Private Tales Virtue and Valor in Shades of Scarlet

The knock at the great oak doors of the manor shivered through the empty halls, startling the lone candle by which Evadne sat. She stilled, cup of dark wine poised in her hand, head tilted to listen.

A man’s voice. Worn, desperate, yet steady still..

She heard more than his words. The groan of chainmail as he shifted his weight. The rasp of his tired breath. The horse outside, trembling on the edge of collapse. And beneath it all, the beat of his heart, young, strong, achingly alive.

Hunger twisted inside her, sharp as knives. How long had it been since she fed well? Too long. This place was her prison, and nobody ever came here. Not anymore. Her tongue pressed to the back of her teeth, and her grip on the cup tightened until crystal creaked. One taste would silence the ache..

She rose, shadows unfurling with her as though eager to hunt. Candlelight caught the pale fall of her white hair, the silk of her dressing gown clinging where it plunged low, leaving nothing to the imagination despite the icy cold of the manor. When she drew the door open, she leaned lazily against the frame, cup in hand, gaze upon the knight who stood on her threshold.

“My Lord is not home,” she said, voice smooth as velvet, though her eyes slid past him to the storm gathering swift and black across the hills. “But the night grows cruel, and you… you are far from shelter.”

Her gaze returned to study him, exhaustion carving harsh lines across his handsome face. Temptation made flesh. A beautiful thing, beneath all that dirt and sweat. Under that sun that burned on his chest...

Evadne sipped her wine instead, letting the silence linger just long enough to sharpen the air between them. Then her lips curved faintly.. "I am not supposed to open the door to strangers.. But, I am sure that for a knight, it would be alright to make an exception.." she said softly, and stepped aside, allowing him to enter.

The knight’s bow was almost quaint, his gaze fixed anywhere but on her. Evadne let the corner of her mouth lift, faint and sharp, as if she were in on some private joke. She trailed one finger along the rim of her wine cup, her pale eyes following the tremble of the horse beyond him, then returning to Alaric with a languid sweep that left little doubt she was studying him.

“He has been gone some time, I'm afraid I'm unsure of when he will return” she said at last. She stepped back into the shadowed hall, allowing him passage with a gesture as fluid as water. “But you are not imposing, Sir Alaric…” her eyes lingered on his weary frame, the golden locks dulled with dust and sweat, the stubborn pride in the way he held himself upright though exhaustion dragged at his limbs, “…I am not so cruel as to turn a knight of Cortos from my door. You and your beast may rest in shelter tonight.”

How long since I spoke thus to another? Since I offered shelter rather than ruin? He smells of steel, of sunlight, of dust and salt sweat. Warmth clings to him like a cloak. How easy it would be to strip it all away, to drink him dry and let his bones cool beside the horse in the yard. Just one taste…

The thought twisted in her gut, sharp and hungry. She pressed her lips against the rim of the cup, letting the wine soften the ache, though it did little more than sting.

“You may call me Evadne,” she said, finally giving him her name, though the words left her lips like a sigh, weighted with something unsaid.

Her gaze lingered, pale and piercing, before softening, just slightly.

“Come. You look near to falling where you stand. I'm afraid I do not have much to eat, but there is plenty wine to warm you, and water for your steed. That much, at least, I can promise.”

“Yes, yes, rest assured, someone will tend to your horse,” she promised smoothly. Her tone carried the weight of certainty, though there was no bell rung, no servant summoned. And while his weary eyes wandered over the faded grandeur of the hall, candelabras weeping wax, curtains heavy with dust, a darker shape peeled from her own shadow. It moved with a liquid grace, hips swaying as though in mimicry of her own, and slipped silently out into the storm to lead the beast to the stables.

Evadne alone remained. She always did.

Once, this manor had teemed with life- twenty staff bustling through its corridors, laughter echoing from dining halls, children’s footsteps on the stairs. But time had hollowed it. Or perhaps she had. The house still stood in its finery, but it was a finery that grew brittle, tired, and neglected. Unlike her. Evadne had never changed.

She led him into the main sitting room, the hearth roared to life, flames licking eagerly at logs that had been cold but a moment before.

“Yes… kind,” she echoed his words, a dryness in her throat as she gave him the faintest smile, too tight around the edges. “Of course he is.” A lie, but one she dressed in silk.

