Veins Of Velvet: A Vampire's Affair

2

The next morning, I awoke tangled in silk sheets, my raven-dark hair sprawled like an oil painting across the pillow. I had barely slept—every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. Or rather, the idea of him. Tall. Pale. Brooding. Probably in need of emotional regulation and a proper haircut.

A knock startled me. Not a dramatic midnight knock, mind you. Just Gregory (or Gareth?) bringing in tea and some toast that looked like it had already given up on life.

“Sleep well, Miss Howard?” he asked, setting the tray on a nearby table that groaned under the weight of inherited furniture trauma.

“As well as one can in a house full of echoes and inheritance,” I replied solemnly, sipping my tea and pretending not to notice how badly it needed sugar, honey even. “What time is it?”

“Half-past ten, miss. Bit of fog out today.”

Of course there was. I looked out the window and was greeted with the kind of fog that practically screamed, secrets will be revealed soon. The trees dripped with dew, the sky sagged with tension, and the manor… oh, the manor was still there, brooding on its cliff like a misunderstood teenager.

I dressed slowly, choosing a black velvet skirt and a high-collared blouse—because nothing says “grieving but inquisitive” like high Edwardian fashion—and made my way outside. The grass crunched under my boots as I strolled along the garden path, which seemed to wind toward the forest with suspiciously convenient symbolism.

I paused at the old iron gate that marked the edge of the estate. Beyond it, the hill rose sharply, crowned by the crooked silhouette of Von Aimstel Manor. It seemed closer today. Almost like it had moved in the night.

I shook my head.

“Get a grip, Evangeline,” I muttered, adjusting my circle-framed glasses like a woman who definitely wasn’t about to go investigate a castle.

Still, I didn’t go back inside.

I stood there, letting the wind whip around me dramatically, tugging at my skirts and carrying the distant scent of something.
Roses, maybe. Or regret.

Suddenly, a raven flapped down from a tree and landed on the gate. It cawed once. Loud. Insistent. Judging.

I cawed back, which I immediately regretted.

The raven tilted its head. Then, with a final squawk, it flew off—straight toward the manor.

I stared after it, breath shallow, heart fluttering. What did it mean? Was it a sign?

I didn’t have answers.

But I did have time.

And curiosity.

And possibly very poor decision-making skills.

Tomorrow, I decided, I would go up that hill.