Rain whispered against the glass in a steady murmur.
The sky was cloaked in gray, swallowing daylight whole, and Alessia's apartment—usually wrapped in voluntary dimness—felt even quieter.
Everything hung suspended in that gray, humid instant.
The clock ticked with unbearable slowness, each second dragging its echo through the corners of the room.
She stood at the window, motionless, arms folded across her chest.
She watched the world without seeing it, lost in thoughts that had been growing for days, weeks—perhaps years.
Liam.
His name pulsed between her thoughts, between each drop striking the glass.
A faint shiver ran down her spine each time she remembered him, and a warm pressure stirred in her chest—
as though her still heart, for a moment, tried to beat on its own.
She thought of his laugh, of the way he looked at her without judgment or fear,
of the heat in his hand when he dared to touch her.
She remembered the tenderness hidden in his simplest gestures,
the way he listened without demanding explanations.
In that moment, Alessia was not the heiress of an ancient bloodline,
not a creature of the night.
She was just a broken woman, clinging to an illusion that, against all odds, made her want to live again—
to feel,
to be something other than a shadow with memory.
The doorbell rang.
Once. Then again.
Her body reacted late, as if the sound had pulled her from a deep dream.
She walked toward the door slowly, opening it with cautious grace.
On the other side stood Miroslava—
umbrella dripping rainwater, gray trench coat, dark boots, hair tied in a perfect knot.
Her wine-colored lips were set in a neutral line, but her eyes carried a tension beneath their calm surface.
Alessia knew instantly this was no courtesy visit.
"Miroslava," she murmured, genuine surprise edged with wariness.
"Anna Viktorie," the woman replied firmly, using her true name. "May I come in?"
Alessia nodded and stepped aside.
The door shut behind them with a hollow sound that echoed through the silence.
They sat across from each other in the living room.
The only sound was the rain pattering against the windows.
Miroslava wasted no time on pleasantries.
"It's been nearly two years. The Council is concerned.
The elders believe you're drifting away from us."
Alessia's eyes drifted toward the window, where drops slid down like thick tears.
Her voice was calm, distant.
"I'm fine. I just needed time—to prepare myself. Tell them that. Nothing more."
Miroslava frowned, fingers tightening around her knees.
"You are not just any vampire, Anna Viktorie.
You are an heir—a bearer of ancient blood whose lineage traces back to the founders of the Pact.
Your existence represents balance, continuity, power.
The clans look to you not only as a symbol, but as a guide.
You can't vanish without consequence.
Every step you take alters the course of our history.
The blood that runs through you does not belong solely to you.
Your lineage is legacy.
And duty."
Alessia rose without answering and walked to the kitchen.
She poured a dark liquid—wine, or something close to it—into a crystal glass, more for the motion than the need.
It swirled heavily, as if it too carried the weight of what was left unsaid.
She handed it to Miroslava, who accepted it without enthusiasm.
They sat again.
The silence between them thickened, nearly tangible.
Miroslava studied her over the rim of the glass, then set it down and fixed her gaze, sharper now.
In that instant, she began to reach into her mind.
Alessia felt it.
The psychic brush—a flutter in her consciousness—followed by heat creeping down her neck, along her spine.
A sharp pressure speared through her temples, the floor seemed to tilt beneath her feet.
Her vision dimmed under the pull of invisible force draining her from within.
She tried to raise mental barriers, but it was too late.
Miroslava was already inside.
Images flooded between them—
Liam smiling under a warm lamp glow,
Liam's hand against her face on a cold night,
shared walks, endless conversations,
gazes that said more than words,
soft touches, unspoken desire, tenderness—
hope.
Laughter.
The dream of a different life.
Of a family.
Of a possible future.
Miroslava blinked and set the glass down without drinking.
Her face hardened.
In her eyes—something more than disappointment.
"You're in love with a human."
Alessia closed her eyes.
Her teeth pressed against her lower lip, but she didn't deny it.
She couldn't.
There was no space left for lies.
"It wasn't intentional. I didn't seek it.
But when I'm with him… I feel alive.
As if something I thought extinguished had awakened again."
Silence stretched once more.
Miroslava said nothing at first, her gaze flickering between Alessia and the rain.
Duty and affection wrestled behind her calm.
"You know what that means," she said at last, voice quiet but heavy.
"The Council won't allow it.
If they find out, he'll die—
and you'll lose everything.
Not just your title, but your freedom, your power—perhaps even your existence."
Alessia's fists tightened.
A faint tremor crossed her fingers, but her voice remained steady, her words barely above a whisper,
unyielding.
"Then they won't find out."
Miroslava looked at her for a long time.
And for the first time, her expression softened—not just worry, but compassion… and fear.
Fear not only for what Alessia might lose,
but for what she might be capable of doing in love's name.
"I'll keep your secret," Miroslava said finally, rising slowly.
Her eyes lingered on Alessia—loyalty and doubt warring with something like remorse.
She knew she was crossing a dangerous line.
But her heart had already chosen affection over obedience.
"Think carefully," she warned. "It's one thing to play with fire—another to open the door to hell.
Love, Anna Viktorie, has started more wars than blood ever has."
She left without saying goodbye.
Her footsteps faded down the hall, swallowed by the relentless rain.
Alessia stood there, glass in hand,
the rain mirrored in eyes that reflected nothing.
The apartment held its breath.
If loving Liam is my ruin… then let it burn me, she thought—
like fire rising wild over the pyre of her restraint.
A spark flickered inside her,
and for a heartbeat, she thought she saw—on the invisible surface of the glass—
a solitary tear sliding down the cheek that never wept.
The heart she'd forgotten how to use now thundered—
not from fear, but from resolve.
Outside, the city went on breathing, unaware of the abyss crackling within her chest.
She didn't know if she'd just signed her sentence or her salvation.
Only that, for the first time in centuries—
her heart beat without fear.