The Von Hallow mansion glittered with false splendor. Chandeliers blazed with golden light, laughter spilled like cheap wine, and nobles swirled across the marble floors in silks and jewels. Servants rushed with silver trays, their steps hurried to keep pace with the endless demands of their masters.
Amidst the revelry, Selene sat quietly on the balcony. A glass of red wine rested in her pale fingers, its color dark as spilled blood. She did not laugh, nor dance, nor draw attention; she preferred the shadows, where she could watch unseen.
Her gaze swept across the hall, lingering on those who bore her fate.
Eliza Von Hallow. The mistress of the house, her stepmother, dressed in crimson silk that clung like fire to her frame. Her smile dazzled the crowd, her voice chimed with practiced sweetness — but Selene knew the truth. Behind every smile lurked poison. Eliza despised her, searching for excuses to belittle her, to strike her pride with petty cruelties. In her own mind, Eliza likely imagined countless wicked tales — that Selene would seduce Ian, that she schemed for what was never hers. Lies. Yet such lies gave her pleasure.
Ian Von Hallow. The Count's heir. To the outside world, he was the perfect son: handsome, eloquent, showered with praise. But Selene had seen the mask slip. Behind the charm hid a serpent — cruel, mocking, filthy in thought and deed. His presence sickened her, his honeyed words reeking of venom. To the empire, Ian was a man of promise. To Selene, he was a viper clothed in silk.
Count Reinhardt Von Hallow. Her father. A man carved from stone, sharp in politics, respected and feared by the empire. But as a father, he was nothing. He did not strike her, nor protect her; he merely looked through her, as though she were a shadow painted against his wall. Cold, calculating, absent.
This was her family — a house of wolves and masks.
She closed her eyes, the glass of wine trembling in her hand. In the darkness of memory, she saw another face — her mother's, pale and fading upon her deathbed. With her last breath, she had grasped Selene's hand and whispered words that haunted her still.
"Be careful of the shadow. One day, you may be the only light to save it… but that light will burn away your life."
The prophecy had become her curse.
Opening her eyes once more, Selene gazed down at the hall filled with music and laughter, though none of it reached her. To the world, she was a daughter of noble blood. But in this house, she was a ghost, unseen and unwanted.
Selene Von Hallow. The cursed daughter. The light bound to the shadow.
The banquet raged on below — laughter, music, and shallow praise echoing through gilded halls. But Selene remained on the balcony, her gaze cold and distant, her soul a thousand miles away from the glitter and wine.
The night deepened. One by one, the chandeliers dimmed, the music softened, and the nobles departed with flushed cheeks and empty words.
By the time silence fell, only shadows lingered.
From afar, the Von Hallow mansion stood proud against the night sky, its towers piercing the moonlight like jagged spears. Yet the silence that settled over its halls was not peaceful — it was heavy, suffocating, as though the house itself whispered secrets too dark for human ears.
And within those walls, Selene dreamed again of her mother's dying words, the prophecy that clung to her soul like chains.
Morning came, but without warmth. Clouds gathered thick across the sky, turning the world gray. Servants hurried across the courtyard, clearing the remnants of the feast. The air carried the stale scent of spilled wine and fading perfume.
Inside the grand hall, Count Reinhardt met with unexpected visitors. Knights in dark armor, their cloaks bearing the sigil of the Duke, stood tall and unmoving. Their presence was a silent threat, a reminder of power. Even the Count, with his cold eyes and sharper mind, felt a flicker of unease.
Selene, from her chamber window, watched them arrive. Though no words reached her ears, her heart sank. Something had shifted.
She turned to the mirror, staring at her reflection. Pale skin, weary eyes, lips still stained faintly from last night's wine. Her fingers brushed against the glass as if seeking answers.
The shadow… The prophecy's whisper returned, sharp as ever.
A knock came at her door. A servant's voice called her name with trembling urgency.
Selene already knew.
The shadow had come.