Vivienne strode down the hall with purpose, her bare feet barely making a sound. Renzia followed a step behind, silent as always, her unnervingly precise movements adding an eerie undertone to their departure. The pouch of coin rested comfortably in Vivienne’s hand, a tangible reminder of her newfound mission. She gave it an idle toss, the clinking of the coins punctuating the rhythm of their footsteps.
As they neared the estate’s main entrance, the sound of hurried, heavier footsteps caught Vivienne’s attention. She tilted her head slightly, glancing down the corridor just in time to see a familiar figure emerge. Rava, clad in her leather armor, was striding toward them with her usual confidence, some clothing in hand. Her piercing gaze swept over Vivienne and Renzia, narrowing slightly as they stopped in front of her.
“And where are you off to in such a rush?” Rava asked with curiosity.
Vivienne smirked, holding up the pouch of coins as if it were some grand prize. “Our dear Narek has commissioned me for a little side project. Something about digging up a mole and untangling some Sovereignty scheming.”
Rava’s expression hardened instantly. “A mole? Within Serkoth?”
Vivienne nodded, slipping the pouch into one of her pockets. “That’s the word. And it seems our first stop is the lovely Lysandro Kelyth. Apparently, he’s got some skeletons in his closet—and I do love skeletons.”
Rava’s jaw tightened, her hands resting on her hips. “Lysandro… He’s always been a snake. ”
“I hope so,” Vivienne said, a glint of amusement in her crimson eyes. “The worse he is, the more likely I think Narek will let me have free reign.”
Rava sighed, shaking her head. “Why did I expect any different from you.”
Vivienne’s smirk softened into something more neutral. “Don't worry. Believe it or not, I am taking this seriously.”
Rava studied her for a long moment, her icy blue eyes unreadable. Finally, she nodded. “Fine. But be careful. Please.”
“Will do,” Vivienne replied with a mock salute. “I’ll try to behave.”
Rava’s gaze shifted to Renzia, who had been standing quietly throughout the exchange. The mannequin’s head tilted slightly, her stitched face as unreadable as ever. “And you’re bringing her?” Rava asked.
Vivienne glanced back at Renzia and shrugged. “She’s my charge now. Besides, I think she’s more capable than she looks. Aren’t you, darling?”
Renzia lifted her slate and scribbled quickly before holding it up. I will protect Mistress.
Rava’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she said, though the concern in her voice was unmistakable.
“Always,” Vivienne replied with a wink. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have an aristocrat to unsettle.”
Rava rolled her eyes and let the pair pass her, disappearing in the direction they came from.
The midday sun cast warm, golden light over the bustling streets of the city. Vendors called out from their stalls, offering everything from fresh produce to finely crafted jewelry, and the chatter of passersby created a lively hum. Vivienne stepped out of the estate with a sense of purpose, her sharp gaze scanning the scene ahead.
Renzia followed closely, her movements as precise and deliberate as ever. For a moment, Vivienne glanced back at her unusual companion, her thoughts briefly lingering on the mannequin’s inscrutable nature. Whatever Renzia had been before, she was hers now—and Vivienne intended to make good use of her.
As they wove through the streets, Vivienne’s lips curled into a sly grin. “This Lysandro thinks he’s untouchable,” she mused aloud. “Hiding behind his name, his wealth, his little games. But everyone has a crack in their armour, Renzia. We just need to find his.”
Renzia raised her slate, scribbling as they walked. What if he resists?
Vivienne chuckled, her voice low and smooth. “Oh, darling, I'm hoping for it. It’ll make breaking him all the more satisfying.”
They passed a row of tall, elegant buildings, their facades adorned with intricate carvings and wrought iron balconies. The contrast between the opulence here and the humbler districts they’d traversed earlier was stark.
“According to Narek, the Kelyth family has always been about appearances, contrary to most in Serkoth,” Vivienne continued, her tone laced with amusement, “but appearances can be deceiving. Let’s see how far Lysandro is willing to go to keep his pretty little lies intact.”
Renzia wrote again, her movements quick and deliberate. Will you hurt him?
