𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐘 . 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐓

𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒È𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑 𝐔𝐍𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐄.

1994;

Within the walls of Cicely Rosier's manor, tranquility had become the new norm. Since her husband's untimely demise, the once blaring home had turned into a haunting echo of its former self. The halls whispered with the remnants of Axel's drunken outbursts, the shattering of glass he callously shattered, and the presence of women he shamelessly enticed into his marital sanctuary.

Cicely longed for more than just silence within her manor's walls. She craved the symphony of bustling footsteps, the constant flow of visitors gracing her home, and the intoxicating allure of articles written about her, her son, and their esteemed lineage. A woman of unyielding pride, her ego yearned not for mere sustenance, but for ravenous feasting.

"Watch your step," Anton hissed, his voice laced with a mixture of pain and frustration, as Leon's hand, clutching the razor-sharp blade, inadvertently nicked his chest while meticulously shaving away the hair.

Leon let out a derisive chuckle, his tone dripping with a hint of amusement. "Relax," he retorted, his voice steady as he continued his task, smoothly spreading the cream across Anton's chest. With each precise stroke of the blade, the hairs surrendered, leaving behind a velvety smooth surface.

"Is this really your ideal image of me?" Anton questioned, shaking his head from his seated position. Leon responded with a soft hum, confirming his preference. "Well then, perhaps you should seek someone more youthful if you desire a practically hairless version of me," Anton suggested, his words laced with a touch of wryness.

"You're not completely hairless," Leon replied, his voice filled with a playful tone as his free hand reached out to Anton's thick, dark curls. He looked at Anton suggestively and added, "You Burke's and your luscious hair, always making a statement."

"It's a double-edged sword," Anton sighed, leaning back in his chair. As he did so, Leon's gaze fixated on Anton's inked forearm, catching Anton's attention.

"I remain with no mark," Leon said, shaking his head, his blond locks cascading onto his forehead. "My mother has already gone mad over it."

"Leon, you'll get it soon," Anton reassured, his voice filled with hope.

"Will I?" Leon asked rhetorically. "Because it feels like I'm failing miserably at it."

"Well, you're not missing out on much," Anton nonchalantly shrugged, his careless gesture causing the blade to once again graze his skin, drawing forth a crimson trail. A muffled curse escaped his lips, swallowed by the heavy air of secrecy that enveloped them. "Besides, what exactly are you failing at? Is it the elusive pursuit of joining their cult?"

"Yes, precisely," Leon nodded, his voice laced with a firm resolve. "She persistently draws comparisons between me and that wretched cousin of mine." His words dripped with disdain, a bitter taste lingering on his tongue.

"Viola Black," Anton mused, his voice tinged with intrigue as he considered Leon's words. "Is she truly as abhorrent as you say?"

Leon paused, his tone shifting to a more detached observation. "In truth, not really. She's not exactly repulsive. Dark hair, lips that catch your attention, and eyes that hold a mix of gray and blue--"

"Alright, spare me the details you seem to have memorized," Anton interjected, his tone curt and dismissive, cutting off Leon's ongoing description of the girl.