Third Person's POV
Morning came dressed in quiet warmth.
Adelina woke to the rare scent of honeyed bread and lavender soap. Her mother's voice floated through the doorway — gentle, almost kind.
"Up, Adelina. The bath is ready."
Still half-asleep, she blinked at the light slanting through the thin curtains. A bath? Such a thing was never drawn for her.
Her mother stood at the foot of the bed, smoothing her apron with careful hands. "You're not going to work today," she said softly. "You've done enough. Rest for once."
Adelina sat up slowly, uncertainty creeping in. "But the stall—"
Her father's voice, gruff but oddly even, came from the kitchen. "It will manage without you. Do as your mother says."
She didn't argue. Something in their tones made her afraid to question further.
The bath water was warm — a luxury they could scarcely afford — and the scent of lavender clung to her skin. For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to imagine that maybe, just maybe, things were changing.
When she emerged, her mother and sisters were waiting with the crimson dress from the day before, freshly pressed and smelling faintly of rose oil.
"Come here," Elise said, smiling as she gestured to the stool. "Let me braid your hair again."
Mara handed her a comb, her grin wide and teasing. "You could make even the angels jealous, Lina."
Adelina laughed softly. "Don't be ridiculous."
The younger children crowded around — Rosa twirling a lock of her sister's glossy black hair between her fingers. "You look like one of those noble ladies from the old stories."
"Only much kinder," Nico added solemnly, his small hands clutching Tomas's shoulders.
Lucien scoffed. "That's because she doesn't hit us when we steal extra bread."
"Maybe she should," Livia shot back with a smirk.
Pietro leaned against the wall, arms crossed, pretending not to watch. "If the neighbors see you dressed like that, they'll think we've come into fortune."
"Maybe we have," Mara said brightly, glancing at their parents in the next room. "They've been… strange, haven't they? Almost happy."
Adelina followed her gaze. Her parents whispered to each other near the hearth, their voices too low to catch. Her mother's hands trembled as she smoothed the front of her dress.
"Yes," Adelina murmured. "Strange."
Before she could dwell on it, there came a sound.
Knock. Knock.
The noise cut through the laughter, sharp as a blade.
Her father froze. Then, with a practiced calm, he went to the door.
Two palace guards stood on the threshold, cloaked in crimson and silver. The morning sun caught on the edges of their armor, dazzling and cold.
"Lord Vale sends his regards," said one, his tone polite but detached. "We've come for the offering."
The world tilted.
Adelina stared, confusion threading through her veins. "Offering?" she repeated, barely a whisper.
Her father didn't meet her eyes. He simply stepped aside. The second guard produced a sealed parchment and a small pouch heavy with coin. It landed in her father's palm with a muted jingle.
Her mother's breath caught — not from shock, but restraint.
Adelina's throat tightened. "What's happening?"
Her father's jaw flexed. "It's done," he said quietly. "You'll be taken care of, girl. Better than any of us."
The words didn't make sense at first. Then they did — all at once, violently.
Her heart seemed to stop. "You sold me?"
Her mother flinched but didn't answer. Her father turned away, the coin disappearing into his coat.
Her siblings erupted — confusion, tears, outrage.
"You can't!" Mara cried. "You can't take her!"
Elise pulled at their mother's arm. "Please— don't let them!"
Lucien and Livia stood in front of Adelina, small bodies trembling, eyes fierce. "You can't have her!" Livia shouted.
One of the guards sighed, expression unreadable. "We can make this harder, or we can make it quick."
Adelina raised her shaking hands. "Please," she said, her voice barely holding. "Let me say goodbye."
The guards exchanged a glance — then one nodded. "One minute."
She knelt among her siblings, heart breaking at the sight of their tear-streaked faces.
"Listen to me," she whispered, cupping Rosa's cheek. "You must be brave, all of you."
"Where are you going?" Tomas whimpered.
She forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Somewhere far. Somewhere safe."
Nico clung to her hand. "Will you come back?"
Adelina swallowed hard. "I'll try."
Pietro looked away, jaw tight. "They shouldn't have done this."
"No," she said softly, "but they did. So take care of each other for me."
Elise hugged her tight, sobbing into her shoulder. "You're too good for them, Lina. You always were."
Adelina kissed the top of her head, her voice a trembling whisper. "And you're too good for this world."
The guards stepped forward again, and this time, she didn't fight them.
As they led her out into the morning light, her siblings' cries followed her down the narrow road — fading, fading — until all that remained was silence and the sound of her heart breaking.
Adelina sat frozen, hands trembling in her lap. The interior smelled of leather and faint perfume — too clean, too foreign. The bench beneath her was soft, but it might as well have been stone.
Outside, the wheels groaned over the uneven road, carrying her farther and farther from everything she'd ever known.
The sobs she had held back finally tore loose, quiet and ragged.
Her fingers pressed against her mouth, as if she could silence them — as if her pain might somehow undo what had been done. But the tears came anyway, hot and endless.
