Something is wrong with me.
Not wrong in the dramatic sense. Not screaming, not collapsing. Just… off. Like my body woke up five seconds before my mind did and decided to make executive decisions without consulting me.
The bells toll again—slow, resonant, vibrating through the stone floor and into my bones. Everyone else seems unfazed. Of course they do.
I look down at my hands.
Cold.
Not chilly. Not I forgot my gloves. Cold like polished marble. Like something that never held warmth to begin with. I curl my fingers, half-expecting sensation to return.
It doesn't.
I lift my gaze.
Everyone is pale.
Not sickly. Not weak. Pale like art. Like something carved and perfected. Their skin reflects candlelight softly, and their movements—God—so precise. No wasted gestures. No nervous tics. Everyone here looks like they've had centuries to practice existing.
Okay. That answers one question.
Another one immediately replaces it.
Why do I look like I belong?
The hall opens fully before me. Black marble floors. Crimson crystal chandeliers. Ancient sigils stitched into banners that feel heavy just to look at. Conversations hum at a low volume, controlled, refined.
No chaos.
No blood.
No insanity.
This is not the vampire world I expected.
My father steps forward.
He doesn't raise his voice. He doesn't gesture grandly.
"This is my daughter, Selene of House Draven," he says. A pause. "She comes of age today."
That's it.
No applause. No cheering. Just polite acknowledgment—heads dipping, hands placed briefly over hearts.
Coming of age.
Right.
One hundred and sixty years old.
I nod because that seems expected.
My mother leans toward me, her voice sharp but quiet. "Why are you so awkward today?"
Awkward?
"I'm not," I say automatically.
"You are," she replies. "You were excited for this ceremony."
I search my memory.
Nothing.
"I still am," I lie smoothly.
She narrows her eyes. Files that away. Vampire mothers are terrifying.
Movement at my side pulls my attention.
Auron Veyl.
My knight.
Tall. Dark-haired. Annoyingly handsome in that composed, lethal way that makes people stare and then immediately pretend they weren't staring. His presence steadies me in a way I don't understand yet—but I accept it.
He tilts his head slightly, studying me. "You look like you're about to either faint or stab someone."
I blink. "I'm perfectly fine."
"That wasn't convincing."
I lower my voice. "Everyone is pale. And my hands are cold."
He pauses. Then smiles faintly. "Yes. You're a vampire."
I stare at him.
He raises a brow. "Selene… are you joking?"
"No," I say quickly. "I just—thought I'd feel different."
Auron's expression softens. "Nerves. It's your Ascension."
Ah. Right. That word again.
Music begins—slow, ceremonial, heavy with tradition. Couples move onto the floor with practiced ease. A noble bows before me, hand extended.
I hesitate.
Auron leans closer. "Dance," he murmurs. "You've rehearsed this longer than anyone."
I have?
I take the offered hand.
The dance is… easy.
My body knows the steps. My feet glide. My posture aligns perfectly. I hate how natural it feels.
"So," my partner says lightly, "are you nervous?"
"A little," I reply carefully.
He smiles. "That's expected. Tonight determines much."
That sounds ominous.
The music fades. Applause—soft, restrained, respectful.
Then the hall shifts.
Candles dim. Conversations hush.
A circular platform rises at the center of the room, etched with symbols that make my eyes ache if I look too long.
My father gestures once.
"This way."
I step forward.
Okay. This is happening.
I place my hand against the center of the platform.
The reaction is immediate.
Heat surges up my arm, sharp and electric. Not painful—just overwhelming. The symbols ignite in a deep crimson glow, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Oh.
That's new.
A murmur ripples through the hall—not fear. Curiosity.
I keep my expression neutral. Do not panic. Do not look confused. Do not look like you don't know what this is.
My senses sharpen suddenly.
I hear heartbeats. Smell blood beneath silk and perfume. Feel the weight of attention press against me like gravity.
Auron is watching me from the edge of the platform. Calm. Focused. Steady.
Good. If he's calm, I'm calm.
The glow intensifies.
Then fades.
Silence.
Polite applause follows.
My mother exhales slowly. My father studies the platform like it personally offended him.
Nothing happens.
