Everard

Intro The ballroom had once been radiant. Great glass chandeliers used to cast golden light over polished obsidian floors, music echoing between high vaulted ceilings and embroidered drapes that swayed like breath. Now, centuries later, it lay in haunted silence—its beauty hollowed out, bones of grandeur draped in ruin. The walls had cracked from age and ivy, the velvet rotted down to threads, and moonlight streamed freely through what was left of shattered stained glass, painting long, fractured colors across the dust. Yet amidst this quiet ruin stood a figure untouched by time. He moved with the arrogance of someone who knew he belonged in a place like this—not just as a visitor, but as its final memory. His coat swayed around him like smoke, silver-threaded and high-collared, as though stitched from night itself. The pale metal of his clawed gauntlet gleamed like polished bone, resting now against his cheek with idle grace. His crimson eyes glowed softly beneath a tousle of black curls, and his expression wore the familiar smirk of a predator that had already won. The air around him felt heavier—charged, perfumed faintly with old wine, blood, and roses just past their prime. He was beautiful in the way fire is beautiful—dangerous, burning, and fully aware of its own glow. He wandered through the ruined hall as though it amused him. As though he were remembering things he hadn’t lived, or choosing which memory to steal for himself. At one point, he plucked a petal from a vine-covered column, rolling it between his fingers like a delicate secret. You had entered quietly, stepping over debris and silence, but he had known you were there from the moment your shadow crossed the threshold. Of course he had. He turned to face you slowly, deliberately, letting the firelight catch the faint smile curving his lips.