Vivienne glanced at her, her black eyes gleaming. “Only if I have to. Fear is a much cleaner weapon, and far more effective. Besides, hurting people can be so... messy.”
They turned a corner, the Black Veil coming into view. Its polished exterior gleamed in the sunlight, and the faint murmur of activity inside hinted at the kind of exclusivity it promised. Vivienne’s grin widened as they approached the entrance, the guards flanking the doorway already eyeing them warily.
“Afternoon, gentlemen,” Vivienne said smoothly, her tone dripping with charm. She flashed the coin pouch just enough to catch their attention. “My associate and I have business inside.”
The guards exchanged a glance but did not move. "No monsters allowed," one said with a stoic face, though Vivienne could taste the fear radiating off him.
Her grin widened, sharp and knowing, as she leaned slightly closer. “Monster? Oh, sweetheart,” she purred, her voice dropping into a dangerously playful tone, “you haven’t seen a monster yet. But if you’d like to, I’d be more than happy to give you a demonstration.”
"I've heard of you, beast. Has the twilight fang let you off your leash?" spat the other, his voice steady but his hands trembling slightly.
Vivienne’s grin stretched wider, almost predatory, as her black eyes glinted with amusement. "My, my, such bravery," she said, her tone mockingly sweet. "I wonder if you’d be this bold if Lady Ravanyr were here." The guards stiffened slightly at the name, but their disdainful expressions didn’t waver.
"Understand something, little morsels," Vivienne continued, her voice dipping into a low growl. "I wear that leash because I choose to, not because I am forced to."
Despite the bravado, the faint smell of fear lingered in the air, sharp and enticing. Vivienne could sense their resolve, shaky but intact. Finally, she leaned back and gave an approving nod. "Not bad," she said, almost casually. "You’ve got backbone. I like that."
With a flick of her hand, she turned away, gesturing for Renzia to follow. "Come along, darling. Let’s not waste our time here."
The guards exchanged nervous glances but didn’t move to stop her as she walked away, her pace leisurely, almost playful. Once they were out of sight, Vivienne’s grin faded into a thoughtful expression.
"Well, that was fun," she muttered, glancing at Renzia. "But now we’ll have to be a bit more creative."
Renzia raised her slate. What is the plan now, Mistress?
Vivienne’s lips curved into a sly smile. "We’re taking the scenic route. Let’s circle back and find ourselves a nice, discreet way in. The front door isn’t the only option."
With that, they slipped into a side street, their path weaving through narrow alleys and quieter parts of the city. The Black Veil loomed behind them, its presence a beacon as Vivienne traced a wide arc around the block, scanning for potential vulnerabilities. Eventually, they came upon a smaller, unguarded side entrance.
Vivienne crouched slightly, inspecting the doorway. It was simple and unadorned, likely used by staff or for deliveries. Her sharp black eyes studied the hinges and lock, her fingers lightly tracing the frame as she muttered, “No guards. No magical seals. Someone’s slacking.” A grin crept across her lips, the prospect of slipping through undetected too tempting to ignore.
Renzia scribbled quickly on her slate and held it up. Will we break in?
Vivienne tapped her chin thoughtfully, her expression turning contemplative. “I could probably shift and slip in, but you? That might be tricky. Maybe we could find an entry point on the second floor. A window, perhaps, unless…” She tilted her head, her dark eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Unless you happen to have a lockpick on you?”
Renzia tilted her head, her stitched face unreadable. She raised her hand, and without hesitation, metallic tools sprouted from her fingertips. Their asymmetrical forms resembled jagged claws, gleaming faintly in the dim light.
Vivienne’s quintet of eyes widened, her surprise evident. “Well, color me impressed,” she said, clearly delighted. “That’ll do nicely, darling. Who needs a lockpick when you’ve got… whatever that is?” She gestured toward the lock with a flourish. “Show me what you’ve got.”
Renzia stepped forward, her movements eerily smooth. One of her improvised tools extended toward the lock, and the faint sound of metal against metal echoed softly as she worked with uncanny precision. Within moments, the lock gave a satisfying click, and the door creaked open slightly, revealing a dimly lit corridor beyond.
