"How unexpectedly disappointing."
The words hung in the air, a cold verdict in the lavish chamber.
The lights flickered back on after a brief stretch of darkness, revealing fine carpets, ornate decorations, and heavy velvet drapes framing the space.
The scent of fresh flowers, rich and overwhelming, filled the air, drawn from the crimson blossoms arranged throughout.
A woman reclined beneath the hollow gaze of a demonic creature's head, its eyes fixed eternally forward.
Her cherry-blossom-colored hair spilled down her back like soft silk, and green lipstick stood out sharply against her pale complexion with a mole underneath her right eye in the chaos of a heart.
In her arms lay a newborn boy, still and quiet, pressed against her blood-stained sleeves.
The room was silent, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning and Cassandra's slow, measured breathing.
Three midwives stood nearby, unmoving, waiting for their mistress to speak.
Cassandra's crimson-grey eyes rested on the child, unblinking and detached. Minutes passed.
She did not speak. The temperature in the room dipped subtly, and the flowers began to droop, their petals curling inward.
At last, she spoke, her voice low and calm.
"How Utterly,"
She said.
Then a pause.
"Worthless."
The midwives did not react. Cassandra closed her eyes, releasing a quiet breath.
"My calculations have been woefully incorrect."
She spoke mostly to herself, not expecting a response.
She expected that this child would be the most talented out of her children—but fate had other plans.
The midwives waited as she seemed to be deep as her eyes were closed.
When she opened them again, a familiar tension rippled through the room.
And then directed her gaze to the boy in her hands, a cold look devoid of any warmth.
The midwives had only ever seen her show any sign of emotion during any of her births.
And that was Lady Elizabeth's
The could swear the almost saw something close to a smile on her face that day.
But right now this was the complete opposite.
Her eyes looked like those of a dead fish, devoid of life or any emotion.
They midwives were already resigning to the fact that the might witness something despicable.
But that was the way of the Blood Blossom Clan—this was her way.
There was something grimly poetic in it.
That the one who gave life could also decide its worth.
This was Cassandra Lu Way—their matriarch.
Or better known as the Witch of Blood, but their heads would roll if they dared uttered it out loud.
The bell near her bed rang seven times, slow and deliberate, then fell silent.
Cassandra's gaze snapped toward one of the midwives.
"You," she said. "Come."
The woman hurried forward, hands trembling, as Cassandra passed the child to her without ceremony.
Cassandra rose from the bed, her movements fluid and deliberate, her body clad only in a thin, blood-stained gown.
She walked to the door, her feet bare on the cold floor.
Only when she stood outside, exposed to the storm, did she snap her fingers.
Petals swirled into motion, and an umbrella appeared in her hand.
With an elegant gesture, she opened the umbrella, which released a vibrant red bloom of color.
As the petals settled, Cassandra's attire transformed, echoing the dark elegance and with her distinct flair.
Her gown morphed into a fitted, high-collared black dress adorned with intricate, crimson embroidery that resembled the veins of blood-stained blossoms.
The dress flowed into a dramatic train behind her, its edges fluttering like dark petals in the wind.
Around her neck, a choker of black and crimson gemstones subtly, echoing the rhythm of the storm.
As she stood outside where a heavy storm was brewing, the moon stained crimson against the sky.
Rain fell hard, lightning flashed.
"It's been decades," she murmured to herself.
She seemed to stare at something only she could see.
"And now I understand why?"
Behind her, a hesitant voice called out.
"Mistress?"
She turned her head slowly.
The midwife flinched under her cold calculative gaze as if she was measuring her worth.
And if her next words did not satisfy her she would no longer be breathing a shiver ran down her spine, but she knew she had to ask.
"What is it," Cassandra said coolly.
Gaining her courage, she finally asked the million dollar question.
"What should I do with the boy?"
If she wanted to she could either slay the child right now or order them to do it.
Her eyes flicked briefly toward the child.
His eyes opened for the first time and met hers, a chilling azure colour.
For a moment, Cassandra seemed almost surprised—as witnessing an intriguing phenomenon and not her own child.
The moment lasted only a heartbeat before she looked away.
"Ask another," Cassandra said.
She turned, took a few precise steps forward, she had more important things to focus on.
She raised her umbrella—
and vanished.
The midwife holding the child hesitated, her gaze drifting to the tiny face.
Blue eyes stared back, piercing and alert. A shiver danced along her spine—this one was different. Not like the others she'd seen.
The older midwife stepped forward, her expression a mask of calm.
"The mistress said 'ask another'. We take him to the nursery."
The others nodded, moving with hushed efficiency.
As they prepared the child for transfer, the midwife's thoughts swirled: _A weak exorcist. Why did she let him live?
Cassandra Lu Way didn't tolerate weakness.
The older midwife caughtv her eye.
"No Zen in him... not even a spark.
There was future as an exorcist in the clan? So was it pity? His looks?"
The midwife's doubt lingered. The clan will eat him alive.
She wrapped the boy tighter in the cloth, thinking, Her whim decides his fate. Not mine to worry.
They moved silently toward the nursery. Doors opened; the child was laid among others.
The midwives departed, leaving him to sleep among shadows.
As the storm raged outside, and other occurrences took place all around the world.
Woefully unaware of what had descended upon it.