I stand there longer than necessary, my palm still resting against the cold stone as if the platform might change its mind if I wait. It doesn't. The faint crimson glow fades completely, leaving the sigils dull and ancient again, like they were never meant for me in the first place.
The silence stretches.
Not awkward. Not hostile. Just… attentive.
I withdraw my hand slowly.
Someone exhales in the crowd.
A murmur follows—not loud, not scandalized. More like surprise gently wrapped in restraint.
"Well," a noblewoman near the front says lightly, breaking the tension, "that was… subtle."
A few soft chuckles ripple through the hall.
Subtle. That's one way to put it.
My father steps forward before anyone else can speak. His presence alone quiets the room.
"That will be all," he says calmly. "The ceremony stands completed."
Completed.
Even though nothing changed.
No one argues. No one questions him outright. They simply nod, accepting it the way vampires accept most things—with patience and memory.
The music begins again, tentative at first, then fuller, as if the hall itself decides to move on.
I'm still standing there when my mother reaches me.
"What is wrong with you today?" she asks under her breath, her lips barely moving. "You're stiff. You were excited for this."
"I am," I say quickly.
She studies my face, frowning slightly. "You don't look it."
"I'm just… overwhelmed."
That part is true enough to pass.
Her gaze lingers, sharp and knowing, but she doesn't press. Instead, she straightens my sleeves, smoothing the fabric like everything can be fixed if it looks perfect.
"Try not to look so pale," she murmurs. "People will start imagining things."
I almost laugh.
People here are pale by default.
As she steps away, someone approaches from my left.
Auron Veyl.
Of course it's him.
He inclines his head, dark eyes searching my face with an ease that makes me uncomfortable. "You disappeared for a moment."
"I was standing right there."
"Yes," he says. "But you weren't here."
I open my mouth, then close it again. I don't know what to say to that.
He lowers his voice. "Did you feel anything?"
I hesitate just a fraction too long.
"No," I say. "Nothing."
He doesn't react. Not outwardly. But his jaw tightens slightly.
"That happens sometimes," he says evenly. "Rarely. But it happens."
"Do people… talk about it?" I ask.
Auron's lips curve faintly, almost amused. "They will. Later. Quietly. Politely."
"Of course they will."
"They always do."
A noble approaches us then, offering a bow. "Lady Selene. May I?"
I glance at Auron.
"Dance," he says softly. "You know this."
I take the noble's hand.
The dance comes back to me instantly, as if my body remembers something my mind doesn't. The steps are fluid, elegant, effortless. I don't stumble. I don't hesitate. If anyone was watching closely, they'd think I was perfectly fine.
Which is probably why no one asks the question burning in the air.
Why didn't anything awaken?
Halfway through the dance, my partner smiles. "You seem calmer than I expected."
"Should I not be?" I ask.
"It's your coming age. Most feel… overwhelmed."
"I suppose I process things slowly."
"A valuable trait," he says approvingly.
Maybe.
When the dance ends, applause follows—measured, respectful. Not celebratory, but not cold either.
As I step back, I catch my reflection in one of the tall mirrors lining the hall.
Blue eyes.
Then—just for a blink—
Red.
So deep it almost looks black.
I freeze.
I turn fully toward the mirror.
Blue again.
My breath catches. I lift a hand to my face, staring harder, closer.
Nothing.
"Selene?"
Auron's voice pulls me back.
"Yes," I say too quickly, lowering my hand.
He watches me closely. "Are you certain you're all right?"
I nod. "I think so."
He doesn't look convinced, but he lets it go.
As the evening continues, I become acutely aware of my body. The cold in my hands doesn't fade. When someone brushes past me, their skin feels warm in comparison—almost alive in a way mine isn't.
I notice the fangs when I pass another mirror later. Small. Sharp.
I don't remember having those.
I don't remember anything about having those.
A servant catches me staring at my reflection and tilts her head. "Is something the matter, my lady?"
"No," I say automatically. "Just… tired."
She smiles, fangs flashing briefly. "That's normal tonight."
Is it?
Everyone else seems so certain I am exactly who I am supposed to be.
I am the only one standing here, smiling, dancing, answering questions, while a quiet thought settles deeper and deeper into my chest.
Maybe nothing awakened because nothing recognized me.
Maybe whatever this body was waiting for… isn't me.
And maybe, sooner or later, someone is going to notice.
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