SilverSpring

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Evening
Location: The Tavern
Mention:
Interactions:
Appearance: Light blue gown with Silver accents

Ariella didn’t process the hostage situation so much as… observe it, the way a cat watches someone drop a plate. She stared up at Marius, firing into the ceiling and slashing a man’s fingers, then slowly turned to Drake with a frown.

“…He’s… very loud.” she whispered, almost just as loud, as if that were the real crime here.

When the dagger-wielding woman grabbed the barmaid, Ariella gasped, but not from terror but as if she were watching a moving picture in real time.“Oh noooo… Not the nice one. She gave me extra… extra… what’s the word…”

She tried to point accusingly, missed, pointed again, and finally gave up and pointed at her own drink instead “ALE!” she shouted, proud she remembered.

The moment Maelen blasted the room with supernatural light, Ariella squinted at the flare, lifted her hand to her forehead like she was warding off the sun, and declared:

“Someone turn the lamp down… m’tryin’ to panic quietly over here.”

Her attempt at staying still lasted exactly three seconds before she wobbled and slammed both palms flat on the table.

“I AM being still. This is STILLNESS.”

Drake gently tried to guide her hands back down, and she glared at him.

“Stop bossin’ my limbs.”

Then Garran laid out the rules with calm authority. Ariella stared with the rapt concentration of a toddler watching a puppet show. Halfway through his speech, she raised her hand.

Drake immediately pushed it down.

She raised the OTHER hand.

Charlotte pushed that one down too.

Ariella blinked between them as if offended.

“I have QUESTIONS.” she hissed, wobbling.

They both shushed her.

She gasped dramatically and whispered

“This is oppression.” Then, finally catching up to reality“…Wait. Are we bein’… robbed?”
She looked around with exaggerated suspicion “If they take my cake, I WILL throw somethin’.”

Garran’s shadow fell across the table, and Ariella squinted up at him like she was attempting to make out his face.

“Didn’t expect company like yours down ’ere, dove. Duke Gideon lets his little girl drink with the rats now?” Ariella blinked slowly. Then leaned closer.“…Are you the rat?” she whispered very seriously, as if she’d cracked a code.

She nodded proudly.

“You look like a rat. A big one. Like—like if a rat and a… a coat rack had a baby.”

She held up a finger.

“Wait. No. That wasn’t right… Coat rat… Rack rat… Rat rack… OH! A rat rack!”

Drake stepped on her foot to make her stop.

Ariella gasped dramatically.

“OW. See? Oppression.”

She lifted her chin in drunken indignation.

“I’ll have you know, My Father lets me drink with whoever I want. Rats, pigeons, goats…especially goats. They’re very… conversational.”

Drake slapped a hand over her mouth before she could continue listing animals.

✨Beyond The Veil✨

The air trembled with bass. Aeryn’s voice cracked against concrete, raw and alive, every word vibrating through ribs and teeth. Vein Theory was back, and the sanctuary beneath Halcyon’s streets pulsed like a living heart. Bodies danced and moved as one, as if they were in a trance of sex and drugs.

Smoke curled. The crowd swayed. Roxanne grinned over her kit, claws clicking against the rims in perfect time to the music. The speakers vibrating with music as a mist grew around their feet like a perfectly timed fog machine.
The vapor began to seep around them.

Seeping through the vents, it was invisible until it caught the red light, swirling like fog that had learned to breathe. The scent rolled through the air. Metallic. Sweet. Thick. It coated tongues, clung to throats. And then…
…time slowed.

The first set of red glowing eyes in the crowd flickered to life.

Then another.
Then another...

The sound warped. The music cracked and died in the speakers as if the amps themselves were choking.

Aeryn staggered back from the mic, silver-chain blindfold glinting under the stage lights. His pupils burned crimson beneath it. Roxanne’s drumsticks dropped, hitting the floor in a hollow, echoing rhythm. Dorian’s bass note held, trembling, the string vibrating long after their hands stopped moving. Rin’s head bowed, breath hitching, fingers clawing at the fretboard.
And then hunger hit.

A feral, unstoppable urge tearing through veins, so sharp it made the air sting. Their bodies moved before their minds could catch up.
Screams twisted through the crowd. It started small until the crowd surged, shoving, crushing. Vampires tore into bystanders, blood spattering across cracked tiles, dripping down onto the stage. The scent was intoxicating like gasoline to fire, but beneath it, something was wrong.

Aeryn’s hands trembled around the mic stand, the metal bending in his grip. His chest heaved.

“Stop—”

His voice cracked, strangled. No one could hear him. Roxanne was on her knees, one hand gripping her chest, eyes wide as the air shimmered like heat haze. Dorian stumbled backward, staring at their hands like they were no longer their own.

Bodies began to push and slam their way towards the exit as desperate pleas blended in chaos.

Bloodlust

✨Beyond The Veil✨

Location: • The Undeground Time: • Night

The bass shook the walls, the floor, even the glass in Vex’s hand. The bar was a mess of noise and bodies, but her focus had tunneled to one point.

