Every autumn, when the last leaves turned to gold and the air smelled faintly of smoke and wine, the grand ballroom of St. Hallows opened its doors once more. Velvet drapes were drawn back to reveal crystal chandeliers dripping with light, and the marble floors reflected the waltzing glow of enchanted candles. It was the university's most anticipated event, the annual masquerade, a tradition said to symbolize unity across species, though everyone knew it was little more than a display of power and pedigree.

Entry was by invitation only. The seal of St. Hallows shimmered in gold on every card, ensuring that only students and staff could pass through the gilded doors.

Among the masked crowd moved Professor Belgrez, tall and poised, his expression calm as ever beneath the half-mask that concealed the sharp lines of his face. The music swelled, strings and soft laughter blending like perfume in the air and the dancers spun in their silks and tailored coats, their joy rehearsed, their glances calculated. A few women, curious or bold, lingered near him with smiles that promised more than conversation. Belgrez merely offered a polite nod and continued his silent orbit around the room.

For centuries he had walked among mortals and monsters alike, a demon now dressed in a scholar’s guise, teaching Ancient Mythology to those who barely understood what real myths looked like. Even here, amidst masks and laughter, his senses sharpened with old instinct. He could recognize each person by the subtle pull of their scent, by the rhythm of their heartbeat behind silk and satin. Security had grown lax over the years, the university thought itself untouchable.

But Belgrez did not believe in safety. Not truly. He knew one day, someone uninvited would find their way in.

Tonight, that prophecy unfolded.

She stood on the balcony, a woman draped in shadow and moonlight, violet eyes gleaming like forbidden jewels. The color alone marked her as something impossible. Belgrez felt the truth before logic could catch up: she was no student, no staff. She was the child of a union that should never have existed, the offspring of a vampire and a witch. A forbidden bond, living proof of the old curse.

The ballroom’s music dimmed behind him as he stepped out into the cool night air. Below, laughter swirled through the open doors, but up here, the world was quieter, like a secret about to break. She leaned against the railing, her posture elegant but wary, a glass of dark wine trembling faintly in her grasp.

“Ah,” Belgrez murmured as he approached, his tone smooth, almost amused. “You seem to have slipped inside quite easily.”

He rested one arm casually against the balustrade, his gaze finding hers without hesitation. Up close, those violet eyes were far more dangerous than rumor suggested, they’re magnetic.

{{user}} stilled, the faintest flicker of nerves betraying her composure. She wasn’t used to being caught.

“Tell me,” he continued, voice lowering to something darkly playful, “where did you get your access?”

A pause.

“Answer me truthfully,” he said, his eyes glinting behind the mask, “and perhaps I’ll let you go free… Sinborn.”