"Only madness made us. Only madness keeps us."
The world was soaked in red.
He remembered the way the moon bled over the black towers of Alexandria. The wind carried ash and rose petals alike, and her breath was warm against his mouth.
Lydia stood before him in the high cathedral garden, wrapped in silks that shimmered like spilled wine. Her eyes—violet, endless, deadly—did not blink. She did not ask.
She kissed him like the world would end if she didn't.
And perhaps it did.
Lucian didn't move, not at first. He had mastered stillness long ago, had silenced every emotion that once made him human. But her lips broke something.
Not everything. Just enough to bleed.
> "You'll regret this," he had whispered.
"I already do," she replied, and kissed him again.
---
The memory evaporated like steam.
Lucian stood still among the garden of black roses—each one enchanted to never wilt, born from ashes and blood rituals. The scent was rich and heavy, like mourning after desire.
A faint breeze stirred the edges of his cloak. Nearby, Lilac sat on the marble steps, paintbrush in hand. She didn't look at him. She never did when he was lost in thought.
She dipped her brush in crimson and shaped the outline of a man standing beneath a bleeding moon.
Lucian.
The child said nothing. She never had to.
He walked slowly to her side, boots silent on the silver-streaked stone. She was cross-legged, sleeves rolled up, hair tied in a messy bun with Lydia's old ribbon. Her canvas was raw emotion—wild, dark, unfiltered.
She looked up at him finally. Just once. Then painted in a second figure beside the first.
Crimson hair. Pale skin. Violet eyes.
Lydia.
Lilac tilted her head. Her way of asking: "You were thinking about her again, weren't you?"
Lucian didn't answer. He sat beside her.
They watched the red-touched horizon in silence, the roses swaying gently. Lilac reached out and touched his hand—not tightly, just enough to remind him:
He wasn't alone.
Not today.
---
> "We bled under the same moon," he thought, "but she kissed me like I was her last breath. I wonder… when she kisses me again—will it be to save me… or to end me?"
(Continued): The Queen Who Remembers
The candle burned low, spitting sparks against the cold.
Lydia Vainsblood stood before the obsidian mirror in her chamber, brushing out her long crimson hair with ritualistic grace. Each stroke was slow, deliberate—measured like war.
But her hands trembled.
She'd dreamed of that night again.
The cathedral garden. The scent of dying roses.
The way Lucian looked at her like she was the world's final sin—and still let her kiss him.
> "I already regret this," she had said,
but the second kiss tasted like relief. Like prophecy.
The blood moon had watched them both. It always did.
She reached into the drawer beside her vanity and retrieved the vial—the one sealed with black wax, heavy with old blood.
She turned it in her palm, watching it pulse softly.
One kiss under the blood moon.
Two more… and the world would unravel.
---
She moved to her writing desk, where unfinished poems and letters lay scattered like discarded souls. In the center sat a single sketch—Lilac's, drawn weeks ago: Lucian's silhouette in the garden, her own face half-formed beside his.
Even the child saw it.
> "He gives me everything but the last piece. That cursed 25%," Lydia thought bitterly, tracing the outline with one clawed finger.
"He fears love like it's a plague. And yet... I'd die to feel all of him just once."
She closed her eyes, breathing in the quiet.
In a drawer beneath the desk, wrapped in black silk, was her obsidian trident.
It whispered tonight. Just faintly.
Blood of Calamity... it called.
Not to be used—just remembered.
> "Not yet," she whispered back. "You'll know when."
---
There was a knock on her door—two gentle taps. Only one person knocked like that.
Lydia stood, smoothed her dress, and answered it.
Lilac stood there, paint on her hands, silent as always. She held up a new canvas.
Lucian…
And Lydia.
But this time, they were both facing away from each other, blood trailing from their fingers. A crack split the sky above them.
Lydia stared at it for a long time. Then smiled faintly.
> "She's seen too much," she murmured, reaching out to ruffle the girl's hair.
"You're too clever to be nine."
Lilac just blinked once. Then gently placed the painting at Lydia's feet and walked away into the candlelit corridor.
---
> "Only madness made us," Lydia whispered, watching her leave.
"Let's hope it's enough to keep us."
---
Would you like Chapter Two to open with:
A political scene where Lucian and Lydia play their roles in court?
A mysterious threat introduced—perhaps someone who knows about the Vhali bloodline?
Or a quiet family moment between the three in the palace gardens—before everything begins to spiral?
This rhythm is perfect for building,emotion before the storm. Let's decide where it goes next.