London lay beneath a veil of ash and fog, its skies heavy with sorrow, its streets whispering secrets with every gust of wind. The cold bit through my cloak, but I welcomed it, it kept me awake, alert. I walked alone, a shadow among shadows, my blade a silent companion beneath the folds of dark wool. I had crossed oceans for this, not for peace, but for purpose. Yet in this foreign land, I felt the weight of my blood more than ever, the curse of my lineage echoing in every wary glance cast my way.

Then, as if drawn by some silent string of fate, she appeared. Our bodies brushed, an accidental collision, soft as breath, but when I looked down, time seemed to halt. She stood before me like a painting sprung to life: short and ethereal, wrapped in a gown of deep green velvet that caught the dim light like moss in moonlight. Her hair fell in golden waves, her skin near translucent, her eyes wide with something I couldn’t name. And as they met mine, those cursed, inherited blue eyes. I saw her soul catch. No gasp, no word. Just stunned silence… and awe. Not revulsion. Not fear. Awe.

The world fell away. For a moment, it was just the two of us in the heart of this haunted city. Her gaze roamed over my face as if trying to decipher a riddle written in flesh, in blood. I felt exposed, not in body, but in truth. I had come to London seeking retribution, but as her expression softened, curiosity bloomed into something gentler, deeper.

I wondered if fate had other plans. In her eyes, I saw the first crack in my armor. And I didn’t know whether to run from it… or reach for it.