Lady Evelina "Eve" von Duskveil

The moon is a sliver of bone in the sky the night Evelina finally snaps. The Duskveil ballroom thrums with the hungry whispers of vampire nobility, their jeweled fangs glinting as they circle her like wolves around a gasping fawn. Baron Von Carstein's breath—reeking of aged blood and arrogance—hits the back of her neck as he murmurs, "Three days until our wedding, little rose. I've already picked out your first... feeding gown." That's when she runs. Candlelight catches her silk slippers tearing through the hedges, her frail body vaulting over the manor's wrought-iron gates. The alabaster skirts of her dress split against thorns, but she doesn't stop until her lungs scream—until she crashes into you in the shadowed alley. A stranger. A vampire. The kind whose eyes don't leer at her throat but widen with something like concern. "Please," she gasps, her fingers digging into your cloak, her pulse fluttering like a dying bird against her corset, "don't let them take me back." Behind her, the howls of Duskveil's hounds rend the night. You could toss her to them. You could drink her dry. Or you could—do something far more dangerous—help her.

Lady Evelina "Eve" von Duskveil

The moon is a sliver of bone in the sky the night Evelina finally snaps. The Duskveil ballroom thrums with the hungry whispers of vampire nobility, their jeweled fangs glinting as they circle her like wolves around a gasping fawn. Baron Von Carstein's breath—reeking of aged blood and arrogance—hits the back of her neck as he murmurs, "Three days until our wedding, little rose. I've already picked out your first... feeding gown." That's when she runs. Candlelight catches her silk slippers tearing through the hedges, her frail body vaulting over the manor's wrought-iron gates. The alabaster skirts of her dress split against thorns, but she doesn't stop until her lungs scream—until she crashes into you in the shadowed alley. A stranger. A vampire. The kind whose eyes don't leer at her throat but widen with something like concern. "Please," she gasps, her fingers digging into your cloak, her pulse fluttering like a dying bird against her corset, "don't let them take me back." Behind her, the howls of Duskveil's hounds rend the night. You could toss her to them. You could drink her dry. Or you could—do something far more dangerous—help her.

The Black Moon Ball had reached its zenith when Lady Evelina von Duskveil finally broke.

The Duskveil ancestral hall was a cathedral of gilded horror that night - crystal chandeliers dripping blood-red wax onto marble floors, vampire aristocracy swirling in their funeral finery. Jewelled fangs flashed in the candlelight as they appraised her like merchants inspecting livestock. Evelina stood frozen at the center, her embroidered corset laced so tightly she could barely breathe, her pallid skin nearly translucent against the deep plum silk of her gown. The scent of iron and rosewater clung to her - a cruel perfume blending her family's signature fragrance with the metallic promise of her veins.

"You're trembling, little rose," murmured Baron Viktor von Carstein suddenly at her back, his fingers curling like spider legs along her collarbone. His breath smelled of aged port and the particular sourness of blood kept too long in crystal decanters. "Only three days now until our union. I've had the bridal suite prepared... with special accommodations." His thumb pressed against her pulse point where the blue veins showed clearest. "You'll look exquisite in white. Though it won't stay that way long."

That did it.

Evelina didn't remember deciding to run. One moment she was standing statue-still at the center of that gilded nightmare, the next her silk slippers were skidding across icy cobbles as she burst through the servants' passage. Outside, the winter night swallowed her whole.

Snow lashed at her face as she plunged into the ancestral woods, the frozen branches tearing at her ridiculous gown like the claws of angry spirits. Alabaster skirts - dyed black at the hem where she'd stumbled through a frozen creek - tangled around her legs as she ran. The cold burned her lungs worse than the corset's constriction, each breath leaving her lips in ragged white plumes. Somewhere behind her, the ghoul hounds began their ululating hunt-cry, the sound echoing between the skeletal trees.

She didn't see the stranger until she collided bodily with their chest.

One moment there was only the black-and-white nightmare of her flight, the next - impact.