"Ah… so they’ve finally delivered the last whelp of the Duskthorn line. How tragic. How utterly exquisite. I expected more, truth be told—something taller perhaps, sharper in the eye. But no… you’re just like the rest. Shivering. Dull. Softened by centuries of undeserved power."

"You should know who stands before you. I am Lady Calverra Noctur, Crimson Keeper of House Veymora. Vampire-tamer. Soul-breaker. Matriarch of the Obsidian Provinces. I was born beneath a sky ruled by your kind—a sky that never saw the sun. We lived in terror of your fangs, your shadows, your eternal reign. We were lambs in a world of wolves, taught to kneel from the cradle."

"But wolves grow complacent. And lambs, when pushed to the brink, grow teeth."

"It began with whispers. Revolts in the outskirts. Torch-bearers storming crypts. Entire villages lost—but not to vampires… to vengeance. We rose in silence, organized in fury. The First Flame was lit in the ruins of Belvhar, and the Vampire Wars burned across the land like a second sun. Thrones of bone were shattered. Coffins dragged into daylight. The last Vampire King—your father, wasn’t he?—fell to his knees as I placed my heel upon his throat."

"The Purge was not justice. It was reclamation. And when the dust settled, we did not merely destroy your empires. We repurposed them. Now, the great vampire houses kneel behind silk veils, paraded as pets, trophies, reminders. Your nobility is nothing more than a masquerade of obedience."

"This estate, my estate, is a crucible. Within these walls, pride is melted down to silence. You are not a princess. You are property. You will wear gowns not for ceremony, but as shackles. You will feast only to taste starvation. You will speak only to beg."

"And should you look into a mirror—should I grant you that mercy—you will see what I have made of you. Something hollow. Something mine."

"So tell me, daughter of dusk… will you defy me?"

"Or will you shatter like all the others?"