She’d always kept her distance from Dom, with that magnetic, dangerous pull that came with being what he was. Alphas meant trouble, and she knew better. But tonight? Shots burning her stomach, cocaine and ecstasy tearing through her veins, her body didn’t care. Her mind wasn’t even in the room anymore, blissfully quiet, leaving instinct to run the show.

Neon streaked across her vision when she moved, lights spinning too fast. She caught herself on the bar, laughing too sharply, too suddenly. Everything felt loose, unsteady, and her skin was buzzing, nerves screaming. And underneath it all, stronger than the liquor and drugs, was his scent.

It coiled in her lungs like smoke, heavy and addictive, until she was dizzy from breathing him in. She turned toward him, pupils wide, swaying too close. The crowd pressed and pulled, but she swayed closer, her hip brushing his. It was a mistake. The contact sent a jolt through her, hot and undeniable.

“Dom…” His name slipped out of her, low and drawn, her mouth dry. She steadied herself against him, fingers clumsy as they trailed across his arm until they found his wrist. The steady beat of his pulse throbbed under her touch, grounding and infuriatingly calm against the frantic hammer of her own.

Her lips pulled into a sly curve. “Looks like we’ve got an audience.”

Her gaze cut to the golden eyes watching from the shadows his pack. Her eyes snapped back to him. She pressed against him in time with the bass, eyes lit with something reckless.

“Tell me,” she breathed, close enough her words brushed his skin,“how are you going to explain this?”She bared her teeth in a grin, wild and chaotic, a woman daring the whole room to watch her burn while she laughed.

Dom’s hand came up slow, catching hers where it pressed against his wrist. His thumb brushed once over her knuckles, and the resonance of his voice cut through the bass of the music.

“Let ‘em watch,” He said. “They still know their place. And you…” His eyes narrowed a bit as he looked deeper into her gaze. “…you don’t seem afraid of the eyes on you either, Vex.”

Her smile widened “Afraid? No, sugar. Fear is for prey..The fire in her chest was something she hadn’t felt in a long time. She wanted to keep chasing the white rabbit. Let herself tumble further into the spiral where logic dissolved and only heat and hunger remained.

The music pulsed through her veins like a second heartbeat, urging her deeper, faster, farther. She pressed against him with purpose, her eyes continuing to lock onto the Alpha as if challenging him.

” Difference between them and me is I don’t know my place” she teased. ” Maybe you’re the one afraid? How would you handle something too wild to tame…”

Dominic stood like a stone wall as she pressed against him. His figure did not depart even an inch, as he welcomed the closeness. More than one of his senses could feel her purpose, and the faintest smirk appeared at the edge of his mouth.

“Mhm, me…scared of a woman like you, Vex?” His voice was low enough to reverberate through her as the sound met her ear, low and intimate. An arm wrapped itself around her with the natural movements of their bodies to the music, but as he let his question linger, he pulled her against him even tighter. “Always.” He said in jest, that once upon a time boyish smirk…now that of a leader’s, grew on his face as he could feel the way her body reacted to him.

“So, you’re not just a pretty face after all…” she murmured, her voice dripping with playful warmth. Her lips curved into a half-smile as she tilted her head, eyes flicking up to meet his. “Guess I’ll have to be careful…someone might mistake you for charming.” Her tone was soft but laced with mischief, the edge of laughter brushing her words.

As she gave in to his pull, the distance between them melted away. The music rose, the air between them thick with heat and sound. Her fingers found the crook of his neck, tracing it absentmindedly before resting against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm beneath her palm. The way his touch made her forget everything else, her eyes shut for the briefest of moments, soaking in the silence of all the grief and pain. unaware that something else had begun to move among them.

A faint hiss.

Soft. Constant. Unnoticed.

From the vents above, a colorless gas drifted down like a blanket of fog. Slow, deliberate, threading its way through the heat and sound. To most, it was nothing more than air. No scent. No taste. Nothing.

But to the Lycans…

Vex’s eyes shot open, her bright yellow irises nearly glowing amongst the dark venue. They shot to Doms

”What is that…”

Dom’s head turned just slightly, the shift enough for the club’s pulsing light to cut a gold line across his eyes. The air changed, and he felt it even before he smelled it. Something foreign slid into the rhythm. His grip on Vex’s hand tightened as she voiced her concern.

“That…” he said, “that ain’t part of the show.”

A quiet growl rumbled beneath the music as he lifted his chin toward the vents, instincts kicking hard. The pack was already moving in the corners of his vision, the smell beginning to register to them all.

“Something’s wrong.”

Then, softer…only to her, he demanded.

“Stay close.”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

FLASHBACK

Calbert & Violet

---

Another attack.

Violet sat in the office her mother had made for her, a space cluttered with knowledge and secrets. Shelves overflowed with worn books, strange trinkets, bundles of dried herbs tied with string, and delicate glass vials filled with blood that caught the light like dark jewels. The air was thick with the scent of iron and old paper. But despite being surrounded by tools meant to bring clarity, she was no closer to the truth. Only more questions.

