Chapter 2: Laughter in the Blood Hall
1097 Words
The first thing Aria noticed when she woke was the silence.
Not the peaceful kind. This silence was thick and uneasy, like the Academy itself was holding its breath, waiting for her to crack.
The stone walls of her dorm loomed around her, cold and grey. Shadows stretched long across the floor. The blanket did little to keep the chill from her skin, and even less to calm the unease in her chest.
Seraphina…
She could still hear that voice from last night. Still see the mirror. Still feel the air ripple when it cracked.
She shook her head. Maybe it had been a dream.
At the foot of the door, something white caught her eye—a note.
Breakfast – Blood Hall. Attendance is mandatory.
– Mistress Vhalen
Her stomach turned.
Blood Hall. Of course. Even the name sounded like a threat.
She dressed in silence, slipping into the stiff, high-collared uniform they’d issued her: deep navy with silver trim. The fabric was fine, but it felt wrong on her, like she was a child playing dress-up in a monster’s house.
She brushed her hair back the best she could. It refused to obey.
You’re just here to study. Survive. Keep your head down.
That’s what her mother had told her before she left. Not that her mother had believed she’d actually get in.
“You’ll last a week,” her older brother had said. At the time, she’d rolled her eyes. Scoffed. Told him to shut up. But now… walking down these halls, cold blood soaking her collar, laughter still echoing in her skull.
She wasn’t so sure anymore.
Maybe he’s right, she thought bitterly. Maybe I won’t even last that long.
She clenched her jaw and stepped into the hallway.
The Blood Hall was a cathedral of decadence. Marble floors stretched endlessly beneath her boots. The towering stained-glass windows bled red light over students already seated by rank and family. Bone chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings, flickering with cold blue flames.
Her steps echoed like they didn’t belong.
She had taken three steps in before the stares began.
“That’s her.”
“The human.”
“How long do you think she’ll last?”
“Do you think she bleeds easy?”
Her hands went cold. She looked for a seat, any seat but every time she moved, someone blocked her path. Eyes like razors followed her. Chairs were suddenly full. Spaces, closed.
Like wolves guarding their territory.
Then came a voice. Silken. Polished. Cruel.
“Oh, poor thing. You look lost.”
Aria turned, and the crowd around her shifted like dancers making way for their star.
She stood there, Vivienne LeClair, the embodiment of elegance and malice. Her silver hair coiled perfectly around her shoulders. Amethyst eyes sparkled, and her lips curled like a dagger’s smile.
She was flanked by two other noble girls, draped in silks Aria could never afford.
“You must be Aria,” Vivienne said, stepping forward. “The… mortal pet.”
Aria straightened. “I’m a scholarship student.”
Vivienne's laugh was honeyed venom. “Scholarship? “Darling, your presence is an insult. Even your breath is stealing bloodborn air.”
Sharp, restrained laughter rippled around them. Aria's fists clenched at her sides. Before she could reply, a servant appeared beside her, holding a silver goblet brimming with thick, dark crimson.
“Your first meal, miss.”
The scent hit her like a slap. Warm. Coppery. Real. This wasn’t simulated. This was blood. Fresh.
She reached for it, trying not to tremble but Vivienne "accidentally" bumped her elbow.
The goblet tilted. Blood splashed across Aria’s chest and sleeves. Her eyes widened, horror freezing her in place.
Silence.
Then it came.
Laughter.
Cruel. Echoing. Endless.
Vivienne tilted her head in mock sympathy. “Oh no,” she purred. “That must’ve been your only set.”
Aria stood frozen. Her ears rang. Her face burned. She wanted to scream. To cry. To disappear. But instead, she just stood there. Shaking. Soaked in blood that wasn’t hers.
Her breath caught as the grand doors slammed open. A gust of cold swept through like a living thing.
Lucian D’Aragon.
He entered like he owned the night. Tall. Silent. Carved from moonlight and shadow. The Vampire Prince. His black coat whispered across the floor, silver eyes cutting through the room.
Conversations died. Even Vivienne fell quiet.
And then… his gaze passed over her.
Just a second. A blink.
Aria’s heart slammed against her ribs.
Does he… know me?
But then, nothing.
No flicker of recognition. No disgust. No curiosity.
He didn’t stop. Didn’t stare. Didn’t even hesitate.
Just walked past her. Like she was fog.
His gaze paused—for a fraction of a second too long. Then it moved on, cold as ever. But Aria’s skin prickled, as if something in him had almost… remembered.
And somehow… that hurt more.
And the world started laughing again.
She stayed behind long after the others had left, scrubbing the stains from her uniform with a half-shredded cloth. Her fingers were raw. No matter how hard she scrubbed, the blood clung. Like it knew her better than she knew herself.
I’m a joke, she thought bitterly. A human joke in a vampire empire.
Vivienne’s voice still echoed in her skull.
“Don’t worry, human. The magic won’t waste its breath on someone like you.”
Good, she told herself. I don’t want to be chosen.
But her chest told another story.
There was still that mirror. That voice. That strange crack in the air when no one else was watching.
What if… there is something wrong with me?
Or worse, something waiting.
She hated the thought. Hated how it clung to her ribs like a thread pulled too tight.
Like something had noticed her.
And it wasn't going to look away.
Later that night, under the silver glow of the moon, Aria stood beside the dormitory garden, still scrubbing at her sleeve. Her palm slipped against the stone, and a sharp edge sliced her skin.
She hissed. A drop of blood slid down her hand and hit the grass.
She didn’t notice how the soil drank it in. Hungry. Eager.
The wind stilled. The garden fell silent. A low hum trembled beneath the earth, almost like a sigh.
Far below Nightshade Academy, beneath rune-etched stone and sealed crypts, something stirred. A forgotten blood rune pulsed faintly… like a heart remembering how to beat.
A whisper echoed through the dark.
Seraphina…
The spell had begun.
And this time, it wouldn’t let her go.
- Writer
