Tucked behind obsidian garden walls and carved into the hillside beneath the Moon Courtyard lies a sprawling bathhouse of quiet decadence, reminiscent of ancient necropolitan temples.
The main chamber was circular and sunken, centered around a vast bath of dark crimson mineral water, lightly glowing from beneath, not from heat, but ancestral memory.
Pillars of veined marble and nightglass circled the pool, each etched with the names of Vladiscar heirs—some crossed out, others still waiting to be carved.
The walls were draped in sheer, rune-stitched silks, which shifted between transparency and opaqueness depending on mood and intent.
Overhead, the ceiling was domed glass enchanted to reflect the true night sky, regardless of the hour. When I entered, stars flickered more brightly—some of which no longer existed.
The air was warm, scented with blood orchid, dying lilac, and lunar resin, making the space feel timeless, weightless… like stepping into a womb made of silence and steam.
Selene stepped ahead and bowed with effortless grace. "One moment, Young Widow, while I prepare your bath."
She moved like a shadow—efficient, reverent. She whispered something into the water, and the glow within deepened. Runes lit up along the edges of the pool, gently pulsing like a heartbeat.
She tested the temperature of the moonlight spring with her bare fingers, adjusting it with rune-etched dials hidden in the marble walls.
Selene then dropped in blood orchid oil and widow's milk, and watched the swirls for signs of spiritual disharmony.
After, she ighted the black-stemmed incense herself, the scents seemed chosen to soothe my vampire side because I started feeling less like an ice sculpture.
I watched as Selene moved with practiced elegance, placing a veil of privacy silk around the perimeter of the chamber. It rippled with runes as it fell, humming faintly—shielding my soul from the watchful eyes of the house, and perhaps, from things deeper still.
"It is done, my lady," she said, stepping aside.
I approached the bath and disrobed without shame. Selene was my servant—bound to my bloodline, to my mother, and now, to me. I figured I might as well get used to things like this. There would be more of them, I suspected. More strange rituals. More eyes that were not really eyes.
The air kissed bare skin like warm breath. I stepped into the steaming mineral water, and the glow beneath stirred—crimson and soft, like forgotten embers waking in the dark.
Selene remained behind me, hands folded neatly at her waist. She did not avert her gaze, but neither did she leer. Her expression was unreadable, reverent. The kind of look you'd give a blood moon as it rose over a still lake. It was ominous, quiet. Awed.
And okay… I admit it—I blushed.
It wasn't the stare itself, but the weight of it. The feeling that something sacred was being witnessed. Something fragile and powerful. And it was me.
Wait...now that I think about it, I haven't even checked what this new body looks like.
I sank deeper into the crimson bath, the mineral-rich water rising to my collarbone. A gentle fog curled up from its surface—dense enough to veil my body from view, yet laced with a faint shimmer, like stardust woven into steam. The bath itself protected modesty with instinctive grace, cloaking me in memory and moonlight.
I leaned forward, catching a glimpse of my reflection in the still water.
I blinked.
And blinked again.
Staring back at me was someone I did not recognize—and yet, somehow, she was mine.
My hair was silken black as a moonless night, cascading to my waist in gentle waves. A single bold streak of silvery-white arcs from my temple through my bangs—a genetic scar of my father Azekhael's hollow flame? It clung damply to my skin, framing a face both elegant and haunting.
My skin…was pale, moonlit ivory, flawless yet cold to the touch. I bore faint sigils beneath the skin—ancestral threads only visible when it touched moon light.
But my eyes…my eyes were the strangest of all. Blood-crimson irises, rimmed faintly with silver when emotionally stirred. My lashes were long and dark, framing a stare that rarely blinked and was stoic.
My gaze was soft in expression but razor-sharp in weight—as if dissecting every truth before it could be spoken.
I traced a fingertip along my jaw, mesmerized.
Even without finery, crowns, or thrones, I looked like something out of a dream half-remembered and half-feared. A creature born of bloodlines, prophecy, and night.
My face was sculpted, elegant, with a noble sharpness to my cheekbones and jawline. Full lips, usually resting in a calm, unreadable line—not cruel, or unkind, but stoic, at the moment it was in a slight frown.
I feel like I would rarely smile, and when I did, it would be like watching a rose bloom in snow—beautiful, unnatural, and slightly terrifying. Damn, I really hit the jackpot with the gene pool. I'm fucking drop-dead gorgeous. Hehe, you see what I did there?
I stretched my body. The water felt so good. It felt so invigorating.
Speaking of my body. I took noticed of how if I was standing I would be around a graceful 5'6" (167 cm)—neither towering nor delicate, but perfectly poised. My build was a paradox: elegantly slim, yet toned with the subtle strength of someone born from war and ritual.
My shoulders were straight and proud, my posture impeccable, as if I was never been allowed to slouch.