Her crimson eyes slowly scanned the room, searching as if the answers might be hiding in plain sight. With a long sigh, she leaned back in her chair, the wood groaning quietly beneath her. Her thoughts drifted back to that morning, to Alexander’s calm, calculated voice.

“As for your father’s possible concerns. Compulsion is not necessary to sway him. Safety and protection for his family are his priorities, but he also values the political power he holds. Use those motivations to your advantage successfully, and I promise to show you how to compel.”

Her teeth found the tip of her thumb, pressing down idly as her mind spun. The edge of her fang grazed her skin, a familiar sting she barely noticed. She was too lost in thought, wrapped up in questions and possibilities.

A door shut somewhere in the house. Her father’s office.

The sound cut through the silence like a blade. Her thumb slipped from her mouth as she blinked, pulled back to the moment. She drew in a slow breath to steady herself and rose from her seat.

She left the room, her steps cautious but deliberate, and made her way to the office. Standing before the door, she hesitated for just a heartbeat, then lifted her hand and knocked gently.

The door opened rather quickly, and her father’s figure filled her vision, illuminated by the dim light of the office. Calbert stood framed in the doorway, long dark hair falling over his shoulders, steady blue eyes looking down at her. There was still weight in his expression — the kind that had settled on him since the chaos of the banquet night, but it softened as his gaze lingered on her. Greeted by her Crimson eyes, Violet looked up at her father but didn’t say anything.

“Violet,” he greeted. For a moment, it sounded as though he might say more, but instead, he stepped back, holding the door open for her. “Come in…” She stepped around him, walking through the door as she clasped her hands in front of herself. She found her way near his desk, standing just beside the chair.

As she entered, the heaviness in his demeanor did not lift. It clung to the lines of his face, the tight set of his jaw, and the restrained tension in his shoulders. The knowledge that his children had been attacked and the haunting image of Cassius returning home wounded — it all weighed on him like a shadow that refused to leave.

“My dearest girl… there is no torment quite like knowing that you and Cassius were in danger, and I was not there to stand between you and the blade… And worse still, that I did not foresee it.” His gaze softened, though the sorrow in it was unmistakable. “I have been… hoping for the chance to speak with you.”

Shoulders relaxing, Violet offered him a softened smile. ”I was hoping to speak with you as well. Do you have some time? I imagine you're rather busy with everything so I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“For you, Violet, I will always have time.”

Calbert moved from the doorway. He crossed the room and eased himself into the chair behind his desk, the leather creaking softly beneath him. His hand swept across a stack of parchment, tidying it absently before his gaze returned to her. He then gestured toward the chair opposite, the lines around his eyes softening.

“Tell me what weighs on you.”

Sitting in her chair, Violet rested her hands in her lap against the fabrics of her dress “Something has been troubling me for some time.” She admitted as she began taking in a breath before continuing.

” When Cassius was taken, I felt useless. She looked at her father with conviction. “I won't stand by helplessly again while our family suffers. You’ve taught me what loyalty means, but I want to know now how to defend it.”

“My dear Violet,” he began,“your resolve honors me.” Surprised at her father's words, Violet leaned back against her chair, listening intently.

He paused, folding his hands together. “But understand this… True defense is not won by swinging blindly at shadows. Whoever dared strike at us has means, patience, and purpose. To protect one another, we must not act rashly. We must know who, and why, before we answer with force. Knowledge is the sharpest weapon in our arsenal.”

His gaze hardened, “You and your brother have both been touched by danger once already. I will not see it happen again because pride clouded our judgment. For now, you must remain low: no travel without guards, no walks in the night without watchful eyes nearby. Cassius as well. It is not weakness, my dear, but prudence. The moment will come when we strike back, and when it does, we will not miss. But until then… we watch, we listen, and we prepare.”

He gave a faint smile, his tone softening as he reached across to rest his hand gently on hers. “When Cassius has recovered his strength, perhaps he can help you train… to sharpen your skills should the day come when you must stand in defense. And in doing so, he too will learn discipline. You will strengthen one another, as you must if this family is to endure But know this…” His lashes lowered briefly as he exhaled a quiet sigh. “I would much rather see you spared from such burdens. You have endured enough already. I will take this matter to the King as well.”

She offered him a soft smile, her free hand moving to place on top of his. ” Thank you, Father. It has been hard. From my injury, the attack on me at the park, the banquette, the attack just the last evening…” She took in a deep breath, letting out a long sigh.

“ In truth, I don't want to fight, not in the way you may think. As you said, knowledge is a far sharper weapon in any arsenal. Learning more outside of simple courting etiquette and frivolous dining manners.”

