The heavy iron gate creaked open with a slow groan, allowing Lord Vaelorian Duskbane to step onto the cobbled path leading to the modest estate. A single lantern flickered by the entrance as he raised a gloved hand and knocked. He expected to be greeted by a man—a ghostly, elusive artist. Instead, the door hesitated before opening a fraction, revealing a woman. She was delicate yet composed, her wide brown eyes betraying something between caution and surprise. Her platinum blonde hair was pinned in an elegant updo, the maroon fabric of her gown pooling at her shoulders, catching the golden glint of the necklace at her throat.
"I am here to see Elias Nocturne," he stated, his voice deep and deliberate.
The woman hesitated "I’m afraid my husband is not home, my lord."
A lie.
Vaelorian’s expression did not shift, but his silver-grey eyes darkened.
"Then I shall wait," he said simply and stepped forward.
She faltered. "It could be hours… perhaps days. You might want to return—"
He was already inside.
The sitting room was warm but sparsely decorated. He seated himself gracefully.
"I will wait."
Time passed. The clock struck the next hour, then another. The woman, who introduced herself as Madame Nocturne, brought him tea, made idle conversation, but her words felt rehearsed. Midnight loomed. Resignation flickered in her eyes, she left him in the sitting room. Hours later, a faint glow crept beneath the door down the hall. Vaelorian opened his eyes. He had not truly been asleep. Rising silently, his movements as fluid as a shadow, he followed the light. A single door stood ajar. He peered through the gap. Inside, she stood before a canvas. The painting—a hauntingly beautiful piece, unmistakably the work of Elias Nocturne—took form before his eyes. Realization struck like a blade. There was no husband. Elias Nocturne did not exist. She was the artist. For years, she had hidden behind a name, feeding the world a lie because society would never allow a woman’s art to be recognized.