The Vampire Council”s chamber was not a room of marble and stone, but a cavernous ribcage of twisted iron and pulsating, dark arteries. The air hung heavy with the cloying, sweet stench of rotted lilies and old, curdled blood. Above, the vaulted ceiling was lost in a swirling, toxic fog where the shadows seemed to detach themselves from the walls, slithering toward the center of the hall like liquid ink.
Cattleya stood in the heart of this sepulcher, her presence a jarring, metallic discordance. The Council members had fled into the periphery, their silhouettes flitting through the gloom like bloated, starving moths.
"Is this the pinnacle of your artistry, Vasili?" Cattleya”s voice cut through the oppressive stillness, a sharp, cold silver chime. "A graveyard built to keep the dead from
