A vampire's aura was everything to a vampire. It unfolded as they aged, but their magical inclination was important in fortifying and stabilizing it. After age and magical aptitude are achieved, the next thing to grow one's aura is bloodlust.

How much blood can a vampire take? Both by battle and feeding, the more consumed, the heavier the scarlet aura would be.

Morana's aura was always faint, but it was there. Mathias Jouvempes, the First Commander of the Eyes, saw none of it now. After her fifty-year absence, something smothered it out. He furrowed his golden eyebrows in a deep scowl as he thought. 

She has most likely starved for decades.  

In front of them now was a malnourished shell that barely could hold up her head. He felt rage and a grave worry in his heart as Morana tried to smile faintly in greeting. 

What had his sister gone through to come back this way? The question was on everyone's minds and probably most present in their mother's mind, who insisted on greeting her at the door, too.

Most of the company included their closest relatives: their mother, the last two surviving cousins from their late maternal aunt, and Mathias' only daughter, three-year-old Skylar. Besides the family, the Eyes were in a half-stance. You could tell the difference between the nobles and guards, like night and day, as the nobles wore elaborate deep blue and purple fabrics while the guards wore dark grey tactical gear.

Morana smiled as best she could, thrilled that most of them seemed good. Her fair blond mother and brother were almost identical in features, down to their worried stares. 

Both shared the same haunting, clear blue eyes that grew colder than night when taken over by bloodlust. The only thing Mathias inherited from their father was his classic Hollywood jawline. Morana inherited most of her features from her father, only claiming the softness of femininity from her mother at best.

Morana's green gleaming eyes survey the Marks of Ascension on the nobles and graduated guards. A sourness blooms in her mouth as her ego strains to keep calm. All of them have been granted the right to be Day Walkers. Something she so desperately needs to become, but she can't even stand without swaying at the moment.

"Get Mora to the Farm." 

The voice that spoke was more enraged than Mathias was. The second Commander of the Eyes, Darien Locke, stood next to the young Master, clenching his jaw tight and holding back the need to whisk the girl away to feed immediately.

Morana also felt the urge to run to him, to run and weep to him. How right he was about the young not knowing anything of love. Her silver-eyed Darien and his perfect everything. Just hearing his voice made her mind lax in so many ways. His presence was warmer than milk and honey.

Not that she could run to him and bawl like a child. He wasn't Keiko. But just as much, Darien was truly treasured. The only problem was she couldn't hold onto that notion. It made her weak, and she couldn't hit rock bottom again. All feelings of love or softness were now forbidden for her toward anyone.

I won't be fooled again by this wretched heart.

Inside of her, the Queen sighs. The child forcefully turned her heart numb again. Since coming into this reality, Morana has been doing so every day. The Conquerer continues to haunt her every waking minute.

Ignoring Darien's remark, she looks around and says, confused, "I see two Commanders and one stone-face mother." 

Morana's voice sounds foreign to them all. Darien Locke tries to make out the familiar softness and innocence, but there's only a monotone.

"Did my letter not make it in time? He should be here-"

"I'm here, little Lamb," a hoarse voice speaks from behind her mother and brother. 

"Give this old man a second."

Her grandfather and grandmother, Bylur Jouvempes and Olwen Jouvempes, were indeed old—a few of the oldest surviving vampires. They hardly pay attention to the household anymore, so the sudden appearance takes Mora's mother aback. Of course, she's not the only one.

Journee starts, "Father, mother, you didn't have to come down to greet Moara-"

With a stern look from her father, Journee stops short of her words. Bylur darkly questions, "When would I greet her if not now? Would you ever allow her to ask for my audience?"

He knows that Journee has completely controlled Morana since Leith's death. While her husband was still alive, Journee had a safety net for herself and their children, but with him gone now, she is too scared to exist. 

Mathias, his youngest grandson, speaks but in a careful tone, "She asked to speak to you in advance then."

Bylur can tell Mathias is a little hurt by the circumstance, yet the boy somehow understands his sister's effort to avoid the inevitable confrontation with their mother. Morana knows all too well what their mother will ask her to do.

Their grandfather alone is known far and wide in the vampiric empire. He even visits the Emperor once a year as a friend. His legends and myths could inspire even the weakest among them to taste the dream called courage and live to fight another day. Therefore, his word is taken as law.

"It seems the girl outsmarted her watchers gracefully." 

He admires Morana's daring attempt to obtain his help once again. No one could fathom him caring about trivial family matters, but the truth is their old age was boring, and a little family drama was alluring fun.

Seeing how everyone's in a tense mood by requesting her grandparents, Morana steps in and bows in respect to the greeting party. 

With a forced tone of good health, she says, "Forgive me for my rudeness, my dear ones. As you can see, I'm not doing quite well. It is good to see you all. You really haven't had the slightest idea of my sincerity."

Darien's heart skips a bit as her green eyes linger on him for a second longer than anyone else. She had been gone for so long, and he had dreamed of those eyes almost every night despite hating himself for it. Morana is really back, and Locke doesn't know how to interpret his feelings about that.

She straightens up to continue, "But asking for an audience with Grandfather was needed. Please don't hold it against me. I know what all of you will say, but I give only Grandfather the chance to persuade me on your behalf."

Bylur chuckles, knowing Morana means to discuss her Ascension acceptance and the need to withdraw with him and him alone.

"To be or not to be?" His right brow jolts in amusement.

