C130: Florence Night

In the late afternoon, light seeped through the thinning clouds, spilling across the estate grounds. Birds chirped lazily from the treetops, drowned by the hum of the wind brushing through leaves and hedges.

“Pray, do return at a more opportune hour, dear guests,” Florence said with a cold voice.

“Grrr… yess,” the leader of the group rumbled, his head bowing low. One by one, the "guests" departed the estate entrance.

Florence bowed, her expression composed as the so-called thugs left the estate grounds.

As the last of them disappeared beyond sight, Florence straightened. Her gaze lingered in their direction for a brief moment before her expression cooled further.

Her nose wrinkled.

‘The odor of something… foul.’

The smell of foul, pungent meat.

Her eyes shifted, following the faint trace of that lingering scent until they settled on a nearby tree.

Without warning, the branch trembled.

A bird burst out from the foliage, wings beating rapidly as it shot upward into the sky, vanishing into the distance.

“...”

Florence’s eyes trailed the creature until it was but a speck, disappearing beyond the horizon into the pale blue sky.

‘Merely a bird,’ she thought, though a flicker of suspicion remained. She turned her attention back to the men stationed at the perimeter.

“Gentlemen, I trust you shall maintain a most vigilant watch.”

“We quite understand, Miss Night,” the senior guard replied with a nod.

To call them guards was a generous formality. They were just strong-bodied men hired to provide the illusion of security.

In truth, this estate, and Florence herself, required no such protection. The guards were more for appearances than necessity.

She moved on.

Passing through the garden, she issued instructions to the workers tending the plants.

Her maid uniform remained pristine despite the dusty paths. A cold breeze brushed past, lifting strands of her dark hair as she walked, hands clasped neatly.

She entered the Baroness’s residence, moving through the halls, her boots echoing against polished floors. Inside, maids moved around to clean, arranging and maintaining order. Florence gave brief instructions as she passed, ensuring each maid was occupied with their respective duties.

“Miss Night, a missive has arrived for your attention.”

Florence turned.

A young maid stood before her, holding out an envelope with both hands. The girl bore the same black hair and violet eyes, though softer, less refined.

Florence took the letter and unfolded it.

Her eyes scanned the contents, her brow furrowing slightly.

“Tonight…”

‘Are they truly so desperate?’ she mused. The letter was from the thugs she had dismissed earlier. Or rather, from the intellect behind them.

‘Quite crafty,’ she thought, a predatory smile touching her lips as her tongue briefly brushed against them.

He hadn’t come himself. Instead, he sent his underlings, fully aware that they would be easily cowed and controlled by Florence. This was to create an illusion that he had failed his negotiation, so no one would suspect him until it was too late.

Afterward, he secretly sent this parchment to do his bidding. The letter contained a formal introduction, a proposed meeting place, and a subtle mention of the coins for their goods.

'Not only a warrior… but cunning as well.'

Her gaze dropped to the signature, interest flickering in her eyes.

'Loyal Joseph.'

Florence lifted her head, her gaze locking onto the obedient maid before her. She pressed the letter back into the girl’s hand.

“See that this is consigned to the flames, Allie.”

“As you command,” the girl replied with a deep curtsy before retreating.

Florence turned on her heel and continued down the hallway. The afternoon light slanted through the tall windows, illuminating the dust motes and the endless cycle of the servants' toil.

‘Mm. I must attend to Father this evening regardless. A small detour shall be of no great consequence.’ Her steps remained steady, unhurried.

Soon, she approached a heavy door on the highest floor. She paused to straighten her apron, then turned the handle and stepped inside.

“Ma'am Amanda,” she said, her voice dropping into a soft tone. “The hour has arrived for your medicine.”

Florence walked into the lavish chamber, the rhythmic clicking of her boots echoing hollowly through the room.

The fragrance of pressed flowers and damp leaves washed over her, a floral, gentle, and calming scent. The room was dim, with only thin sunlight streaming through the heavy velvet drapes that completely obscured the windows.

The black-haired maid walked further into the room, her gaze settling upon the enormous canopy bed at the center of the chamber. The bed was adorned with embroidered drapes and layers of fine fabric, but none of that luxury softened the sight of the frail figure lying atop it, unmoving.

“Ma’am. I bid you a good afternoon.”

She offered a graceful bow before approaching the nearby table.

