NOCTURNE REQUIEM

Soft sheets. Silk, cool against her skin.

Selene stirred, her body sinking deeper into the luxurious mattress beneath her.

A faint breeze slipped through the open balcony doors, carrying the scent of night-blooming jasmine and damp earth.

The air was crisp, kissed by the lingering chill of the evening, though it did not bite at her skin the way she felt it should.

Her eyes fluttered open.

A canopy of black velvet draped above her, embroidered with delicate silver thread, forming constellations she did not recognize.

The bed was enormous, far larger than necessary, with pillows of the finest down encasing her in comfort.

She sat up slowly, stretching languidly.

A faint ache pressed against her temples, but it was distant, dull, as though it belonged to someone else entirely.

Strange.

She pressed her fingers lightly against her temple.

She must have hit her head again. That was the only explanation for the haze lingering at the edges of her mind, for the scattered gaps in her memory.

Selene exhaled, shaking off the discomfort.

"I'm such a klutz" she whispered as a small giddy smile embraced her face.

It was nothing.

She was home.

A gentle knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts.

"Enter," she called, her voice smooth, assured; right.

The door opened, and a young woman in a crisp, dark uniform stepped inside, her movements graceful, precise.

She had pale skin, a delicate face framed by soft waves of dark hair, and eyes that shone with quiet devotion.

"Good evening, my lady." The maid bowed deeply, hands clasped in front of her apron. "Did you rest well?" she asked, half-expecting the newly turned fledgling to attempt to murder her, at the very least.

Or combust and dissolve into ash like the other failed experiments of Lord Veylan.

Selene smiled, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

"I did, though I seem to have hit my head at some point before I went to sleep. My memory is... fragmented." She gestured vaguely, dismissing the concern before it could grow.

The maid's brows knitted together for only a fraction of a second before her expression returned to placid perfection.

"That is unfortunate, my lady. Should I summon the family physician?"

Selene waved her off. "No need. It's just a mild concussion, I'm sure. A few days of rest, and I'll be fine."

The maid nodded. "Of course."

She stepped forward, reaching for the silk robe draped at the foot of the bed. "Shall I prepare your bath, my lady?"

Selene allowed herself to be led through the morning routine as if it were second nature.

She bathed in a grand marble tub filled with steaming water infused with crushed roses and fragrant oils, her maid's hands working through her long curly hair with practiced ease.

After this, She was dressed in the finest silks; layers of fabric slipping over her skin like whispered promises.

She sipped warmed blood from a crystal goblet, the rich taste coating her tongue, filling her with a deep, quiet satisfaction.

She was whole.

She was as she had always been.

When she stepped onto the grand balcony overlooking her estate, the world stretched before her in perfect, effortless harmony.

The gardens below gleamed in the moonlight, her gardens. Rows of deep crimson roses, meticulously pruned.

The winding paths of white stone. The towering hedges, sculpted into elegant shapes.

Selene descended the stairs with practiced grace, bare feet against cool marble.

She walked the paths with familiar ease, brushing her fingers against the petals, breathing in the heady scent of night-blooming flora.

Everything was exactly as it should be.

The sensation of belonging settled over her like a well-worn cloak.

And yet—

A flicker. A whisper at the edges of her mind.

She hesitated, hand lingering over a delicate flower, its petals the color of fresh blood.

Something felt… off.

She frowned and scrunched her face.

No.

It was simply the concussion.

Nothing more.

She straightened, smoothing the fabric of her gown, and continued on her way, leaving the thought behind like a withered petal carried away by the wind.

The flickering candlelight barely touched the corners of Lucian's study, swallowed by the abyssal shadows pooling in the corners.

A heavy tome lay open on his desk, its brittle pages illuminated by the soft glow of his untouched wine glass; a thick, viscous red that was not wine at all.

The knock came softly, hesitant.

Lucian didn't look up. "Enter."

The door creaked open, and the scent of lavender and warm blood curled into the air before the maid even stepped inside.

She hesitated just past the threshold, hands folded neatly in front of her dark uniform.

Lucian's gaze flickered to her, silver eyes gleaming in the dim light. "What is it?"

The maid bowed, her voice measured, professional. "It's the fledgling, my lord. She's… behaving strangely."

