SHADOW

Corruption

The mold was relentlessly attacking the old castle, its fingers tracing a path along the weathered, darkened stone. Count Ambrosio had an aversion to this false grandeur, an aroma that reeked of death and corruption. Nevertheless, here he stood, navigating the turmoil of the castle where greedy eyes tracked his every move.

The air hung heavy with a cacophony of incense, smoke, and perfume, clinging to the opulent bodies of the guests who were adorned in too much scent and too little clothing. Swollen bosoms strained against tightly laced corsets, their vain attempts at allure falling upon a man who had sated his desires ages ago. His sole interest lay in his service to their lord, nothing more and nothing less. He whispered this mantra to himself as the young Duchess of Nom vied desperately for his attention.

"Count Ambrosio, what a pleasure to meet you here this evening," she purred, her gloved hand thrust toward him impatiently, longing for his lips to grace it. He accepted it with gentle reverence, treating her hand as though it were the most precious object he had ever touched. A delicate kiss was planted upon her flesh, his fangs grazing lightly against the exposed skin of her knuckle, eliciting a shiver from her. He felt her tremor reverberate through his arm and couldn't help but smile under his breath. The rich widow would make for a valuable ally. Many wondered how her late husband had met his demise only a few months after their wedding, but few cared enough to investigate. The woman held powerful connections and showered substantial gifts upon the most influential figures at court, ensuring that any past transgressions were conveniently forgotten. She appeared like a porcelain doll with her flawless skin, long blonde tresses, and the allure of a seductress and courtesan. Her gaze lingered on him, and their conversation became tiresome, yet before long, she was easily distracted by a swarm of adoring admirers. Ambrosio slid away, the scent of death lingering beneath her overpowering perfume, causing him to shiver in disgust as he pondered the dark hobbies of the Duchess of Nom.

"Ah, hello, my dear friend," rasped an aged voice behind him, causing Ambrosio to turn. It was the host of the house. Good, it seemed business was afoot after all.

"I was looking for you," Ambrosio replied, attempting to wear a less menacing expression. He was well aware of the imposing nature of his stature, and he tried to appear friendly and diplomatic. Every word he uttered, every move he made, not only represented himself but also their Lord. Everyone knew he was an extension of the Lord's interests, a faithful shadow.

"Could we find a more private spot? I fear our words might be lost in the tumult of chatter and music, Squire Alfonso." To be honest, the music wasn't particularly loud, and the revelry was only moderately spirited. But the matters he wished to discuss were not to be shared in the open like this. Ambrosio cared little if word spread; it would inevitably leak out. Those who wished to keep secrets had no choice but to do so personally or eliminate anyone who learned of them by any other means. In this world, it was impossible to hide anything from anyone. However, in this case, the conversation leaned toward privacy due to its sensitive nature.

The alcove was dimly lit, but Ambrosio was content to sit. He felt uncomfortable hunching over the old man, as he towered well over six feet in height and disliked appearing bent during conversations.

"I wish to purchase this house."