Violet adjusted herself in the chair, clearing her throat. “As I am sure you have heard, I’ve taken the role of Mr. Deacon's assistant. Although I understand that it may seem out of place for a lady to work, I am not your typical lady, Father. I don't think it needs to be said that my source of nourishment these days excludes me from being anything but typical. Learning simple tasks and giving myself purpose has done wonders for me, and I hope to continue learning and expanding my knowledge. Mr Deacon has been a great advocate for that, allowing me this opportunity.“

He let the silence breathe, then closed his eyes as if willing the room to still. One hand rose to the bridge of his nose; the other flattened on the desk, steadying the tremor that wanted to show.

“It has been far too much, my darling. I see it in your eyes, and it pains me.” His lashes lifted. For an instant, his expression slipped and the grief behind his stare was raw before her. Then the mask settled back into place. “And though the world has conspired to heap burdens upon you, you are still here, still resolute. That is no small victory.” Violet eyes fell for a brief moment, knowing too well that she had almost given up, yet Alexander kept pushing her forward.

He turned a stack of parchment a quarter-inch, aligning edges that were already aligned, then exhaled through his nose. “I nearly lost you once… and I will not tempt fate again.” A darker edge threaded the vow as he rose and rounded the desk. He stopped close enough to console, not to crowd; his palm hovered over her shoulder before settling there with measured gentleness.

“I know you wish to play this wisely, but you must trust me in this, Violet: you and your brother must be more careful. You are a lady and a lord of House Damien; there are few places to simply disappear in the streets.” He withdrew, returning to his chair, the signet clicking once against the armrest.

“Every step you take is watched.”

He tipped his head, studying her. “…And yet, I confess my pride in your words. Those are not the ambitions of a helpless girl, but of someone who intends to shape outcomes rather than endure them. That is the mark of a Damien,” he said, a faint smile touching his mouth. “The mark of a powerful woman.”

“You bring up Alexander Deacon.” He let the silence invite truth. “Tell me, Violet… how did this partnership begin? And what precisely has he placed in your hands? Do not mistake my questions for distrust, I simply hope to see the whole board so that I can better assist you.”

"It was nothing grand at first, Father. A conversation at one of the events, a curiosity of wanting more from life, and then… an invitation. Mr. Deacon is a man of stature, of vision, and even the smallest chance to assist him felt like a rare honor. He entrusts me with the things that would otherwise pull him away from his greater pursuits. Letters to be delivered, accounts to be kept in order, matters of schedule, and correspondence. Simple tasks, yes… but I hope, in time, to be entrusted with more. I have long admired your work, the purpose you found in it, and perhaps this is my way of seeking the same. After all, I’ve been given so much time, Father… I would rather not squander it without meaning."

When she finished, he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before releasing it.

“Purpose suits you,” he said at last, voice low.

“Practical work may seem simple, but simplicity opens doors. Letters become patterns. Schedules become maps. Maps become leverage.”

He leaned back, fingers steepled, a thoughtful shadow crossing his features and passing.
“You should also know I have set a table for the truth. Mr. Deacon will dine with our family here on Ignis the Second, at the sixth hour.” A faint smile touched his mouth. “I prefer to judge intentions over a table rather than on parchment.”

He let that hang for a heartbeat, then continued. “Between now and then, indulge me a few precautions. Keep a private ledger for yourself—dates, names, what was asked and by whom. Duplicate any letters you carry; Henry will secure the copies. No errands after dusk, and never without an escort. If Mr. Deacon values your talents, he will respect the conditions that keep you safe.” Violet nodded in understanding.

“On Ignis the Second, we will see how his account aligns with yours: what he says, and more importantly, what he chooses not to. From that, we will decide what serves you and what serves this house.”

He paused then admitted with a softer smile, “... No matter the outcome, I am proud of you, Violet Damien, not for what you do, but for who you are. Whatever comes, that pride, that love, will never falter.”

Violet’s lips curved into a tender smile at his praise.

“You honor me, Father… I only hope I can live up to the Damien name. If I have any measure of strength, it is because of you.” Her voice carried quiet warmth, though her hands folded neatly in her lap, still and composed.

“You have never failed me, Violet. Whatever strength you carry, it is yours.”
She hesitated, drawing in a breath as though gathering courage. “I will keep the ledger, as you ask. I will follow your precautions.”

Her head tilted just slightly, a touch of curiosity tempered by deference. “Forgive me if it is bold to ask, but for my curiosity, what is it you hope to find out from him?”

“Bold, perhaps. But not unwelcome.” Calbert hummed thoughtfully as he pondered how he wanted to answer her question.

For a moment, she let the silence stretch, as though reluctant to overstep. Then, gently, she added “What sort of man do you believe him to be? A patron? An ally? Or something more elusive?”

” What I hope to find from Mr. Deacon is not simply whether he is friend or foe. That is far too crude a lens. Men like him seldom fit into such tidy categories.” His gaze steadied on his daughter. “No, what I seek is where his interests intersect with our own, and where they diverge. Hold that question at every turn, and you will not be led astray.“

He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes.“That is why I have called him to our table. What he tells you, and what he tells me, must be weighed together. But more telling will be what he chooses not to say. It is in omissions that true designs are glimpsed.”