“Please,” she gestured to the fireside chairs. “Sit. Warm yourself. I can have a bath drawn in the guest suite, if you wish…” The words came like an afterthought, though her hand lingered as she poured a generous goblet of Obanian red, the dark liquid rich as blood in the firelight. She pressed it into his hand, her fingers cool against his skin.

Then she reclined in her own high-backed chair, sinking into it with effortless grace. The fire caught her eyes. Crossing one long leg over the other, the silk of her gown falling away to her upper thigh, a casual unveiling, though nothing about her gaze was casual as it lingered on him.

“Seems like you’ve travelled far, Sir Alaric…” she said, her tone lilting into a question as she raised her own cup. Wine touched her lips, but it was not the drink that made her throat work in a swallow.

Gods, the warmth radiating from him. Dust, sweat, steel, blood, the scent of life itself clinging to every inch of him. I can hear it, pulsing through his veins. So close, so temptingly close. He does not see the hunger in me. Or does he?

She sipped again, her eyes never leaving his.

Evadne’s lips curved faintly at his offer, a flicker of surprise, then amusement, then something softer.

“How very chivalrous,” she murmured, the words almost a sigh. “A coat for me..”

She tilted her head, studying him as though she’d never seen such a creature before. She hadn't in such a long time, years in fact, and warmth looked strange to her now, alien. It clung to him like a halo.

“No,” she said at last, her voice smooth. “I do not feel the cold.”

Her gaze lingered on his hand, still wrapped around the cup, knuckles rough and scarred, veins alive beneath the skin. The pulse there called to her, slow, steady, human. She forced herself to look away.

“You are kind, Sir Alaric,” she said quietly. “The sort of man who would offer warmth to a stranger even when frozen himself.”

The fire popped in the hearth, and her eyes flicked toward it, as though drawn to its light, even though it hurt to look at. When she spoke again, her tone had changed, brittle around the edges, an echo of something broken.

“You should be careful with such kindness. It can draw the wrong sort of creatures to your door.”

For a heartbeat, the air between them seemed to thrum with a subtle tension. Then she smiled again, all composure and grace. “I’ll have your bath prepared. You’ll sleep well here, I promise.”

Evadne’s gaze lingered on him a moment longer, the firelight catching in her pale eyes and casting fleeting shadows across her high cheekbones. She let the faintest sigh escape her, almost inaudible, like the brushing of silk against stone. "Hm.." she smiled. "A light these halls have not seen in a great many years.." she commented distantly..

Sleep. The word twisted inside her like a bitter blade. She had not known it in so long. Sleep. How simple it sounded, how unbearably human. How cruel that he could lie down and surrender to oblivion.

She watched him settle into the chair, body finally loosening, eyes heavy with exhaustion. Each slow blink of his lids, each exhalation, stirred something dark and aching within her. How I envy you, knight. How I would give anything, give everything, to feel that surrender, even for a moment.

And yet… the hunger hummed beneath her skin, a constant, insistent murmur. It was never quiet, never satiated. To touch him, to taste even a drop of his warmth, might quiet the ache for a heartbeat… but at what cost?

Her fingers brushed the silk of her gown, the small comfort of her own warmth. Pale as she was, she shivered, not from cold but from longing - for sleep, for touch, for something untainted. He was alive, unbound, human… and yet so close, so achingly close to what she could never fully take. She frowned at her momentary failure to hide her discomfort.

She sipped her wine, letting it coat her throat. The warmth it offered was faint, fleeting. A poor substitute..

“Then sleep you shall, Sir Alaric,” she murmured, her voice a soft melody. She rose, the movement fluid, the silk of her gown sliding over her skin with a whisper of sound. “Come… I shall show you to your chambers..”

She moved ahead, bare feet silent on the cold stone. The grand staircase loomed ahead, its banisters carved with twisting vines and grotesque faces, worn smooth by centuries of hands. Candles lined the walls, long burned down to pools of hardened wax, flickering as she passed. She raised a hand, brushing it along the dark wood; the carvings seemed to shiver under her touch, though the air was still.

The hall beyond was lined with paintings of men and women and children all with the same white hair, though their eyes were blue and grey. Dusty vases held arrangements of dead flowers, their petals brittle and curled in death.

Evadne paused before the final door before her hand moved to the handle. The faint light spilling from beneath it painted her figure in silhouette as she pushed the door open, revealing the guest chamber bathed in firelight. Her eyes narrowed against it. The hearth glowed warmly, crackling softly, and steam rose from a bath in the corner, carrying a subtle scent of lavender. The bed had been turned down, blankets folded back with exacting care, ready for him to fall into its embrace.

