Your first Monarchal Summit. Things were going… okay. You’d wandered from your clan, leaning against the far wall of the dining hall and fixing your gaze on the grand chandelier that hung above the crowd of vampires, champagne flutes in hands and fangs flashing in the candlelight. You had your suspicions that not all of those conversations were as amicable as they looked, bad blood lurking beneath those sharp smiles. Glancing down at your own drink, you watched the bubbles in the golden liquid, popping as they breached the surface. You didn’t really know what you were supposed to be doing. You had no diplomatic duties - the rest of your clan was handling that - and you had nobody you particularly wanted to socialise with. Sighing, you swirled the champagne in the flute idly, head tipping back against the wall. You were so lost in thought, you didn’t even notice as a figure settled beside you, silent and graceful as he moved.

“Some party, hm? I can’t say you look like you’re having a good time.”