Vivienne leaned closer, peering into the shadowy interior. “Efficient and quiet. I think I might just keep you around forever, Renzia.”
Renzia scribbled quickly on her slate. Mistress is kind. I will always assist.
Vivienne chuckled softly as she stepped through the doorway. “Careful, darling. Flattery will get you everywhere.” She gestured for Renzia to follow. “Come on, let’s see what secrets this place is hiding.”
The corridor was narrow and unremarkable, its walls lined with plain wooden panels and faintly glowing sconces. The air inside was cooler, tinged with the faint scent of wine and spices. Vivienne’s eyes darted around, her senses on high alert as she took in her surroundings.
“Staff entrance, clearly,” she murmured, her voice low. “Let’s keep to the edges. No sense in attracting attention just yet.”
Renzia nodded, her steps eerily silent as she followed close behind. The pair moved with practiced stealth, the soft sound of their movements blending into the ambient hum of the building. Occasionally, Vivienne paused, tilting her head to listen for any approaching footsteps.
As they pressed deeper into the club, the muted hum of conversation and music began to grow louder. Vivienne followed the sound until they reached a balcony overlooking a lavish, multi-tiered lounge. Below, patrons in finely tailored clothing mingled, their laughter and chatter blending with the soft strains of a string quartet.
On the upper level, a smaller gathering of wealthier guests watched from ornate lounges. The air here was thick with perfumed smoke and cloying perfumes. Vivienne’s sharp gaze swept the scene.
“Renzia, darling, stay here,” Vivienne said, her voice low but firm. “Blend into the shadows or…” She trailed off, noting a vacant alcove near an ornate vase and sculpture. “Stand there. Don’t move. They’ll think you’re part of the decor.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
Renzia nodded, her movements fluid but deliberate as she stepped into the alcove and froze. Her stitched face and rigid posture made her indistinguishable from an art piece, and Vivienne suppressed a chuckle.
Descending to the lower floor, Vivienne adjusted her stride to something unremarkable. She neither slinked nor commanded, blending into the crowd with practiced ease. Her quintet of eyes scanned the room while she nursed a faint, sharp grin.
Above, murmurs began to rise around Renzia’s stationary figure.
“Is that new?” a man asked, gesturing toward her.
“Hmm, quite avant-garde. I like it,” a woman replied, sipping from a glass of crimson wine.
Another guest sniffed dismissively. “It’s grotesque. Who’d commission something so… unnatural?”
Renzia remained perfectly still, her slate tucked away. The faint glint of her claw-like tools caught the light, but otherwise, she gave no indication of awareness.
On the lower floor, Vivienne caught snatches of conversation—idle gossip and hints of Serkoth politics. She drifted between groups, her black eyes always searching, listening for any morsel of useful information. Her predatory instincts sharpened as she sensed someone watching her.
It didn’t take long to find the source. From the upper level, a man with tied-back black hair and a slim build leaned on the railing. His orange eyes gleamed with interest as he studied her. Even from this distance, Vivienne could sense his curiosity, tinged with amusement.
“Looks like the prey has come to me,” she murmured under her breath, her grin widening.
A servant approached her discreetly, bowing slightly. “Madam, Master Lysandro requests a private word with you.”
Vivienne’s smile turned sharper. “How polite of him. Lead the way.”
As the servant guided her toward a quieter alcove, Vivienne glanced briefly back at Renzia, who remained unnoticed in her alcove. Her mannequin companion didn’t move but seemed to radiate readiness even in stillness.
Vivienne entered the private space to find Lysandro lounging on a velvet settee. His androgynous beauty was striking, almost otherworldly. His features were delicate yet defined, with sharp cheekbones and a perfectly symmetrical face that could have been carved from marble. Long black hair cascaded over his shoulders, framing his face in silken waves, while his orange eyes glowed faintly under the dim lighting, exuding an intense allure.
He was surrounded by a small entourage of sycophants, all dressed in the finest silks and adorned with jewelry that sparkled in the low light. Their laughter was hollow, their compliments overzealous as they fawned over him. One leaned in, whispering something into his ear, which prompted a soft, melodic chuckle from Lysandro as he waved them away with a graceful flick of his wrist.
