𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄 ♡

⁺ ‧₊ 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄 ♱˚ ₊

"𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐈 pray thee find delight in the beverage thou hast beseeched," a masked lady articulated, marking the 4201st utterance of the same sentence that never failed to tire her within the confines of what she deemed an un justifiably protracted existence imposed upon her. Her lackluster gaze, bereft of its former vitality, scarcely blinked as she gradually knelt down to signify her inferiority to and respect for the man before her. Subsequently, she extended her right arm, presenting an elegant saucer cradling a silver sterling chalice aloft .

In stark contrast to the widow's demeanor, the man cast a disdainful gaze downward, his visage encompassing a sense of scorn to no end. 

"This is all you've brought me?" he derisively scoffed, as if he was insulted that both the quantity and quality of the arterial liquid offered could not have been impossibly higher.

The lady perceptively gulped -- yet even with the special and intricately designed Dia de los Muertos mask she never took off, any discernible trace of trepidation on her countenance was consciously veiled. She was acclimated to the harrowing prognosis that she anticipated would unfold, as though she had been through such things a million times over.

Dull, light-gray orbs barely moved to look around as the woman inhaled deeply, bracing herself for an impending grasp about her neck or some semblance of physical restraint.

Though to her astonishment, no such ordeal transpired. Instead, the man wore a mere wicked grin while being seemingly ensconced within the recesses of his contemplations.

"Might I humbly request to be let in on your reflections, young master? I am taken aback, albeit in a most delightful manner, that thou hast chosen to bestow upon me thy benevolence..." the masked female murmured, incapable of stopping herself from ending the sentence with a slight hiss as strands of her snowy-white hair flowed past her shoulders.

To this, the raven-haired man only made a subtle adjustment to the impeccable contours of his attire, obviously opting to stay silent and eschewing answering the woman's question. He deliberately closed his eyes before extending his hand with a measured poise and grabbing ahold of the chalice in an aristocratic manner. He took a few sips of the vermilion elixir before abruptly standing up and absent-mindedly placing the chalice on the nearest horizontal surface.

With his hands clasped elegantly behind his person, he sauntered towards a window of stained glass tinged with a somber gray hue. His gaze was fixed upon the intricate spider web-like patterns adorning the glass, and with a gloved hand, specifically the dexterous right one, he delicately traced the filigree. With that, he suddenly broke the silence as he inquired aloud, "Do you know what this reminds me of, Lucere? Care to guess?"

"I... know not of any origin, young master. T-Though perhaps it is wisest for me to take my leave forthwith, is it not so? I... have fulfilled mine duty in delivering unto thee thy libation, have I not?" queried the woman, her voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty that effectively displayed her discomfort.

The man smirked wryly, an expression of subtle amusement preceding his deliberate action of elevating the fine fabric of his sleeve. Revealed beneath was a faint crimson line, a visible testament to a recently sustained wound that hadn't been fully healed -- or rather, couldn't be.

Lucere could not believe her own eyes, which had widened upon the revelation that struck her.

Someone other than the Emperor of Venatores was able to land a strike on Necare Commode, someone was brave (and psychotic) enough to challenge the noble, and they were able to leave an enduring mark on him in the process.

Though if that were the case, why would Necare be smirking?

Did he manage to convince a formidable adversary to join forces with him? Was the man with a devil's gaze able to vanquish one of the few who could ever stand to pose a threat to him in the realm of combat? Or was the wound self-inflicted and was merely part of another sick game to give her some false hope? 

Lucere wished to avert contemplation of the matter altogether if that were the case.

"All I did was lift my sleeve, and you're already trying to think four steps ahead of whatever I could possibly be trying to do," the red-eyed man snickered.

"I-I merely pondered about who among mortals would dare embark upon the audacious endeavor of challenging thee," stammered the woman. 

"Well, do you want the answer?"

"Verily, I would be delighted to be enlightened..." the female murmured.

"I found her," Necare bluntly stated, though with apparent satisfaction.

"Her?"

"Your daughter -- (Y/N) (L/N)."

 -

(a/n: sorry i've been unexpectedly very busy, thank you to all my readers for 3k reads! 💗)