careful with your wine Lord Ravenwood, we wouldn’t want another moment of passion to slip out…” she said venomously as Scarlet struggled to keep her poise. Her lips curled into a smile as she winked at him with a condescending expression.
Time: Dinner Time
Location: Banquette
Mention: Victoria, Gideon, Clarence
Interactions: Victoria, Gideon, Leo, Thea
Appearance: Light blue gown with Silver accents
“Embarrassing?” Victoria echoed softly, slowly setting her wine glass down with a soft clink. Her smile was untouched by warmth. “Darling, I wear shoes in public and know how to enter a room without looking winded and lost. Between the two of us, I assure you—I’m the lady.” She reclined slightly in her seat, gaze icy. “And as for hatred, no, dear. It’s not hatred. It’s disappointment... dressed appropriately.”
There was so much commotion at the table Ari hadn’t even taken note of the other situations brewing around them. The proximity of her mother made the entire event feel like a vice tightening around her ribs, suffocating in its familiarity. Knowing what she knew now—fractured memories from a weeping child turned guarded man—it made Victoria’s presence almost unbearable. Drake did what he could to protect her, but the truth? The real, twisted truth? It sat smug and perfumed across from her, masked behind perfectly painted lips and snake-slit eyes that blinked far too slowly for comfort.
She swirled her wine beneath her nose, pretending to be lost in the bouquet. The tart, overripe sweetness clashed bitterly with the venom her mother dripped about Thea—graceful, radiant Thea. Ari’s gaze flicked toward the woman, elegant even in the face of Victoria’s thinly veiled cruelty. No wonder Drake looked at her the way he did. A subtle smile curved Ari’s lips as Thea’s quiet defiance bloomed into well-placed remarks, sharp enough to draw blood if one listened closely.
“Ariella…”
The whisper curled around her like smoke, brushing her ear with an icy familiarity. She stiffened, trying to shake it off, but it slithered deeper. The darkness it carried crept along her spine, nestling somewhere behind her, whispering wicked little ideas that felt far too much like home.
Her gaze fell to her wine again. Then to her mother’s pristine gown.
Before she could think better of it, her hand moved, casual and precise beneath the guise of a clumsy fumble. The wine glass tilted just so, catching the lip of Victoria’s plate. It teetered—then tipped. A slow, theatrical spill of crimson wine poured over the fine china, cascading like blood down into her mother’s lap.
Ari’s expression snapped into one of practiced horror. She gasped, a delicate hand fluttering to her lips as if she hadn’t just orchestrated the entire spectacle.
A nearby attendant rushed in with a cloth, flustered and apologetic, trying to stanch the crimson tide as it spread.
“Mother!” she cried, her voice high and breathy, dripping with false remorse. “Oh gods, I’m so terribly sorry—I wasn’t thinking, I was just so rattled after that little scene earlier…Must have just been lost in my thoughts agian…” She stood swiftly, plucking a napkin to dab at the mess, though her hand lingered a little longer than needed.
“How foolish of me…” Her voice cooed, a soft, hollow thing, sweetened like poison in a teacup. Inside, she watched the deep scarlet stains bloom across Victoria’s lap with quiet, simmering satisfaction.
Time: Dinner Time
Location: Banquette
Mention: Victoria, Gideon, Clarence
Interactions: Victoria, Gideon, Leo, Thea
Appearance: Light blue gown with Silver accents
Catching his eye across the room, Ariella’s breath caught for just a moment. Cal blew her a cheeky kiss followed by an exaggerated wave. The familiar glint in his eyes clashed with his new persona, and the sight of him dressed differently, bearing Cal’s face but not his mannerisms, sent a ripple of confusion and amusement through her. Her cheeks flushed a soft pink as she let out a quiet laugh, one that she quickly masked behind her hand. He had just publicly called out her mother, no doubt in retaliation for her usual stuck-up attitude, and the boldness of it made her want to clap. Instead, she shifted in her chair, subtly smoothing her dress as she composed herself trying not to burst out laughing.
“Yes. I also saw her come in—glowing like the sun through the trees,” Gideon said, his voice gentle, his eyes still fixed on his daughter.
Ariella turned toward him, catching the way he looked at her—like she was something extraordinary. Something cherished. Her heart softened.