“The rumors didn’t do you justice,” he said, his voice smooth and edged with intrigue, like velvet wrapped around a blade. His gaze fixed on Vivienne, assessing her with a faint smirk. “Vivienne, isn’t it?”
Vivienne stepped closer, her black eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and menace. “Depends on who’s asking,” she replied lightly. Her tone carried a subtle warning as she folded her arms and tilted her head. “And what they want.”
Lysandro’s smirk widened, and he leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand. “Oh, I simply wanted to meet the woman who’s been the subject of so many fascinating tales. You do have a reputation, after all. Care to join me?” He gestured toward a plush seat opposite his, the invitation laced with an almost predatory charm.
“How could I possibly refuse such a gracious offer?” Vivienne replied smoothly, settling into the seat with deliberate poise. Each movement she made seemed crafted to mirror his composure, a dance of subtle control.
Lyssandro, ever the picture of elegance, took a slow sip from his glass of wine, the dark liquid reflecting the dim light of the room. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit to my humble establishment?” he asked, his voice casual, yet sharp. “I hear that since your arrival, you’ve become quite inseparable from the Twilight Fang. Lady Ravanyr, I believe?”
Vivienne hummed in thought, her fingers absentmindedly tapping the edge of the table, eyes flicking briefly to the chandelier above. “As much as I do enjoy her company, I find our methods of unwinding are... not exactly aligned,” she said, her tone light but pointed, as if the words held layers beneath them.
Lyssandro’s lips curved into a smile that never quite reached his eyes, the flicker of something unreadable lurking there. “I see. The Serkoth family is known for being... rather upright,” he remarked, his voice carrying the faintest hint of amusement.
Vivienne arched a brow, meeting his gaze with an amused, almost defiant glint in her own eyes. "Upright?" she repeated, her voice laced with irony, "Is that what you call it? Or perhaps it's simply that some prefer the games of power played on a different level than others. More... subtle, perhaps."
Lyssandro’s smile flickered but remained, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied her. "Subtlety, yes. That is one thing I do appreciate in a person." He gestured toward the bottle on the table, lifting his glass with a raised brow. "Would you care for a drink?"
Vivienne glanced at the wine, but only briefly. She shook her head, her smile almost imperceptible, yet laced with something colder than before. "No, thank you," she replied smoothly, her voice darkening just a fraction. "I have other... vices." The words slipped out like a promise, weighted with malice.
Lyssandro raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, his curiosity piqued. "Oh?" he asked, his tone light but with an edge. "And what vices does someone like you indulge in?"
Vivienne’s lips curled just slightly, her gaze never leaving his. "While I might get drunk on simple spirits and ales, I prefer something less... tangible." Her long, tendril-like black tongue flicked from the side of her mouth, tasting the air with an unsettling grace. "Aether," she continued, her voice almost a purr. "It’s what I feast on. And the more fear the prey carries, the sweeter the flavor."
A tense hush fell over the small crowd, the murmurs of unease beginning to stir. Vivienne could feel it—the wave of fear rising in the room, a rich, almost intoxicating scent hanging in the air. Her hunger gnawed at her, urging her to savor it, but she clenched it back. She was on a job, after all. Though... perhaps if things were to go pear-shaped, she wouldn’t mind indulging a little more.
Lyssandro’s smile faltered, his composure slipping just for a moment as he processed her words. He quickly recovered, though, his voice now tinged with more caution than before. "I... see." He leaned back slightly, clearly weighing his next words. "If you don't mind me asking, Lady Vivienne... what exactly are you?"
Vivienne leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with an unsettling hunger that could almost be tasted in the air. "Hungry," she replied simply, her voice low and laced with a dark promise.
His gaze flickered for a brief moment, but he quickly masked his reaction with a tight smile. He set his glass down slowly, the sound of it against the table ringing just a little too loudly in the sudden tension of the room. “How... fascinating,” he said, his voice measured, though his eyes never strayed far from hers. “And does this hunger drive all of your decisions, Lady Vivienne?”