Resting upon the table was a porcelain pastille burner, delicately crafted in the likeness of the estate itself. A thin stream of smoke curled upward from its chimney, carrying the floral fragrance into the room. Beneath the floral perfume, however, there was a faint, unmistakable metallic tang.

Beside it sat a small bowl filled with a thick, yellow liquid.

Florence picked it up. She returned to the bed and carefully slid an arm behind the woman’s back, lifting her into a slightly upright position, against the carved bedpost.

Amanda’s body was light.

Her skin was pale, stretched thin over fragile bones. Her lips were cracked and dry, her breathing shallow, barely noticeable. Her limbs resembled brittle branches, devoid of strength, as though they might snap under their own weight.

A long, white silk gown draped over her frame, flowing loosely. Her long hair shimmered like starlight, spread across the pillow, catching what little light filtered through the curtains.

As Florence adjusted her posture, Amanda’s eyes remained open, staring straight ahead with lifeless, vacant eyes.

She did not blink, nor did she acknowledge Florence’s presence.

Florence dipped the spoon into the bowl and brought it carefully to Amanda’s lips, feeding her slowly.

“Ma’am, I must implore you to forgive my continued persistence. But once more, I must ask… would it not be more merciful to surrender this struggle and join our cause?”

“...”

Silence answered her.

Florence took another spoonful of the thick yellow liquid and brought it to Amanda’s lips. The woman offered no resistance, swallowed mechanically.

“Ma’am. It is an exercise in futility to continue clinging to the desperate hope that one day, ‘She’ will return and offer us salvation." Florence said softly, though there was a faint edge beneath her calm tone. "‘She’ has abandoned us all, just as surely as she has abandoned this wretched village.”

“...”

Still, there was no response.

The woman with the starlight hair sipped the yellow liquid in silence, her demeanor devoid of even a trace of will or recognition.

Florence’s brows drew together slightly, a flicker of genuine irritation crossing her face.

“I see. It is exactly as I expected of you, Ma’am.”

Even now, after all these years, Amanda was still resisting, struggling.

Even after all this time, she had not yet completely surrendered.

It was… impressive, in its own way.

And Florence hated her for it.

As the bowl was emptied, Florence lowered the spoon and carefully eased Amanda’s frail body back down onto the bed.

She lowered Madam Amanda’s body back onto the silk pillows with care, drawing the embroidered blankets up to her chin.

Her gaze lingered, drifting upward toward Amanda’s forehead.

There, a half-crescent moon symbol shimmered weakly against her pale skin. The mark flickered like a dying ember, an unstable light.

“The hour of the Rite is nearly upon us, Ma’am,” Florence murmured.

“In truth, your continued defiance is of little consequence now. Whether you offer your symbol willingly or must have it torn from your soul, the result remains unchanged. Sooner or later, your blessing shall be returned to its rightful source. It shall return to our Lord.”

The words settled into the room, heavy in the oppressive silence.

Yet, as she finished speaking, Florence’s eyes narrowed.

A flicker of doubt passed through her expression.

‘Did I imagine it?’

For a brief moment, Florence thought she saw it. The corner of Amanda’s lips twitched upward.

A subtle, mocking curve.

It had looked like a snicker, aimed directly at her.

But why? Why would Ma'am smile? There was no reason for it.

Florence closed her eyes, steadying herself, then opened them again, observing the woman’s face.

‘A mere hallucination, surely,’ she reasoned.

Perhaps it was only a hallucination.

Yet, unease danced across her mind.

The Rite was approaching its climax. This was not the time to let her guard down, not even for a moment.

Florence straightened, returning to her usual composure, though a trace of tension lingered beneath it.

She exhaled, offering a final bow of perfect elegance despite the subtle unease beneath them.

“It has been a pleasure to serve you these past twenty years, Ma’am. I harbor the hope that, once it all ends, you shall find yourself drifting into a most blissful dream, finally and truly blessed by Her grace.”

She lifted her head, meeting Amanda’s unfocused violet eyes one last time. There was no recognition in them, only an empty depth.

"..."

Florence shook her head, a gesture to clear the lingering phantom of that smile, and turned her heel toward the door.

‘I shall harbor no regrets in following my Lord.’

When this was over, everything would change.

She would become a Bless. She would ascend to a Vampire. Advancement without ritual, without the constant fear of losing control.

The door closed behind her with a thud, leaving the woman of starlight hair alone in the dark.

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