“ I see…” she responded softly. ...Men like him had he already made up his mind about who Alexander was?
“ I am afraid that I still have much to learn.” She let out a soft sigh as her expression softened. “ Perhaps had I known what Roman’s interests were, that whole situation at the dinner could have been avoided.”

Calbert’s fingers drumming once on the desk before stilling. “Do not burden yourself with that, Violet. Roman’s behavior was not the work of his own interests. What you saw was no man in control of himself, but a pawn moved by another hand.”

He leaned back, voice lower. “No foresight of yours could have prevented it. The fault lies not with you, nor even fully with him, but with whoever thought to use him to strike at this family. And they will find the cost of that mistake… steep.”

Her eyes flicked up to look at her Father, her face paled more than its natural color. “You… You mean that the whole situation was a setup? To string me up and drag me in front of the entire court?” Her eyes seemed to dart around as her mind raced. “I-I…He..” She looked up at her father as the glitter of tears seemed to gloss her eyes, but it wasn’t sadness, it was anger.

Calbert’s jaw tightened, his lashes immediately lowering as the sound of her voice embedded itself into his very bones.

“... You and I both know that Roman Ravenwood is not a cruel man.” His gaze locked onto the signet on his finger as he sighed. “Reckless perhaps, but never cruel. But that night he smiled as if it were all theater. Even Prince Callum found ways to defend him that defied all reason. ” Violet glanced away for a moment, letting his words sink in.

The leather beneath his hands groaned faintly as he gripped the arms of the chair, his gaze still lowered. “He goaded Cassius relentlessly until the very moment Lady Vikena suddenly embraced him. I watched the shift in his eyes right then, and I watched the words die on his tongue. It was that which told me everything: that he had chosen his targets. He had not come to that banquet with the intention to mock each and every noble, but to strike where it would cut us deepest… More specifically, he was striking at you and Cassius to get a rise out of me.”

At last, his steady gaze lifted to hers, heavy with sorrow. “ He may very well have loved you, and still love you, my darling.” He smiled sadly, “How could he not?” The smile was temporary, but he did reach out to take her hand one more time. “ That night, whatever game he was bound to play took precedence. Every word and every smile was all part of a strategy… And strategy,” his voice dropped quieter, “is a crueler master than heart.”

“Strategy may be cruel, Father… but it is nothing compared to that of a scorned lady.” Her voice cracked, low and unsteady, though the words carried a weight that mimicked her fragility. She bowed her head for a moment.

“Love may have blinded me, but pain has a way of sharpening the eyes, of showing the truth.” Her lashes lowered as her hand lingered over her father’s, though her mind had already drifted elsewhere. To Alexander.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Morning Ignis 2nd
Location: Charity event
Interaction: @FunnyGuyAlexander, @oso Cassius, @princess Charlotte
Mentions:


Violet’s eyes stayed on the stage, tracking Alexander as he carried on with his act. The chatter of the crowd dulled around her, everything pulling tighter into focus. She let Cassius’s hand slip from hers, brushing against him one last time before resting her own neatly in her lap. Her shoulders eased back, though her gaze stayed sharp, studying every movement before the stage.

The bidding war for Charlotte didn’t surprise her. Voices rose, hands shot up, and the room swelled with greedy excitement. When it was over, she clapped with the rest, though her applause was measured, controlled. A glance to Cassius confirmed what she already knew.

Then came the announcement.

“The last and final offer of the Caesonia Dating Auction is yours truly! Alexander Deacon!”

A smile crept across Violet’s lips, slow and deliberate, the kind that carried more weight than it should have.

“No starting bid! I don't expect to get anywhere close to Lady Vikena's value and I doubt I’m desired by one of the Damiens!”

The jab hit clean, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she tilted her head, a faint spark in her eyes as if the insult had only confirmed something she already planned. She leaned back, calm, collected but soon after rose to her feet.

Her hand rested on Cassius’s shoulder, squeezing just firmly enough to linger. Whatever message she meant by it stayed unspoken, locked behind her eyes. She didn't wait long before turning to leave.

Violet didn’t weave through the crowd so much as slip between it, her presence thinning with each step. One woman caught the faint brush of her hand against her sleeve, barely there, only to glance back and find a rather large coin purse in her hand. By the time anyone might have looked for her, Violet was already gone, swallowed by the dim light and the press of bodies.

The empty seat did not remain empty for long. The same older woman, wrapped in silks that shimmered when she moved, all too eager, fanned herself with a jeweled hand and leaned forward with glee. Her voice rang out, clear and bold…

“2000 gold pieces!”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Morning Ignis 2nd
Location: Charity event
Interaction: @oso Cassius
Mentions: @potter Kira, @helo Callum, @FunnyGuy Alexander @princess Charlotte
Violet felt the tremor before she saw it. His hand in hers, squeezing tight enough to grind bone against bone, betrayed him in a way his smile never would. Cassius Vael, the unshakable, the untouchable, reduced to the trembling weight of a brother barely holding himself together. To anyone else, he looked the part. His lazy grin, posture dripping with confidence, voice smooth as silk. But Violet knew.

