The mansion was alive with its own dark pulse, a labyrinthine beast of stone and shadow. Every corridor, every doorway seemed to breathe with secrets—some whispered by the slaves who worked its halls, others locked away behind heavy doors. Today, Luke would glimpse more of its depths than he ever had before.
Assigned to solo cleaning duties after the morning bloodletting, Luke welcomed the opportunity to wander further than the west wing and dining hall. He hoped the monotony of scrubbing and dusting would drown the restless anger still bubbling inside him from the sight of Jake's battered body the night before.
Cleaning the Vampire Chambers
The first rooms were typical of the high-ranking vampires: lavishly furnished with dark woods, velvet drapes, and ornate chandeliers. Each chamber bore the personality of its occupant.
In one room, Luke found an unsettling collection of bones displayed in a glass cabinet—human, by the looks of it. The vampire who resided there was known for her "artistic" tendencies, using the remains of those who displeased her to create macabre sculptures.
In another, a male vampire's walls were lined with mirrors—not for vanity, but for punishment. Luke shuddered as he recalled hearing slaves talk about how the mirrors were enchanted to trap the reflections of those who angered him, forcing them to watch themselves waste away until death.
Every room seemed to carry its own horrors, and Luke's anger simmered beneath the surface as he scrubbed floors and polished furniture.
In one of the chambers, Luke encountered another vampire, lounging in a high-backed chair while sipping from a crystal goblet. The metallic scent in the air made it clear what he was drinking.
A low whimper drew Luke's attention to the corner of the room. There, in a cage far too small for a human, was a young woman, her naked body marred by whip marks. Her arms were folded tightly around herself as though trying to hold together the last shreds of her dignity.
"Beautiful, isn't she?" the vampire said lazily, noticing Luke's glance.
Luke tightened his grip on the cleaning cloth in his hand. "Yes, my lord," he said through clenched teeth.
The vampire chuckled. "Don't look so grim, slave. She's just a pet. They're made to endure." He drained the last of his goblet and waved Luke away. "Go on, then. Unless you'd like to join her in the cage."
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Luke left quickly, the image of the caged woman burned into his mind. His fists trembled as he carried his cleaning supplies to the next room, but he knew there was nothing he could do—not yet.
As the day wore on, Luke was assigned to clean near the mansion's forbidden east wing, a place spoken of only in hushed whispers among the slaves. It was said to house the chambers of the Arch Vampire, the one who ruled over the mansion—and likely the entire region—with absolute authority.
The Arch Vampire rarely left his chambers, but his presence was felt everywhere. Even the high-ranking vampires lowered their voices and tread carefully when speaking of him.
Luke's heart raced as he approached the heavily guarded hallway leading to the Arch Vampire's chambers. Two towering vampires in dark armor stood at the entrance, their expressions as cold and unyielding as the stone walls around them.
"No closer," one of them barked as Luke moved within ten paces of the doors.
Luke nodded quickly, setting his bucket down and pretending to focus on scrubbing the floor. He risked a glance at the doors—massive and made of black iron, intricately carved with symbols that seemed to shift and writhe when he looked at them too long.
Rumors swirled among the slaves about what lay beyond those doors. Some said the Arch Vampire kept an army of feral vampires chained in the depths, ready to unleash upon any who dared defy him. Others whispered that he could read the minds of everyone in the mansion, that he already knew every secret and plot before they even formed.
As Luke cleaned, he caught snippets of conversation from the guards.
"He's been restless lately," one muttered.
"Can you blame him? The rebellion in the north grows stronger every day. It won't be long before they're at our gates."
The other scoffed. "Let them come. He'll crush them like he always does."
Luke's ears pricked at the mention of a rebellion, but he kept his gaze fixed on the floor, scrubbing harder to mask his eavesdropping.
Later that evening, Luke was sent to deliver a fresh vial of his blood to Lord Malric, one of the mansion's most enigmatic high-ranking vampires.
Malric's chambers were stark compared to the others—a simple desk, a few bookshelves, and an armchair by the window. The vampire himself sat behind the desk, his piercing gray eyes studying Luke as he entered.
"Ah, 1461," Malric said, his voice smooth but tinged with an edge of amusement. "Come in."
Luke placed the silver tray on the desk and stepped back, lowering his gaze.
"Interesting," Malric said, leaning back in his chair. "You don't bow like the others."
"I... mean no disrespect, my lord," Luke replied carefully.
Malric smirked. "Of course you don't. But it's refreshing. Most slaves are so... broken."
He rose from his chair, circling Luke slowly. "There's something in your eyes. Defiance, perhaps? It's rare to see that here."
Luke kept his expression neutral, but his heart raced.
Malric stopped in front of him, his gaze sharp and calculating. "Tell me, slave. Do you plan to escape this place?"
Luke's breath caught, but he forced himself to remain calm. "No, my lord. I serve the mansion."
Malric chuckled, a low and knowing sound. "You're a terrible liar. But don't worry—I find it entertaining. After all, it's been far too long since anyone had the courage to try."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "If you ever do decide to make a move... perhaps I could be of assistance. I'm not fond of the way the others treat humans, you see. It's... distasteful."
Luke met Malric's gaze briefly, searching for any sign of deception. The vampire's expression was unreadable.
"Go now," Malric said, stepping back. "Before someone less understanding decides to question you."
Luke nodded, his mind racing as he left the room. He didn't trust Malric, but the vampire's words planted a seed of possibility—a dangerous but undeniable hope