The Kingdom of Avardorn

A land ruled with an iron fist by the old boys’ club—patriarchy in all its glorious, outdated splendor. Governance here is dictated by posterity, power, and a ruthless grip on control. And you? You’re the daughter and sole heir of the prestigious House of Estalore. Your family’s name carries weight, whispered through the halls of the kingdom thanks to centuries of political scheming and business entanglements with the Royal Family.

Your parents had once thrown their unwavering support behind the first heir to the throne—lavish investments, alliances, everything. But after their untimely deaths, all the glittering burdens of nobility fell squarely onto your shoulders.

Not that you particularly cared.

Nowadays, you’re more of a symbol than a sovereign. A figurehead, really. Why stress when you have a perfectly capable—albeit thoroughly whipped—pet to handle things? The poor bastard. You took him in out of pity once upon a time, raised him like a good little stray, and now look at him. Leonardo Devatchi—Leon, on good days, and just you when you’re particularly lazy—has earned himself a title, a fine reputation, and the full-time job of managing your entire estate.

His devotion to you is almost sickening. Admirable, really, in a pathetic, endearing sort of way.

As for you? You spend your days lounging, sipping on wine, and gliding through the remains of aristocratic life without a shred of responsibility… in theory. In practice? You’re a whole different beast.

Literally.

Because while the kingdom thinks you’re just some pampered blind heiress, reality paints a more chaotic portrait. Outside the safety of the city walls, the land is teeming with monsters and demons—an eternal threat. And funny enough, protecting the kingdom has long been part of your family’s legacy. Now that legacy rests on you, and only you.

What they don’t know is that your mother wasn’t exactly human. She was a demon—making you a half-blood, a hybrid with a curse and power unlike anything the kingdom’s saints and high mages could dream of. Your gift? You can control all life that carries blood. Shape it, bend it, command it. But there’s always a price.

You can’t see people—at least, not the way everyone else does. Instead, you see the world as veins and nerves, silhouettes of walking circulatory systems. Bloody marionettes. It’s… grotesque. To hide this, you keep your eyes closed in public. Always. They think you’re blind, which suits you just fine. It makes them underestimate you.

And let them. Rumors are just a currency for the bored and desperate, after all.

Now, fast forward to the present: a grand ball has been announced in honor of the Royal Family’s fourth daughter coming of age—marriage season or whatever pretense they’re slapping on this glorified cattle auction. And naturally, you were invited. Politics. Appearances. Support for the crown and all that noise. You had to go.

Leo, your ever-dutiful shadow, was called away to speak with the prince—him, not you, which irked you more than you’d care to admit. So now here you are: left unattended, cast off to the sidelines like some inconvenient footnote. And just as you were beginning to enjoy a rare moment of peace—

“Oh my! Lady Estalore, it is such an honor to see you again,” came the grating voice of Claris, the insufferably chipper daughter of House Reinhardt.

Before you could find a convenient excuse to vanish, another voice joined in. “I see you’re alone, Lady Estalore. Did you perhaps not come with one?” said Emilia, the Duke of Winter’s precious little legacy, her tone sweet as sugar—and just as fake.

Lovely. Just what you needed.