His granddaughter doesn't share the lightheartedness but retorts with narrowed eyes the words, "To run or stand is more like it."

Ho- her eyes have been mesmerizing, to say the least. They remind him so much of his late son-in-law.

"Hmph, come this way, child. The rest of you wait in the bouquet hall. We will join you after our discussion."

Before Bylur takes Morana into the manor, he turns to the Commander and says, "Second Commander Locke?"

"Yes, my Lord." 

Hearing the silver-eyed guardian speak shakes her soul. But a pair of coal-black eyes stare her down from within, making her still and composed, as she should be. 

"Don't show your hand, least of all your heart, my wild one," says a shadow of a thought in her ear. 

"Reaching the Farm this late for Morana is an inconvenience. Please bring some IV bags to our suite instead," orders Bylur as he captures Morana's arm and helps her into the manor. 

Inconvenience or not, feeding directly from a human would do Morana loads better than bags, but there's no disobeying the House Lord. Reluctantly, Darien answers, "Right away, sir."

Before Darien returns with the bags, Morana enjoys a bit of mundane conversation with her grandparents. They hadn't seen her for even longer than her fifty-year absence due to Leith and Journee's intervention. The last time Bylur saw his grandaughter was during a holiday in the North when she was eighteen. Morana's parents thought he and Olwen would lead her down the path that led only to her death. Bylur knows that the child in front of him is his daughter's last and brightest gift, and even when it's harsh, Journee holds Morana in her arms, intending to keep this one alive no matter what. The sad thing was that Journee never let on why she did what she did, so a deep misunderstanding has become embedded into their mother-daughter relationship. At this point, it may be irreparable. 

Bylur doesn't know if he can face Journee after this encounter. His daughter wants nothing more than for him to succeed in convincing Morana to withdraw from the Ascension and wait another century. Yet, no matter how much he wants to align himself with Journee's ideals, he knows it can't.

"Why me, my child? Why ask me to discuss this matter with you alone?" He somewhat resents the child for the burden.

Morana lets it show that she knows all too well that her request weighs him down. Her heart feels a pang of heartache, but she swallows it away and answers, "You're going to say it's okay to go, and your word cannot be easily put down. Having your support means my brother and mother can't freely nag me about quitting."

His granddaughter already knew he would advocate for her to follow through and take her Ascension as she should. But Journee's face comes to his mind, and he starts, "They only want to-"

"-keep me safe," Morana finishes for him. 

Exasperated, she sighs and says, "Isn't it time for the darkness to have its way with me? Personally, I'm tired of this painted-flower-on-the-wall existence. It's why I had you let me leave quietly in the first place."

"You look as if it has already taken a bite of you," her grandmother chides as the door softly opens. 

Her grandfather observes Darien discreetly walking into the room with the bags of blood. The Commander surely heard Morana say she was tired of being just a pretty picture. It is interesting how the fellow's eyes came alive with such panic mulling over her statement.

Morana chuckles and responds, "I traveled to find the masters and teachers that were forbidden to me. I found some who were more fiendish than they appeared."

Her grandparents stay silent for a minute, noticing the odd expression on their granddaughter's face. 

Olwen breaks her silence first and says, "We've always thought your parent's love crippled you from becoming the vampire you could be. Some see a malnourished girl trying to prove her worth dangerously, but.."

Morana's grandmother smiles and finishes, "There's something in your eyes. Isn't there? Something awake and wise. Something hard and... frigid beyond belief."

Olwen Jouvempes has been an idol to many over the centuries, and her granddaughter couldn't be prouder to be her grandchild. Her Aunt Adalynn took after Olwen, and Journee did, too, but in Journee's case, she took the blue iris of her father instead of their mother's amber ones. Most of her family on her mom's side were starkly blond, slender, and almost elvish-like.

The descendants of the House of Winter were mostly Nordic, and their culture was heavily influenced by myths and legends about the dark, cold seas their ancestors traveled upon. Most stories involved Vikings, which can be interpreted as saying they lived to battle and to battle hard. Times have changed, though.

Olwen Jouvempes was one of the few in their House to obtain the Waiver of the Bloodied, and because of it, their House grew for many centuries. Since then, not many have accomplished such a thing, but Morana has already vowed she would be the next to claim it.

She had to obtain it, too. It was the only way to save their House from further decline and the only way to resurrect the Queen.

Directing herself to the guard, Olwen orders, "Commander Locke, escort Mora to the banquet hall and get your masters. We will inform them of our failure to prevent our princess from attending the winter Ascension."

Bylur laughs wholeheartedly, knowing what will happen shortly. "Journee is going to throw a fit."

The barely wrinkled vampires watch them leave. Their grandchild's absence leaves a void that makes them feel colder than they'd like. With only Mathias and Morana left, their estates felt big and worn out. Olwen fondly remembers the sound of her children passing through the halls along with those of her sisters, brothers, and vassals. She hopes that one day, the fear of bearing a child will be lifted from the entire Keep, and those sounds will once again ring throughout the cold, dark, neglected halls. 

"By the look of the Commander, if he weren't such a loyal one, he would object to this amount of effort, too," Bylur says slyly. 

Olwen bitterly chuckles, "He should leave his personal feelings out of his duty. " 

"Besides..." she briefly remembers the look of heartbreak on her granddaughter's face the night she asked permission to leave and finishes, "he already let her go, anyway."