“Thank you, Father,” she said, her voice quiet, touched with warmth.
“You look beautiful, little star,” he murmured, his tone thick with affection. “And quite honestly, I’m proud you didn’t fall. You had us all on the edge of our seats.”
Ariella laughed under her breath, the blush deepening slightly on her cheeks before beginning to fade. “I know!” she whispered back, her voice threaded with a bright, excited energy. “It was rather slippery, and my foot gave out—honestly, it was embarrassing.”
From beside them, Victoria lifted her wine glass with practiced grace and took a slow sip. Without meeting Ariella’s eyes, she muttered beneath her breath, “We’ll be speaking after dessert. And you will wish you had fallen.”
The comment sliced through the pleasant warmth like ice through silk. Ariella’s smile faltered, her face twisting with a momentary flash of disgust. She turned her head toward her mother, gaze sharp and cold. This was the same woman who had stolen her memories, who had robbed her of choices and kept her under lock and key with nothing but veiled smiles and false kindness. A shadow passed through her eyes, something hard and old rising in her chest.
But then—her father’s voice again. Soft and grounding.
“Welcome, my dear. I missed you.”
The darkness in her expression flickered and faded. She leaned back into her chair, exhaling slowly, her arms crossing over her chest—not defensive, but gentle, like she was holding herself together.
“Thank you, Father,” she said again, her tone quieter, steadier this time. “I’ve missed you as well.” She reached for her fork, idly picking at her plate, the food suddenly less important than the moment that lingered between them.
One spell. One spell and she could rip the venom from right under her mother’s nose. Her eyes fixated on Victoria with intensity as her mind concocted all sorts of delicious ways she could get back at her. Change her wine to poison? No that’s too simple… it would draw too much attention to the King and his wait staff. A curse to make her shoes uncomfortable so she would walk around undignified and barefooted…Funny but not serious enough. Ari’s fork stabbed into some meat on her plate as she took small bites while her mind continued to plan.
Her eyes glanced over to Callum who seemed to be enjoying his newfound confidence with his crown and smug expressions. Clarence was certainly making himself known. She envied his confidence. Turning her attention back to the table as Lord Leo spoke to her father, Ari reached for her glass of wine finishing the glass before she could even catch her breath.
There was something far greater of punishment for Victoria, something that didn’t need a spell or a curse.
"Forgive my mother," she said smoothly, leaning forward across the table with casual grace her voice loud enough so the table could hear. She gestured toward Victoria with her empty wine glass, her serene smile painted perfectly across her lips—though it never quite reached her eyes. "She often mistakes cruelty for conversation. We're still working on that little habit."
As an attendant stepped in to refill her glass, she turned her gaze pointedly toward her mother, the fire behind her calm facade flickering just beneath the surface. "Honestly, Mother," she continued, her tone light but laced with steel, "it's rather unbecoming for a lady to harbor so much hatred. One might even say... embarrassing, especially in front of the king. And under the Edwards name, no less."
She brought the glass to her lips and took a long, deliberate sip, the rich red wine staining her mouth like a secret. Then, with a soft exhale, she sank back into her chair, swirling the wine in her hand with an air of quiet defiance.
Time: Nighttime Sola 28th
Location: Dinner event
Interaction: Roman @ReusableSword Alexander @FunnyGuy Mina @Tae Wulfric @SilverPaw
Mentions:
It had been some time since she last saw him—since that morning at the garden party, the morning everything had changed. So much had changed since then. She had changed. The memory of that day felt distant now.
“Good evening, Your Royal Highness,” she added with a graceful incline of her head, her voice touched with practiced ease. “The seating arrangement is quite comfortable.” Gratitude colored her words, but her expression—carefully composed—couldn’t entirely conceal the flicker of uncertainty that lingered in her eyes.
“It is true, Your Royal Highness—I’ve taken on the role of Mr. Deacon’s assistant.” She offered a delicate shrug, her tone light. “I’ve never been one for idle hands, and I thought it an opportunity to learn something worthwhile. I’ll admit, I was rather surprised to hear the news had already reached you. I’ve yet to share it with my own family.” “Perhaps we could speak more of it over a glass of wine? I would hate to take up your time with such ordinary matters when I’m sure there are countless others vying for your attention tonight.”