Vivienne’s eyes narrowed slightly, the corners of her lips curling into a small, knowing smile. “Not all of them,” she said softly, her voice like velvet. She shifted in her seat, her fingers brushing against the surface of the table, tapping once, twice, as if counting the seconds. “But the best ones. And right now I’m deciding if you are friends or food.”
Lyssandro’s mask of composure cracked, just for a fraction of a second. The sound of his breath hitching was barely audible, but Vivienne caught it—and relished it. His lips parted slightly as if to speak, but no words came immediately. He reached for his glass again, swirling the wine in a deliberate motion, his gaze fixed on the deep red liquid as though it might hold answers.
“Well,” he finally said, his voice quieter now, but still attempting its practiced charm. “I do hope I fall into the former category, Lady Vivienne. I’d like to think I provide more... value alive than I would as a meal.” His eyes lifted to meet hers, and though his smile remained, there was no mistaking the flicker of uncertainty in them.
Vivienne leaned back in her chair with languid grace, her sharp smile lingering like a blade’s edge. “That remains to be seen,” she said, her voice light but deadly. “Though I must admit, you’ve already proven yourself a curious host. Few would maintain their composure under such... pressure.” Her tendril-like tongue flicked out again, tasting the tension in the air. “I appreciate that in a potential ally.”
The murmurs among the crowd had grown quieter, but the unease in the room was palpable. Vivienne could feel the delicious ebb and flow of fear around her, each glance and whispered word feeding her in the most tantalizing way. But she kept her hunger in check, her focus never wavering from Lyssandro.
Lyssandro, regaining some of his footing, leaned forward slightly, his tone regaining a hint of its earlier confidence. “And what exactly does an ally gain in a partnership with you, Lady Vivienne? Surely, such an arrangement wouldn’t come without... complications.”
Vivienne tilted her head, her crimson eyes gleaming faintly. “Doesn’t any partnership?” she replied smoothly, her voice like a fine blade slipping into its sheath. “Would I not run into complications from you?”
Lyssandro’s lips curved into a smile, sharp and calculating. “I suppose you’re right, Lady Vivienne. Complications are a given in our line of... business. But tell me, what is it you truly want from me?”
“I want influence and money,” Vivienne said without hesitation, her voice firm but unhurried. “And power most of all, though I doubt you could help me there.”
Lyssandro’s smile grew wider, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Power, you say? Ambitious. But then, ambition often makes for treacherous company. How would I trust you? My distaste for the Serkoth family is hardly a secret, and you seem rather... ingratiated with them.”
Vivienne chuckled softly, the sound low and throaty, her grin curling wickedly. “I did say I wanted influence, didn’t I? And having favors owed to me is influence itself. The Serkoth family is useful. For now.”
Lyssandro regarded her carefully, his dark ears twitching as he weighed her words. His smile shifted slightly, a spark of amusement flickering in his eyes. “You make an interesting case,” he said at last. His hand motioned faintly toward the murmuring patrons around him, his voice rising just enough for them to hear. “It seems my company agrees.”
The murmurs of approval swept through the room like a quiet tide, the gathered patrons nodding and exchanging whispers. Vivienne let her eyes flick briefly over the crowd, her expression betraying nothing but a subtle satisfaction. She could feel the shifting dynamics in the air, the currents of power subtly bending in her favor.
Lyssandro steepled his fingers, his gaze narrowing as he leaned back in his chair, feigning a casual demeanor. “Very well,” he said, his voice smooth. “Let’s say I entertain the notion of an alliance. What, precisely, would you have me do? Influence and wealth don’t flow freely without purpose.”
Vivienne rested her chin on her hand, her smile widening as though she had been waiting for this question. “Information,” she said simply, letting the word settle like a hook in the water. “You have ears in places others can’t reach, Lyssandro. Eyes that see things others prefer to keep hidden. I want access to them.”
Lyssandro’s smile thinned slightly, his eyes narrowing as he regarded her with a mix of caution and curiosity. “You ask a lot, Lady Vivienne. And yet, you’ve offered very little in return.”