Lucian's fingers, poised on the edge of the page, stilled. "Strange how?"

A pause. The maid's brow furrowed slightly, searching for the right words. "She remembers nothing of her past. She believes she has always been one of us."

Lucian's expression remained unreadable. "And?"

The maid hesitated. "She is… content, my lord."

At that, Lucian did look up. His gaze sharpened, slicing through the dim light. "Content?"

"Yes." The maid's fingers twitched against the fabric of her apron, a telltale sign of unease. "She awoke without resistance, embraced her routines as though they had always been hers. There was no struggle, no confusion; only a passing remark that she must have hit her head."

Lucian leaned back, fingers steepled beneath his chin.

That was unexpected.

He had anticipated resistance, denial, perhaps even rage. He had braced himself for the battle that would inevitably come when Selene clawed through her temporary slumber.

But this…

This was something else.

Lucian exhaled slowly, his voice quiet but firm. "Where is she now?"

The maid bowed again. "In the gardens, my lord."

Lucian rose, the candlelight flickering against the sharp lines of his face. "Thank you for your assistance, you may leave"

The gardens stretched out beneath the pale glow of the moon, a masterpiece of manicured hedges and carefully cultivated night-blooming flowers.

Lucian moved soundlessly down the marble steps, the scent of damp earth and roses curling in the crisp air.

And there...

Among the meticulously pruned flowerbeds, hands dusted with soil, hair spilling in loose waves down her back, was her.

Selene knelt in the rich earth, delicate gloves discarded beside her as she worked with careful precision, tending to the vibrant red roses that thrived beneath her touch.

A pair of vampire maids stood nearby, watching her with a mixture of quiet fascination and mild uncertainty. One handed her a fresh trowel, the other subtly corrected her posture, as though unsure whether a fledgling of her status should be on her knees in the dirt at all.

Selene only smiled, utterly at ease.

Lucian lingered in the shadows for a moment longer, watching.

She was… radiant.

And just for a moment, Lucian found her gorgeous.

No vampire he had met could look as exotic as she did under the pale shine of the moonlight.

There was no trace of resistance in her. No wariness, no fear. Only the serene contentment of a woman who believed she belonged.

His stomach twisted.

Then she lifted her head...

And saw him.

A spark of light flared in her crystalline blue eyes, pure and unguarded. It seemed to shine beautifully in the dark, if that was even possible.

Lucian barely had time to react before she was moving, rising gracefully from the earth and tugging off her used gloves in one smooth motion.

"Darling!"

The word struck him like a physical blow.

Selene's laughter rang soft and unburdened as she all but flew into his arms, throwing herself against him with reckless familiarity.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his coat, her warmth pressing against him as if she had done this a thousand times before.

Lucian caught her on instinct, his grip firm but frozen.

Darling.

His jaw tightened.

This was wrong.

And yet...

Selene pulled back slightly, tilting her face up toward his, her expression expectant, utterly trusting.

Something deep within him wavered as he looked down at her.

But it shouldn't.

His arms dropped to his sides, leaving only the cold night air between them.

Selene blinked, a flicker of confusion passing through her gaze before it smoothed into something softer. "Did you come to check on me?" She smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair from his collar. "You didn't need to worry. I'm fine."

Lucian's throat was dry. "You are… well, then?"

She laughed, bright and effortless. "Of course I am! My memories are a little foggy, but it's nothing serious. I must have had an accident." She gestured vaguely, as though the matter was of little importance. "The physician will probably say I just need rest."

Lucian did not respond.

Selene tilted her head, brows drawing together ever so slightly. "Lucian?"

He schooled his expression into something neutral. "It is… good to see you in high spirits."

Selene beamed, slipping her arm through his without hesitation, as if the gesture was second nature. "I always am, with you."

This was a lie.

Not hers... His.

A slow, impossibly careful deception. A false reality crafted with meticulous precision.

And she had stepped into it without hesitation.

What was in the tincture he stole from Lord Veylan?

Was this the new project he said he was working on?

Wiping memories of newly turned vampires?

What the hell was he up to?

Lucian clenched his jaw.

This was not who she was.

But Selene only smiled up at him, utterly unaware, utterly content.

And for now, he let her believe it.

Because how could he explain to this woman that she was nothing but a labrat.