She was the perfect offering.
And I felt no guilt.
None.
I approached her, my voice smooth, coaxing.“Come.”
She hesitated, brow furrowed.
“There are items we require from below.”
The others followed.
Lord Winston’s newly-arrived staff—filth from a decaying estate.
They exchanged uneasy glances, their expressions flickering between ignorance and suspicion.
One of them, braver than the rest, cleared his throat.“We know not the way to this vault you speak of.”
A pathetic attempt at resistance.
I tilted my head and let my lips curve into a slow, knowing smile.“Follow me.”
My voice was not a request.
It was a summons.
And so they obeyed.
We descended.
Down the spiraling staircase, deeper and deeper into the bowels of our home.
With every step, the air grew thicker.
Darker.
The flickering torches cast shifting shadows along the damp stone walls, an eerie waltz of light and dread.
They did not yet know—did not understand where I was leading them.
Not to some harmless vault of treasures.
But to something far worse.
At last, we reached the heavy door—a barrier between the living and the damned.
I rested my palm against the cold iron, my pulse thrumming in anticipation.
On the other side, Amir waited.
And tonight, he would feed.
“In here.”
My unwavering voice carried through the dungeon as I gestured toward the cell where Amir was held.
They hesitated.
