The throne hall of the vampire citadel had never gleamed so brightly.
Obsidian pillars loomed high above, laced with red iron veins that pulsed faintly like living arteries. Flames danced within black sconces, casting flickering shadows across the stained-glass murals of vampire lore. Every seat in the court was filled, and every eye was drawn to the center of the hall—where Nora stood tall and unbending, her posture regal, her lips curled into the faintest hint of a victorious smirk.
She was dressed in blood-crimson silk, a gown that shimmered like liquid rubies beneath the torchlight. Her dark hair was coiled into a regal twist, the edges of her jaw sharpened with authority. She radiated command, her presence enough to silence a room filled with ancient vampires and noble houses.