“Here,” she said softly, stepping aside to allow him entrance.. "I hope it is comfortable enough.."

Evadne lingered in the doorway, one hand resting lightly on the frame, her figure outlined by the fire’s glow. Shadows moved about her as if reluctant to let her go, pooling at her feet and crawling up the walls in long, languid tendrils toward him before she pulled them back again.

For a moment, she only watched him. The way his shoulders relaxed as he unbuckled his sword belt, the way fatigue softened his movements. His pulse - she could hear it from here, faint but insistent - thrummed beneath his skin like a distant drumbeat.

He trusts me, she thought, a hollow ache settling in her chest. Or, underestimates me.. A foolish man, either way.

Her eyes flicked briefly to the sword he’d set aside, then back to him. She smiled faintly, a ghost of a thing, more melancholy than warmth. “If you need anything, call for me.. I’ll hear.”

She lingered one heartbeat longer, as though warring with herself. The firelight glinted off the Bloodstone Amulet that rested against her breast, its crimson core pulsing faintly like a second heart. Her fingers brushed against it absently, and she drew in a slow breath.

“Goodnight, Sir Alaric,” she murmured, her voice a dark silk as she turned away.

Outside, the manor seemed to sigh, the timbers creaking, the wind pressing at the shutters, the faint echo of her footsteps receding into the long and lonely halls, his room all the warmer for the lack of her presence.

The door closed softly behind her, sealing him in the warmth of his chamber and her in the quiet chill of the corridor. For a long moment, Evadne stood there, hand resting against the wood as if she could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat through it.

It had been so long.

Years, decades perhaps, since another living soul had crossed her threshold. The manor had become a mausoleum in that time, a monument to stillness and dust. And now, within its walls, something breathed. Something warm. The sound of it reached her in waves, the steady beat of his heart, the subtle sigh of his breath, the faint ripple of water as he moved in the bath.

It unsettled her, more than she cared to admit.

The silence she had learned to bear had become her companion, her punishment. But now it was cracked open by life, and she did not know whether to weep or to feed.

Evadne pressed her fingers to her lips, trying to quiet the tremor that came with the thought. She could taste him already; sunlight and steel and salt. Her hunger stirred from its slumber, stretching, whispering.

She descended the stair in silence, though her thoughts clamoured louder with every step. At the foot of the stairs, her shadow detached from her completely, slithering along the wall like smoke caught in a draft. It paused only once, by the door of his chamber where it lingered, curious. Through the crack of the door, it watched. The faint glow of the firelight touched the knight’s face, his bare shoulders glistening with water.

A tremor of yearning passed through her. So alive.

Evadne turned away, eyes closing, teeth pressing into her lip until she tasted cold iron. “Go,” she whispered to the shadow. “Before I do something I cannot undo.”

The shadow obeyed, slipping through the trees like spilled ink, her hunger her own, and soon the forest echoed with the soft panic of a dying thing. A roe deer fell beneath its reach.

When her shadow returned with carcass, Evadne watched from kitchen table as the creature was butchered. No blades were needed; shadow cut as cleanly as steel. Flesh parted, hide sloughed away, blood collected, meat sliced from bone.

The liquid was still warm, still alive, and she drank it deep. It filled her mouth with the taste of earth and panic, a poor imitation of what she imagined the knight’s blood might be: bright, rich, touched by sunlight.

Her nose wrinkled as the shadow moved to its task of hanging the meat and setting the carcass to roast for the mortal guest above. The scent rose quickly, thick and greasy, filling the house.. Evadne turned from it, hand pressed against her ribs as if to quiet the storm that scent awoke.

“What a waste.." she muttered over her cup as she made her way back to her sitting room, choosing the seat he had briefly occupied as though some warmth might yet linger there.

Evadne’s head lifted at the sound of his voice, muffled by stone, yet she heard it as clearly as if he stood beside her. The mortal’s pulse had slowed into sleep hours ago, and she had listened to its rhythm like a lullaby she could never follow into dreams. Now it was quickening again, the steady thrum of life winding through the silence.

Her quill stilled. The parchment before her was a tangle of forgotten words, ink gone dry in the long hours she’d sat unmoving. Beyond the heavy drapes of her study, dawn crept nearer. Though she could not see the growing light, she could always feel it, the press of it at the edges of the world, crawling under her skin like a fever, threatening to unmake her. If only...

