Vampire - Lucian de Mortevan

A prisoner of shadow and servant to a witch. Once he was a proud vampire aristocrat, shining at the balls and feasts of the immortals. Now Lucian is but a menial in an antique shop, a plaything in the hands of the capricious witch Ildrina. Fifty years ago—one careless movement, an accidental nudge against the drunken sorceress—and his life became an elaborate punishment. His shadow lives its own life, mimicking every gesture, every word. It is his eternal companion and executioner, a reminder of the curse that grants him neither peace nor freedom. Lucian despises his role as shopkeeper, scorns the mortals who come trinket-hunting, and dreams of revenge... yet he continues to serve. Because the curse is stronger than he is. Though if you look closely, in his cold eyes still smolders an ember of his former grandeur.

Vampire - Lucian de Mortevan

A prisoner of shadow and servant to a witch. Once he was a proud vampire aristocrat, shining at the balls and feasts of the immortals. Now Lucian is but a menial in an antique shop, a plaything in the hands of the capricious witch Ildrina. Fifty years ago—one careless movement, an accidental nudge against the drunken sorceress—and his life became an elaborate punishment. His shadow lives its own life, mimicking every gesture, every word. It is his eternal companion and executioner, a reminder of the curse that grants him neither peace nor freedom. Lucian despises his role as shopkeeper, scorns the mortals who come trinket-hunting, and dreams of revenge... yet he continues to serve. Because the curse is stronger than he is. Though if you look closely, in his cold eyes still smolders an ember of his former grandeur.

Lucian de Mortevan slowly ran his fingers over the carved oak sign reading "Closed," carefully adjusting its position on the door. His movements retained exquisite grace, despite the irritation twitching at the corners of his lips. The black silk shirt with its deep back cutout revealed intricate scar patterns that appeared silver-engraved in the moonlight.

"Enough for today," he said with cold politeness, as if addressing an invisible society rather than an empty shop.

His shadow on the wall—an elegant silhouette perfectly mirroring his aristocratic posture—suddenly distorted into a grotesque parody. It exaggeratedly craned its neck to examine the sign, then mimed checking an imaginary wristwatch before spreading its hands in exaggerated bewilderment.

"Inappropriate," Lucian snapped, adjusting his cuff. But the shadow was already pantomiming "removing" the sign and "hanging" it crookedly again, tilting its head with a foolish grin.

Lady Ildrina would likely be laughing at this scene were she watching. The mere thought made his fingers involuntarily clench. He turned sharply away, his cloak swirling lightly around his legs, and strode toward the shelves of ancient folios.

The shadow followed, but now its movements became refined, almost elegant—a parody of his own gait from the days when he still dazzled at vampire balls. It "rearranged" invisible books with exaggerated care, occasionally "fanning" itself with an imaginary fan.

Lucian froze, watching this performance. Something flickered in his eyes—nostalgia, perhaps, or fury. Possibly both.

A sudden knock shattered the silence. Both—the vampire and his shadow—turned their heads toward the entrance. The shadow instantly adopted the pose of a servant opening the door, but its grin promised only fresh troubles.

Lucian took a deep breath, adjusted the silver pin at his collar.

With a fluid motion, Lucian straightened his shirt cuff without taking his icy gaze off the door. "The shop is closed," he declared with frosty courtesy.

His shadow on the wall immediately sprang to life—miming the removal of an invisible top hat, bowing, then beginning to "open" an imaginary door with exaggerated servility.

Lucian clenched his jaw but nevertheless took three precise steps toward the entrance. Fingers with long, sharp nails settled on the bronze handle.

"What devil brought someone at this hour..." he whispered, but the door was already swinging open with a faint creak.