Moonlight filtered through shattered stained glass as crimson threads, Alyssa's ceremonial robe clinging like an ice-soaked shroud. Evelyn stabbed silver needles into her waistline with triple force.
"Father says contain your Moonflare," her sister's breath reeked of rotting roses, "lest you burn the altar...or unintended targets." The sewing kit overturned, crimson liquid seeping into golden embroidery—holy oil laced with bat gland extract.
When Layne emerged from shadows, twelve silver candelabras burst azure. His fingers grazed the holy water-blessed altar, skin sizzling: "Time for binding rites, darling." His pupils momentarily fractalized in the firelight.
Alyssa's Moonflare phoenix shattered the dome, collapsing at the silver chain cage. Evelyn's sneer drowned in clanging metal as Layne forced her toward the crystal prism—reflecting not her face, but a wolf witch burned centuries past.
"When blood moon rises," Layne's fangs brushed her healing bite mark, "you'll bless this robe." His pulse vanished under her palm for ten exact seconds, resyncing with the prism's vibration.
The cellar echoed with glass shattering. Alyssa rushed down under pretense, finding bloodwine barrels breached, Evelyn's hairpin jammed in gearworks. As she retrieved it, Moonflare raven materialized, clutching lace dusted with bat scales—identical to Evelyn's nightgown.
Midnight bells tolled as silver coffins screeched beneath the altar. Alyssa's phoenix fire burned through robe hem, exposing vampire runic circles. Layne's laugh distorted: "Seems someone craves spectacle."
When blizzards shattered stained glass, blood bats erupted from Evelyn's robe lining. Watching her sister cower under Layne's cloak, Alyssa realized where the missing wolf pups went—each bat's wing branded with Shadowclaw crest.