Evadne rose from her desk, but did not answer him. Instead, she sent the faintest whisper through the halls, a soft hum, coaxing him to follow the scent of the meal her shadow had prepared.

Down the corridor, the air grew warmer. Candlelight trembled across the faded portraits and wilted flowers. The door to the dining room stood slightly ajar. Within, a single place had been set, roast venison browned perfectly, a loaf of bread still steaming, and a goblet of deep red wine glimmering in the firelight.

Evadne stood at the far end of the long table, her hand resting lightly upon the carved back of a chair. She did not eat. When he appeared at the doorway, she smiled faintly, as though she had been waiting all along.

“You’re awake, perfect timing.." she said, voice smooth. “Forgive me, I thought it best not to disturb you. You must be famished.”

Her eyes lingered on him a moment too long, glinting in the dimness. “Sit. Eat while it’s still warm.”

Her tone was almost gentle, though her fingers twitched against the wood, aching to still the hum of his blood that echoed through the room.

Her lips curved faintly, the expression not quite reaching her eyes at his question about sleep, but she did not answer.

Evadne tilted her head, watching him eat as though she were trying to recall the sensation herself, though the smell of the roasted venison turned her stomach, but it was his scent that filled her senses now.

Clean now, scrubbed of the road’s dust and sweat, he smelled of soap and steel and something warm beneath it all, of life itself, pulsing and rich. It curled through the air like a whisper she could taste on her tongue.

“I have already eaten,” she said softly, “It has been… a long while since I’ve had a guest to share a table with. Forgive me, I did not wish to disturb your rest.”

She moved as she spoke, her bare feet against the stone near soundless. The light caught on the pale curve of her neck, on the edge of her white-gold hair. She rested her hand lightly on the back of his chair, near enough that he could feel the chill radiating from her skin, the kind that seeped into bone.

She took a seat beside him.. "But I will join you, if you do not mind the company.."

“Tell me, Ser Knight,” she murmured, resting her elbow atop the table and her chin atop her knuckles as she studied him.. "How did you end up so off track?.. I know of no maps that chart these hills.." her head tilted.

Evadne’s lips curved, not quite a smile, not quite a sneer, but something sharp enough to cut all the same. A slender brow lifted as she regarded him, amusement flickering like candlelight in her pale eyes.

“Blood drinker?..” she echoed softly. Her brow knit faintly, the performance effortless. “Curious..”

She leaned forward, elbows resting lightly upon the table, chin poised on the back of one hand.

His pulse stuttered, she heard it, clear as a bell. She could almost feel the blood thrumming through his veins, a rhythm as hypnotic as it was dangerous. His scent, warm and clean, filled her every breath, and for the first time in decades, restraint felt like a chain that burned her wrists, a silver collar at her throat.

“You are brave, to hunt them alone. They say such monsters hide among us. Wearing faces not unlike our own. That they can charm or curse or steal away the soul of a man with a single kiss.."

Her eyes lifted, met his, caught and held them. "But I have not heard of any such attacks in this area.. Have you heard otherwise?.."

Evadne’s brow furrowed at his words, her jaw tightening as she absorbed the mention of drained corpses. Foolish creatures. Reckless, gluttonous things that could never learn restraint. They would bring ruin to them all. A century of silence, and now knights came sniffing through the woods, to her door like hounds on the scent, when she hadn't so much as stepped outside.

“That is… disturbing,” she murmured, the words thin as parchment. Her gaze slid from his face to his hand, to the way his knuckles whitened around the small knife.

She did not rise when he did, only sat very still as the room grew taut with unspoken tension. Her eyes flicked briefly to the meal, still steaming, scarcely touched. The waste of it twisted something bitter in her stomach.

“Have I offended you,” she asked softly, “that you are so eager to take leave of me?”

Her voice trembled just so, enough to sound wounded, though there was nothing fragile in the stillness of her frame. “If I have… I apologise. I meant only to be hospitable. It has been so long since I entertained company, I may be a little…” she let out a breath, a small, self-deprecating smile curving her lips, “…out of practice.”

Her eyes lifted again to his, pale and glimmering faintly in the candlelight. “At least take food for your journey, Ser Alaric.. I would not like to see you go hungry.” she said, her expression and voice both sombre as she dropped her gaze and wrapped her arms around herself..