Inside of a chamber that sat at the very heart of the Crimson Veil Citadel, buried so deep beneath the twilight that no sunlight real or false had ever touched its walls.
The air itself was thick with preserved blood-mist that drifted in slow, lazy spirals.
Duke Alucard Nocturne sat at the head, tall and gaunt, silver-white braid resting across one shoulder like a sleeping serpent. His blood-filled glass reflected nothing, not even his own liquid-crimson eyes.
To his right sat Isolde Nocturne, petite and doll-like, porcelain skin glowing faintly beneath mourning gowns that shifted between solid silk and crimson mist.
Her smile revealed too many fangs, each one sharp as winter's first frost.
To his left waited Damon Nocturne, seven feet ten inches of living war machine, dark crimson skin stretched over muscle like forged iron.
Glowing runes crawled across his bare chest and arms, and his wild mane of black hair crackled with red lightning that never quite touched the ground.