She could still see them — her siblings huddled in the doorway, faces streaked with tears; her mother's trembling hands; her father's eyes, cold and fixed on the coin.
A sound escaped her — half sob, half laugh. "Sold," she whispered bitterly, the word tasting like ashes. "Like grain or cloth."
She pressed her forehead to the cool glass, watching the world blur past — the crooked cottages, the fields of brittle grass, the faint outline of the city walls beyond.
She had dreamed of seeing the capital once — of walking through its marble streets and market squares. Never like this.
Outside, the guards rode in silence. One at the reins, the other beside the window, face unreadable beneath his helm. They didn't look at her. To them, she wasn't a girl — just another delivery, another transaction.
Her mind refused to stay still. It kept circling back — to her mother's voice that morning, soft and careful. "You've done enough." To her father's strange calm. To the bath, the pressed dress, the false warmth of it all.
It hadn't been kindness. It had been preparation.
Her stomach twisted.
A memory surfaced — Rosa's small hands clutching hers, Tomas's frightened eyes. Will you come back?
She hadn't lied, not really. She had said I'll try. But deep down, she had already known: there would be no return.
Her tears slowed, leaving her hollow. The rhythmic sway of the carriage dulled the sharp edges of grief until it became something heavier, quieter — a weight that pressed against her ribs.
Outside, the sky darkened as the road wound closer to the vampire territories. The trees grew taller, their shadows stretching long and thin across the path. The air itself seemed to change — colder, heavier, filled with a metallic tang that clung to her tongue.
She shivered and drew her shawl tighter.
Stories came back to her then — whispers traded by the townsfolk at night:
Of humans taken in the dark, never seen again.
Of nobles who drank blood like wine.
Of their lord, Severin Vale — the storm-eyed tyrant who ruled from a palace of black stone.
Her pulse quickened. That's where I'm going, she realized, dread crawling beneath her skin.
She had never believed the tales entirely — they had seemed too grand, too monstrous to be true. But now, feeling the cold breath of those cursed lands against her skin, she knew.
Every story had been a mercy compared to the truth that awaited her.
The wheels struck a rut, jarring her from her thoughts. She steadied herself, wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hand. Her reflection in the glass looked like a stranger — pale, hollow-eyed, beautiful in a way that frightened her.
Her mother had said she'd be "taken care of."
Her father had said it was "for the best."
Adelina let out a shaky breath and closed her eyes.
"Then let it be the best," she whispered to no one. "Let it mean something. Please."
The prayer faded into the rattle of wheels and the cry of distant ravens.
And far ahead, beyond the fog-draped forest, the black spires of Vale Manor pierced the sky like teeth.
The rhythmic sway of the carriage dulled her grief into something heavier, quieter. Outside, the light began to change. The sky bruised into a deep violet as they crossed into the vampire's domain.
The air grew colder. Older. It tasted faintly of iron and rain.
The road narrowed, curving through a forest of black pines that loomed like silent sentinels. Every branch seemed to whisper, every gust to breathe. Shadows stretched across the path, long and clawed.
Adelina's breath misted in the air. She drew her shawl tighter, heart hammering.
This is it, she thought. The land of monsters.
Yet what unsettled her most wasn't fear — not entirely. Beneath the dread, something else stirred. A pull, strange and quiet, that she couldn't explain.
The carriage slowed. The sound of hooves shifted from dirt to stone.
She looked up — and gasped.
Before her rose the palace of the Vampire Lord.
Vale Manor towered from the cliffs like something carved from night itself — black marble and obsidian spires catching the faintest light of the dying sun. The windows glowed dimly, like the eyes of a beast watching from the dark.
A thousand candles flickered behind the great arched doors as the carriage rolled to a stop. The guards dismounted in perfect unison.
Adelina's pulse thundered in her ears.
The door opened with a soft click, and cold air swept in, sharp with the scent of rain and iron.
"Out," one of the guards said quietly.
Her body obeyed before her mind could resist. Her slippers met the smooth stone of the courtyard — black, slick, and cold beneath her feet.
The vast doors before her creaked open.
A figure stood in the archway.
He was tall — impossibly so — his presence swallowing the space around him. Hair the color of blood gleamed under the torchlight, and eyes like a gathering storm watched her without a flicker of warmth.
The guards bowed low.
"My lord," one said, his voice breaking the stillness, "the offering, as promised."
Adelina's breath hitched. She couldn't look away.
The man — the creature — stepped forward, his movements fluid and deliberate, like a predator circling prey. The faintest curl touched his lips, not quite a smile, not quite a sneer.
For a heartbeat, the world was nothing but the sound of her pulse and his gaze — heavy, unrelenting, ancient.
The wind shifted, carrying her scent toward him. Something changed in his eyes — a flicker, sharp and dangerous.
Adelina felt it before she understood it: the moment her life ceased to be her own.
Then, softly, he spoke — his voice deep, smooth, and dark as velvet.
"Welcome to Vale Manor."