Callum’s drunken shouts, Kira’s taunting mirth, the delighted gasps as Cassius threw down his bid like a blade across the table, all of it swirled together in a haze of smoke and sweat and coin. The world seemed to lean closer, hungry for the spectacle, waiting for the fracture. Waiting to see if the bastard would finally splinter.

Her eyes moved across them all as if her mind began to piece things together. The scratch, the women…the stabbing. Her eyes moved over them like waves before settling back to Alexander, catching his own look at her.

His gaze held her, deliberate and sharp, amusement threading through it like a knife. But she knew better than to mistake it. That careful delight he reserved for her, the tilt of his head, the flicker of his lips, was real. Everything else was his performance. A master of his own craft. Her eyes held their own admiration, yet her expression remained neutral.

Her stomach tightened, a mix of anticipation and calculated restraint. She knew what she felt. Loyalty, devotion, and then there was something else. She acknowledged it, even if she would not name it aloud. She had to keep her wits about her. Cassius was at the center of this madness, vulnerable, reckless, and more than willing to risk himself. Alexander would not protect him; he would watch, assess, and smile as though it were entertainment. Because to him it was.

Violet knew she needed to play her role. The protective sister, the one who saved his life, the one who cared. A smile curved on her lips as she looked at Alexander. So faint that had he been looking only, he would have caught it before it simply faded back.

When his eyes finally broke away, Violet exhaled in silence, a breath hungry in anticipation. She was fully awake to both the dangers of her feelings and the reality of what she was getting herself into.

Her fingers tightened, steadying his grip with her own, anchoring him as though her hand alone could hold back the storm brewing inside him. Her voice came low, too soft for the mob to hear, sharp enough that he would not mistake it.

“Breathe, Cass.”

She shifted closer, shoulder brushing his. To the crowd, it was nothing, just a sister at her brother’s side, lending him the air of solidarity. But in truth, it was her own chess piece she needed to play. Placing her other free hand on top of his as he continued to bid Violet eyes couldn’t help but look to Charlotte and the thoughts that must be racing behind that beautiful face of hers.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Morning
Location:The Woods > Drunkards day event
Mention: Callum @helo
Interactions:
Appearance: Light blue summer dress, Hair wild and curled. No shoes.

Ari had been sitting there for hours, glaring at the sealed box as if sheer will might force it open.

It didn’t move.

The morning light broke through the trees, catching on the ornate lines of the magic etched across it. She didn’t blink. Her chin stayed tucked against her knees, arms wound tight around herself, like letting go might unravel her entirely. Her eyes flicked, just once, to the stack of journals set neatly to the side. Untouched. They looked smug somehow, like they knew she was too much of a coward to open them. Afraid of what might be waiting inside. Afraid that maybe her parents had taken her memories to protect her. Maybe it had been for her own good.

Her stomach knotted at the thought. No. That was the story she refused to swallow. They hadn’t protected her. They had stolen from her. Her memories. Her voice. Everything that belonged only to her.

Her hand shot forward before she could second-guess herself, dragging one of the journals into her lap. Her fingers hovered on the cover. Breath caught. Then she opened it.

The handwriting was hers. And yet it wasn’t. Neater. Sharper. Forced into tidy lines as though someone had tried to train her pen the same way they trained her smile. Familiar, but wrong. Her throat tightened.

She dropped her eyes to the page.

They think I trip because I’m clumsy. That I knock over glasses, bump into lords, speak out of turn, and forget my place because I’m foolish. It’s almost charming to them, I imagine. Poor Ariella, such a mess. Such a wayward thing. But it’s all a lie. I’ve built this image carefully. Like a spider builds her web, strand by calculated strand. They laugh. They dismiss. They look away. And all the while, I watch. I listen. I wait.

Every spilled drink, every crooked curtsy, every “accidental” insult to one of Mother’s beloved friends,it’s a blade in her side. Embarrassment, shame, whispers… let her choke on them. Let her squirm in her silks, clutching at the legacy she worships. They all deserve to suffer for pretending this cage is a home.

Her breath stuck in her lungs. She should have flinched at the venom in the words, recoiled from the malice. Instead, a shiver rippled through her, something sharp and familiar. She remembered the clumsy bows, the wine slipping from her grip, the sideways words that cut deeper than they should have. She had always told herself it was chance, nerves, a curse of being wrong-footed in the wrong world. But the words on the page, her own words, said it had never been an accident at all.

Her hand pressed flat against the ink, holding it steady, holding herself steady. It felt like looking into a mirror and finding a stranger’s face staring back. A stranger she recognized.

She turned a few pages with trembling fingers.

…Locked up again. Mother shrieking through the halls that I’ll be the death of her. She swears she saw me using magic in the courtyard. Magic. As if she’d even know what real magic looks like. As if I’d waste it on her.