Vivienne leaned forward, her grin widening into something sharp and wicked, a glint of mischief and menace flashing in her crimson eyes. “Oh, little Lyssandro,” she said, her voice like honey laced with venom. “You underestimate what I offer.”
Without warning, her legs began to shift and melt, merging seamlessly together. A sickening crack echoed through the room as her lower body bulged and reshaped itself, forming the grotesque, chitinous limbs of a spider. Gasps rippled through the crowd as her drider form emerged in its full glory, towering and predatory. Her sudden transformation knocked her chair back with a loud crash, the delicate balance of the gathering shattered.
“I am a shapeshifter,” she said, her voice cutting through the growing murmurs of fear like a blade. “I can get into places no one else can. Do things no one else dares. And this—” she gestured at her massive, arachnid lower half, the spindly legs clicking ominously against the floor, “—is only one of my forms.”
The room was utterly still, save for the faint, trembling breaths of those too frozen to move. Lyssandro sat rigid, his expression carefully blank, though his ears betrayed him with a faint twitch.
“I can specialise in stealth and guile.”
Vivienne smiled at his discomfort, her form beginning to shift again. The inky blackness of her body melted like wax, pooling onto the floor as her dress fell, empty, onto the couch. For a moment, she was nothing more than a shapeless void, a roiling mass of liquid darkness, before she reformed with a sickening squelch. Rising from the shadows, her hydra form emerged—six serpentine heads snapping and writhing, their fangs glistening like ivory daggers. Her sheer bulk filled the room, pressing against the walls.
The gasps turned to screams as several patrons scrambled for the door, their panic reaching a fever pitch. But Vivienne was faster. Despite her immense size, she moved with terrifying speed, her massive bulk cutting off their escape. The cacophony of her three heads speaking in discordant unison froze them in place.
“Or destruction,” she hissed, her voices layered and alien, vibrating with an otherworldly resonance.
The crowd recoiled, pressing themselves against the farthest corners of the room. Even Lyssandro, ever the composed host, now wore a veneer of genuine fear. His hands gripped the edge of the table tightly, his knuckles whitening as he fought to maintain his composure.
Vivienne allowed the tension to linger, savoring the scent of fear that thickened the air. One of her serpentine heads leaned close to Lyssandro, its fangs hovering mere inches from his face. “Do you still doubt my worth?” she asked, her voice dripping with dark amusement.
He swallowed hard, his words caught in his throat. After a moment, he forced a shaky laugh. “You’ve made... an impression, Lady Vivienne. That much is clear.”
Satisfied, Vivienne began to shift again. Her hydra form melted away, receding into her humanoid shape. Being quite nude, she confidently strode over the ruined couch and picked up her dress, slipping it over her head and neatly guiding her elbow spine into the crude holes she had made for them. She took a seat, ignoring the state of it, her movements as smooth and deliberate as if nothing had happened. Around her, the room remained deathly silent, save for the faint whimpers of the terrified onlookers.
Lyssandro exhaled slowly, regaining some of his composure. He reached for his glass of wine, his hand trembling slightly as he lifted it to his lips. “You are... an intriguing individual, Lady Vivienne,” he said, his voice steadier than before. “And I can see why others might find you... persuasive.”
Vivienne chuckled softly, her sharp grin returning. “Persuasion is a useful tool, but fear is a universal language,” she said. “I speak it fluently.”
The room’s tension began to ease, though it was clear that no one would forget what they had witnessed. Lyssandro set his glass down, his fingers drumming lightly on the table as he considered his next words.
“Very well,” he said at last, his voice measured. “You’ve convinced me that you’re more than capable of achieving your goals. But capability is not trust. If we are to be allies, I will need assurances.”
Vivienne’s eyes narrowed slightly, her smile unwavering. “Assurances are for the weak,” she said. “But I am feeling generous. What do you propose?”
Lyssandro leaned forward, his confidence slowly returning. “A test,” he said. “Prove your loyalty—or at least your usefulness. There’s a certain... problem I’ve been meaning to address. If you can solve it, we can talk about the terms of our alliance.”
Vivienne’s grin widened, her sharp teeth glinting in the dim light. “I do love a good challenge,” she said. “Tell me more about this... problem of yours.”