ɴɪɢʜᴛꜱʜᴀᴅᴇ | 𝖂𝖔𝖔𝖘𝖆𝖓

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 10: "𝕾𝖍𝖔𝖈𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕽𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖆𝖑"

𓊈𒆜 𝕵𝖚𝖓𝖌 𝖂𝖔𝖔𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖌 𒆜𓊉

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The mansion was unusually quiet, everyone off attending to their own affairs, creating an eerie silence that magnified the faint echoes of my own footsteps as I wandered without direction. Drawn by a mix of curiosity and an unexplained pull, I found myself gravitating toward the Hall of Lords—a place I'd instinctively avoided until now due to its overwhelming presence and the penetrating gaze of the figures immortalized on its walls. Yet, today, an insatiable curiosity propelled me forward, pushing past the invisible barriers I had erected around this part of the mansion.

As I entered the dimly lit hall, the air felt thick with the residue of centuries. Each portrait, lined meticulously along the walls, depicted a figure of notable stature—lords whose legacies were etched not only in paint but in the very essence of the vampire world. Their eyes, captured in various shades of oil, seemed to follow me, each glance imbued with the weight of history and power. I moved slowly, my gaze drifting across each painting, absorbing the details: the stern set of a jaw, the regal tilt of a head, the subtle play of shadow that spoke of battles fought and won.

Amidst these imposing figures, my attention was inexplicably drawn to one portrait conspicuously hidden under a lush red velvet cloth. Unlike the others proudly displayed, this one was meant to remain unseen, shrouded in secrecy and perhaps, forbidden to curious eyes. The cloth clung to the frame not merely draped but sealed, as if to discourage tampering. My heart beat a little faster, the allure of the hidden and the forbidden tightening its grip on me.

Compelled by a force I couldn't resist, I approached the veiled portrait. Standing before it, the warmth that had started as a faint whisper when I entered the hall now surged through me, compelling my hands to act. With a mixture of reverence and defiance, I reached out and grasped the velvet. The fabric felt heavy and cool beneath my fingertips. With a decisive tug, I ripped it away, and it fell to the ground with a soft, whispering sigh.

The painting revealed took the breath from my lungs. There, depicted in vibrant, lifelike colors beside a regally posed San, was a figure who bore an uncanny resemblance to me. The likeness was startling—same eyes, same smile, radiating a joy so palpable it felt as if it could leap from the canvas. The figure stood beside San in a pose that spoke of deep camaraderie and joy, a stark contrast to the solemnity of the other portraits.

I reached out, my fingers hovering millimeters from the canvas, drawn to the figure that mirrored my own features so closely. As I touched the painting, a flood of sensations washed over me—echoes of laughter, whispers of secrets shared under moonlit skies, the comfort of a friendship that spanned beyond time. Memories flickered at the edge of my consciousness, elusive yet profound, teasing me with their half-formed whispers.

I staggered back, overwhelmed by the rush of images and emotions. "What is this?" I whispered into the stillness, half expecting the hall to answer.

The sound of footsteps broke the spell, and I turned to see San entering the hall. His expression, usually so composed, was marked by an immediate concern as his eyes landed on the uncovered portrait and then on my bewildered face.

"Wooyoung," he began, his voice filled with a calm that belied the sharpness in his eyes. He paused, his gaze shifting from the portrait to me, a storm of emotions playing across his features before he mastered them. "What are you—"

"I look just like him," I interrupted, pointing at the painting with a shaky hand, my voice firm with a demand for answers. "Why? Who is he?"

San closed the distance between us, his steps measured and heavy. "That," he said, his voice deep and resonant, "is a part of your story that I hoped to share under different circumstances."