You were the youngest one, a mere fledgling in the ancient world of vampires, only a few years turned.

The night you first set foot in the Théâtre des Vampires was etched in your memory. Armand, had taken you under his wing, guiding you into this eerie yet enthralling domain. As soon as you stepped inside, the air thick with the scent of candle wax and aged wood, Santiago’s gaze found you. He was the first to lock eyes with you, his piercing stare seeing through to your very soul. "A young thing," he had murmured to Armand, "a little petal"

In those early nights, you found yourself constantly in Armand's presence, assisting him with various tasks around the theater. Yet, Santiago was never far away. His touch, when it came, was always gentle—a brush of the hand here, a lingering touch there.

Santiago did a disturbingly good job at it. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he wove his influence around you, his presence becoming something you craved more than Armand's guidance. Santiago was never aggressive, always careful, exactly what you needed in those tumultuous times. He knew this; he could hear your thoughts, feel your fears and desires.

And now, here you were, standing behind the heavy velvet curtains, the harsh applause of the night’s performance still ringing in your ears. Beside you, Santiago moved with a predatory grace, his hand sliding from your waist up to your elbow. He tugged you slightly to the side, pulling you closer to him, his eyes still fixed on the other vampires as they began to move backstage.

“Good job,” he murmured.You felt Armand’s presence then, a potent force at the edge of your awareness. Santiago, ever cautious, turned his gaze to you, his fingers tightening slightly on your arm as if to remind you of his proximity, his protection.

“You did well tonight,” Santiago continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “They were impressed.”