Her smile lingered before she respectfully excused herself, moving towards her seat.
As she settled, her gaze was drawn across the room—her red eyes catching the figure of Roman as he stepped into the dining hall. Her breath hitched subtly. The sight of him, dressed in a perfectly tailored ensemble embellished with the signature ravens on his shoulders. She saw, for a heartbeat, the man on the docks but the way he handled himself made her see someone else here. This version of himself was confident and commanding of attention. She couldn’t figure out if this version was the true Roman or if was it the one he showed her in private. Or perhaps it was neither.
Violet watched in silence, noting how the nobility turned their heads as he passed, whispering among themselves—judging, envying, admiring. She couldn’t help but wonder what stories they spun about him behind their fans and glasses of champagne.
When he approached the table, her lips curled into a soft, sincere smile.
“Roman,” she said with a nod, his name a quiet comfort on her tongue. Her gaze flickered briefly to Alexander, catching the subtle tension in Roman’s posture. “You look very handsome this evening. I particularly admire the adornments on your shoulders—they suit you.”
Her words were genuine, but they barely veiled the storm brewing behind her eyes.
Her attention wavered as Miss Mina, ever radiant, approached the table with an effortless grace that made Violet sit a touch straighter in her chair. Her heart faltered when she saw the redhead lean down to brush a kiss to Roman’s cheek.
Violet looked away too quickly, pretending to smooth the napkin in her lap, the fabric suddenly too fine, too irritating beneath her fingers. A blush rose unbidden to her cheeks, and a small, almost inaudible sigh slipped past her lips as the dull weight of disappointment settled in her chest.
She had noticed it before—at the gallery—the way Roman’s gaze lingered just a bit too long on Mina. The realization stung more than it should have. How could she blame him? Mina was beauty incarnate, her laughter warm and unburdened. And Violet? Violet was pale and sharp and shrouded in the scent of death.
“Yes, quite harmless,” she agreed smoothly, her tone light with a practiced lilt, “And thank you for the compliment.” She turned to Alexander, her lips curving into a gentle smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.“You look rather dashing yourself this evening—but then again, when do you ever not?”
Her voice carried the warmth of polite charm, but behind her words, the flicker of something more.
Then Mina spoke, her voice light and teasing as she addressed Alexander, mentioning their charming little escapade at the carnival. The words were casual, but they landed heavy, drawing Violet’s attention with a pang of curiosity.
Without a word, Violet reached for her wine, wrapping her fingers tightly around the delicate stem of the glass. She brought it to her lips and took a long drink, letting the rich flavor wash over her tongue and dull the ache in her chest.
Her eyes darkened to a deep scarlet hue, the color of old blood.
Scarlett stirred beneath the surface sensing Violet’s unease and stepping in like a hand catching a falling glass. Before Violet could spiral into the familiar pit of self-pity and doubt, Scarlett rose. Poised. Smiling. Guarded.
” Pleasure is all mine Lady Blackwood and Roman as well it seems. Her dark eyes glanced over at the blushing man while he continued to enjoy his meal before returning to Mina with a smile. ” My evening has seemingly only just begun, thank goodness for the wine.” She finished her glass before setting it down. “I hope yours is going well as well.
Violet’s thoughts scattered as soon as she heard her name—spoken in that familiar cadence that always seemed to stir something deep within her. Her gaze shifted, and there he was—Roman—meeting her eyes with a smile that felt both effortless and disarming.
His words were kind, carefully chosen, yet her mind remained tangled in the echoes of doubt and uncertainty. The flutter in her chest stirred again, deeper this time, blooming like a bruise beneath the surface. For a fleeting second, she felt herself beginning to fall into it.
But Scarlett was quicker.
The darker thread of her stepped forward, anchoring Violet in place with silent command. Now is not the time, she warned from within, pulling her back from the precipice. The emotions could be unraveled later. For now, composure was key.
“Thank you, Lord Ravenwood,” Violet replied with a poised smile, the confidence in her voice smooth and deliberate. “Very kind of you to say. I hope your night is an enjoyable one as well, you seemed to have caused quite the stir walking in this evening. ” She met his gaze with cool elegance, her features soft but unreadable.
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