She bolts the door like wood and iron could keep me in. As if I’m not already free. She lives every day convinced I’m waiting to slit her throat. What a life to live, it's pathetic. Sometimes I almost pity her. Then I remember how much she hates me. How badly she wants me small, obedient, to be nothing. She doesn’t even fear me because she knows me. She fears me because she refuses to.

One day, I should show her. Show her what real power looks like. Watch her face when she realizes the lock was never what kept me inside.

Her pulse thudded in her ears. She read on.

The king parades again, drunk on jewels and borrowed power. They call it law, order. Rules bent to keep thrones standing. Chains dressed in gold. But power doesn’t sit in chairs, doesn’t shine in crowns. It hums in roots, in storms, in silence just before blood is spilled. That’s where it lives. That’s where it waits. They cannot cage it, cannot buy it, cannot bend it to their will.

The earth sings to me. Life, death, bloom, decay. All the songs they pretend not to hear. But I hear it. I feel it. The wildness in my veins, the truth their decrees can’t touch. Let the king rot on his throne. Let his courtiers smile with sharpened teeth. Their power is borrowed. Mine is real. Mine is eternal. And when the earth swallows their kingdoms whole, I will laugh as their jewels scatter in the dirt where they belong.

Ariella closed her eyes. Her breath trembled in her throat. The last words clung to her like smoke, heavy and unshakable. She didn’t recoil. She didn’t want to.

It felt like recognition. Like something buried deep had stirred awake.

Her hand slid over the page, slow, deliberate, as though she were touching the hand of a friend she had once known. Closing the book, she held it tight to her chest.

Above her, the morning light cut through the leaves. She lifted her gaze to the canopy, emerald eyes catching the sun.

She wasn’t sure if the journals scared her or if they made her feel whole, but a smile spread to her face.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Arriving late, Ariella slipped into the edge of the gathering just as the bidding was reaching its crescendo. Voices collided with one another in the air, a drunken chorus of shouting and applause, the attention of every eye pulled toward a single figure at the center of it all.

“Three-hundered!” Prince Callum bellowed, his voice carrying over the noise as he waved his arm high. “You. Me. Team-up. TRIANGLE DATE!" His grin split wider, almost feral in its delight, and he flourished his whiskey as though it were a royal scepter. “And we give a big ol’ pile o’ gold to feed the people!”

The crowd erupted in laughter and hollers, some cheering, others pounding their mugs on tables until ale sloshed over the rims.

Ariella’s gaze fixed on him, her brow creasing. His arms stretched wide, crown askew on his head, the glittering metal nearly tumbling free with every movement. It wasn’t his familiar mocking grin that unsettled her; it was the crown. Callum, who cursed its weight, who swore he’d never wear the thing, now wore it as if it were nothing more than a party trick. That image gnawed at her.

She stayed in the back, pressed against the shifting sea of bodies. The air was thick with sour ale and sweat, every breath steeped in the stench of beer. Slurred voices cracked and broke like waves against her ears, drunken songs about the sea spilling from broad-chested men who stumbled into her as if she were part of the ground, nearly missing her exposed toes with their large boots. Their laughter rolled heavy, careless, echoing through her bones.

For a heartbeat, she wanted to cut through the crowd, seize Callum by the arm, and tell him what she had found in her journals. The words were a weight inside her throat, begging release. But she held back. It was his day, his chaos, his crown teetering at a dangerous angle.

So she watched, silent, the swell of the crowd rising and falling like a tide around her. Her eyes drifted away from the prince, combing the gathering. Every unfamiliar face etched itself into her mind, the sharp smiles, the glassy stares, the shifting shadows between them. With so many gathered in one place, the day was a maze of opportunities.

Reaching for a drink that was offered to her, she took it with little thought, smiling before taking a long drink of the ale as she continued to watch the auction.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Morning Ignis 2nd
Location: Charity event
Interaction: @osoCassius
Mentions: @FunnyGuy Alexander @Tae Mina @helo Callum


Violet moved through the crowd like a shadow stretched across the sunlit lawn. Her gown, loose and black, shifted with each breath of wind, stark against the brightness of the morning. Her raven hair fell long and unbound, though she had swept one side back with a red flower. It left her face bare, her eyes catching the light, red and unyielding, lit like rubies. They gleamed with every turn of her head, as though fresh blood burned at their depths.

Her body bore no trace of what it had endured with Cassius. No bruises, no marks. As if nothing had ever happened. But Violet carried it still, buried where no one could see. Just as she carried Alexander’s voice, threading into her thoughts even now. That night with him had left her unsettled in ways she hated to admit: his calm, his sharp truths, the way he had forced her to see herself without her excuses.

Applause rippled through the park, drawing her eyes to the stage. Alexander stood at the center, Mina beside him. Sunlight gilded him, catching the fine cut of his suit, turning his smile into something dazzling. Every inch the master of ceremonies, he spoke, and the crowd bent to listen. Violet felt the pull of it, that easy gravity he carried.

Mina shone in her way, flame-haired and radiant, as though she belonged to the stage itself. The crowd leaned in, eager, their voices low with anticipation as Sorin’s auction began. Violet caught the glances exchanged between the two of them and felt the knot tighten in her chest. She hated that most of all.

