"In a world where vampires had been forgotten by humanity, the story unfolds with the revelation of their existence. These ancient beings, originally hailing from Brazil, are the royal vampires, hidden from the collective memory of the world for cen...
ཻུ۪۪♡ ͎. ｡˚ • METAONIA • CHAPTER TWENTY TWO — what are you really?
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ESTELA sat at her vanity, the dim light of the room casting a warm glow across her face. Her hand moved methodically, brushing through her dark hair as she gazed into the mirror, lost in thought. The reflection staring back at her was one of poise and strength, but beneath that calm exterior, a storm of emotions brewed.
As she continued to brush her hair, the silence was broken by a faint knock. Estela's keen hearing picked up the sound instantly. With a flicker of curiosity, she set the brush down and used her vampire speed to reach the door in the blink of an eye. The cool air of the hallway greeted her as she looked down to see a box resting on the doorstep.
A note was attached to the top, its edges slightly curled as if it had been hastily placed. Estela raised an eyebrow, her instincts on high alert. She bent down, lifting the box with ease, and walked back into the living room, her movements graceful and deliberate. Setting the box on a nearby table, she picked up the note and unfolded it, her eyes scanning the elegantly written words.
"I hope we can relive life how we did centuries ago. Save me a dance on the floor. — Klaus"
As she read the note, a flicker of something unreadable passed across her face. Her eyes, usually so full of life, hardened, the memories of the past rushing back unbidden. Klaus, always scheming, always trying to weave his way back into her life, even after everything they had been through.
With a scoff, Estela tossed the note aside, letting it flutter to the floor like an unwanted memory. Her gaze turned to the box, curiosity mingling with caution. She lifted the lid slowly, her breath catching for a moment as the contents were revealed.
Inside was a dress, but not just any dress—it was exquisite, almost otherworldly. The fabric was a deep, rich red, interwoven with black lace that shimmered in the low light. It was a gown fit for royalty, tailored to perfection with intricate designs that seemed to tell a story of their own. The dress was powerful, commanding, a statement piece meant to capture attention and admiration.
"Certainly have good taste," Estela whispered to herself, her fingers brushing lightly over the fabric. The dress was undeniably beautiful, a gift meant to entice, to remind her of the connection they once shared. But as much as the dress intrigued her, it was also a symbol of Klaus's manipulation—a reminder that he never truly let go.
She stood there for a moment, the silence of the room pressing in around her. The weight of the past lingered in the air, but Estela was not one to be swayed easily. She was stronger now, more resolute in her path. And while the dress might have been a token of Klaus's affection—or perhaps his power—it would not dictate her choices.
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Estela sipped from her glass, savoring the taste of blood as it coursed through her. The warmth of it, the way it energized her, was a small comfort amid the chaos that had become her life. As she sat in the dimly lit living room of the Salvatore house, the quiet was abruptly shattered by the sound of the front door slamming open.