My bust wre full, high, and well-fitted to my regal silhouette—not exaggerated, but unmistakably mature. My waist were narrow and sculpted, forming an hourglass figure. My hips were softly flared with the grace of a dancer and lethalness of a fighter.
Beneath my pale skin lied coiled strength. 'Six-pack abs, huh? Not bad, not bad at all. And no surface scars too.'
Selene's voice came soft from behind the silk veil. "Do you wish for me to wash your hair, young widow?"
Taking a strand of my long hair and twirling the ends through my index finger. With long hair like this it would take longer to wash thoroughly.
"...Sure." I said absentmindedly. My thoughts were on something else. 'That system screne thing when I first woke up, I wonder if I could bring it up manually.'
I heard Selene move and kneel behind me at the edge of the bath and begins brushing my hair with a comb carved from ancient bone and silverthorn, humming a lullaby. It had a hauntingly beautiful feel to it. Like a black swan saying goodbye to the noon day sun.
"What is that song you are humming?"
Selene paused in her actions to scoop water with a wide bone-handled bowl, gently pouring it over my head. The water slid like liquid velvet through my black and silver strands.
"It is a lullaby once sung to Mistress Nyxaria by your grandmother. It is called "Thorns for a Crown". It is the Vladiscar cradle-song, forbidden in all other households. Do you like it, Mistress?"
My eyes closed, I hummed in confirmation. "Mhm. The melody itself is slow, low, and layered with minor key transitions that resemble a heartbeat slowing, then rising again. It is beautiful."
Selene dipped her fingers into a basin of moon-oil, infused with widow's bloom and soulroot sap. She then massaged it into my scalp with practiced grace.
Clockwise for grounding. Counterclockwise for loosening trauma. Circles down the neck to calm the hunger in my blood. Or atleast that's what she explained while she did it.
I didn't particularly care. I was too busy moaning my pleasure in the feeling of her fingers massaging my scalp.
Once the oil had settled, Selene poured salt-steeped crimson springwater over my hair one final time.
The water glowed faintly and the scent deepened. It really was a lovely scent.
"Would you like for me to braid your hair? If you permit it I can leave it down. Or a single red thread tied near the end."
By this time, I was having trouble keeping my eyes from closing. So sleepy.
All I could do was mumble a sort of "Mmhmm."
~ | 💮 | ~
"Mistress… Mistress… please forgive me, but we have arrived at your bedchambers."
Selene's voice reached me like sound through deep water—gentle, distant, but laced with the kind of concern that threaded through her otherwise perfectly neutral tone.
My groggy mind fumbled to catch up. Bedchambers?
Hadn't I just been in the bath?
I forced my eyes open, blinking slowly against the softness of flickering candlelight. Selene's face hovered above mine, pale and calm, framed by her silvery lashes and shadow-smooth braids.
I blinked again. Wait...was I being carried bridal style by Selene in her arms.
My arms were curled lazily against my chest, head tucked near her shoulder. I must've drifted off the moment I stepped out of the bath.
"…Am I dreaming," I mumbled, "or are you actually carrying me like some tragic gothic princess?"
Selene, to her credit, didn't so much as blink. "You appeared… indisposed, my lady. I did not wish to disturb your rest."
I squinted up at her. "And you couldn't have, I don't know… woken me?"
"I did. Twice. You responded with a low growl and attempted to curl up in the towel."
"…Right. Fair enough."
She stepped gracefully into a vast room of velvet shadows and soft moonlight pouring in through glass-framed arches. My bed was absurd—gothic, towering, draped in embroidered curtains of wine-red and ink-black. Every pillow looked like it had been hand-stitched by ghosts with insomnia. Eh? What happened to the coffin?
Selene knelt smoothly and lowered me onto the cool sheets, adjusting the covers with a precision that felt ceremonial.
"Rest well, Young Widow," she said, her voice the hush of midnight.
_____________________
"Thorns for a Crown"
The Vladiscar cradle-song, Selene sung to Poppy in the baths:
Hush, little bloom, don't lift your head
The roots drink deep where the dreaming's dead
The stars all lie and the gods forget
So sleep, my love, in a cradle of debt
Thorns for a crown, ash for a throne
The world will feast on your marrow and bone
But bleed with grace, and breathe with fire—
And all shall burn in your quiet ire
Close your eyes, don't chase the light
The wolves wear masks and call it right
I'll stitch your name in thread and stone
And pray you leave no heart unthrown
Hush now, child, and coil your rage
The world is a stage, but you are the cage
Sleep like a knife in velvet sheathe—
And bloom, my rose, when none believe
Notes:
The song was never meant to soothe. It was to prepare and shield Nyxaria with hard truths in soft melody.
Velomirra sang it not from maternal softness, but from a place of knowing the world would try to devour her daughter's silence.
Selene has never sung it aloud to Poppy, only hums quietly hoping Poppy never asks where it came from.