Alexander was magnificent. Every word deliberate, every gesture practiced. A predator circling its prey, beautiful and merciless. Violet watched as he and Mina worked the crowd with ease, drawing laughter, coaxing purses open. The people leaned toward them as if they were caught in a spell.

But Violet wasn’t Mina.

He never looked at her the way he looked at Mina, with that bright smile and easy warmth. Yet she had seen sides of him that she could only assume no one else had. The mask stripped away, the charm gone. What it left was something else. Something she couldn’t name, a feeling that lingered like heat too close to the skin. She didn’t understand it, not yet, but it stayed with her all the same as she watched him shine on the stage.

Laughter broke across the lawn, loud and misplaced. Thankfully, it pulled her from her spiraling mind onto Callum. Drunk already, though the sun was still climbing. His glass tipped dangerously in his hand as his voice rose over the music and chatter. Reckless, as always. Too loud. Too exposed. He was a storm with no direction..

Then she saw Cassius.

The smell reached her first: drink, sharp and heavy, tangled with the cloying perfume of some whorehouse. She nearly turned her head, nearly walked past him, but then Charlotte stepped onto the stage. His face changed.

Violet stilled. She knew that look. The hunger in it, the shame stitched to it. A raw, unguarded longing. She had worn it herself once, and seeing it mirrored on her brother’s face made her chest tighten.

She moved without thinking. Crossing the grass, she slipped into the chair beside him. She did not speak. She did not need to. Her eyes stayed on the stage where Alexander’s smile shone like polished glass. Quietly, Violet reached for Cassius’s hand. Her fingers found his, cool and steady, holding him with a gentleness that said more than words could.

She did not look at him. She did not have to. Her hand was enough, an anchor, a promise. Even in the full light of morning, she could still be his shadow.

✨Beyond The Veil✨ Open!

Bumping: Still have more spots open!

✨Beyond The Veil✨

^{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

Location: Underground Club
Time: Night
Interactions: None
Mentions:

^{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

The bass pounded like a second heartbeat, vibrating through Vex’s chest as she moved across the sticky floor of the club. Lights spiraled around her in dizzying neon streaks, bathing her in deep purples and searing blues. Her arms rose above her head, fingers twitching to some rhythm. Sweat clung to her skin like glitter, her body swaying with a slow, serpentine grace, hips rolling, red lips parted around a breathless laugh.

She was high.

Deliriously high.

Every nerve hummed. Her skin tingled beneath the black mesh of her crop top, every brush of air like an intimate touch against her body. The world had no edges, only motion and sensation, and in this moment, she was untouchable. It has been months since she used. Her drug of choice had always been Coke. Though she gambled with it on a Friday evening here and there after Bear’s death, she spiraled. Not remembering much of her benders, she put everything and anything she could in her body at the time, hoping to numb her pain. This high however, she knew this high all too well. Ecstasy.

Vex broke away from the dancefloor, her boots thudding heavily against the ground as she stumbled toward the bar. Using her arms to part through the sea of people, she nearly stumbled over herself a few times.

“Vodka. Straight,” she purred, gripping the counter for balance. Her pupils were blown wide, rimmed with burning gold like the sun caught fire in her eyes. A lazy smirk played on her lips as she waited, leaning against the counter. Reaching into her back pocket, she pulled out another cigarette, holding it between her lips before lighting it. Her hands were shaking as she raised them close to her mouth, unable to control the movement as her vision blurred into a mess. Her eyes narrowed as she attempted to light her cigarette.

Then she felt it.

A voice slurred behind her ear. “Damn, I bet you taste fucking amazing.” The man slipped a baggy of pills into her pocket while his other hand explored. Fingers. Gritty, presumptuous, and pressing against the bare skin of her hip. Sliding lower, reaching below the belt of her jeans. She allowed him the moment to feel as if he were a man, just enough for him to think he held the upper hand.

Vex didn’t respond. She didn’t even flinch. Her hands gave up on the lighter and instead gripped the bar tightly as the bartender came over, setting her drink in front of her, but she didn’t reach for it.

Her shoulders stiffened. Her pupils shrank into glowing, vibrant, and yellow. In one fluid, precise motion, she spun on her heel. Her fist collided with the man’s face like a hammer slamming into drywall, knuckles cracking against bone. His head snapped to the side with a grunt, blood bursting from his nose in a wet pop.

The music didn’t stop. But the people around her did. She stood there breathing heavily, chest rising and falling, golden eyes glowing like embers in the low light.

“You ever touch me again,” she hissed, voice a velvet snarl, “I’ll take your fucking hand.”

The man stumbled back, dazed, clutching his face, and disappeared into the crowd like a cockroach fleeing light. Vex turned back to the bar, casually lifting her vodka with blood-streaked knuckles. She knocked the drink back in one swig before setting the glass down.

With trembling blood-coated hands, she attempted once more to light her cigarette very aware of the fun hidden just in her pocket.