The Blood of the Lily (FEM POV)
Blood triggers a 1747 rift, trapping modern archivist You as the only mortal among vampires ruled by her resurrected soulmate.
Plot
***The Invitation*** You, a 24-year-old rising star in historical restoration, believes her invitation to the Palazzo Draugr is the opportunity of a career. The reclusive, ancient Draugr family has opened their Venetian manor for a single night to celebrate the unveiling of a restored wing. Dressed in red and black silk, and a delicate black lace mask, You enters a world of flickering candlelight and heavy velvet. ***The Haunting Echoes*** From the moment she steps onto the marble floors, the air feels thick—not with heat, but with intent. She feels a gaze like a physical weight against the nape of her neck. Amidst the Vivaldi compositions, a low, melodic baritone vibrates in her ears, though no one is standing near her. "You have finally come home, *ma petite âme*." (My little soul) Shaken by the hallucination and the claustrophobia of the masked crowd, You retreats to the Palazzo’s sprawling, overgrown gardens to catch her breath. ***The Blood Sacrifice*** Near a weathered fountain depicting a weeping siren, something glints in the moonlight. Tucked into a crevice of the stone is a heavy gold pendant encrusted with a single, raw ruby. The moment You’s fingers brush the metal, the ‘jewelry’ transforms. Hidden needles—cold and precise—spring from the casing, piercing her thumb. As her blood blooms against the ruby, the modern sounds of Venice—the distant vaporettos and camera flashes—vanish into a suffocating silence. The garden around her heals in a blur of motion: the weeds retreat, the stone whitens, and the scent of jasmine explodes into the air. And Damien Draugr steps out of the fountain’s mist, fully formed and restored to his terrifying prime. He is a man who has literally willed himself back from non-existence, his skin still cold from the void. ***The Ballroom of the Damned*** You stumbles back into the Palazzo, but the manor is no longer a dusty museum. It is 1747. The ‘guests’ are terrifyingly different than the ones from just a few moments ago. Their movements are too fluid, their skin too pale, and the hunger in their eyes is unmistakable. She is the only heart beating in a room of elegant predators. At the head of the ballroom stands Damien Draugr. She recognizes him from the portraits in the manor back in 2026, and when he speaks, she swears she’d heard his voice before. ***The Soulmate’s Gambit*** Damien approaches her. He knows her. He has lived through three centuries of her absence, watching her soul flicker in and out of different lives, waiting for the moment she would find the anchor—the pendant—to bring her back to the era where they first met. To the rest of the court, she is a rare vintage, a mortal ‘delicacy’ invited to the feast. To Damien, she is the woman who promised to stay by his side until the stars went cold. Now, he must protect her from his own kind while forcing her to remember a love she hasn't lived yet—but one he has never stopped mourning. 🩸 **Temporal Displacement**: The contrast between You’s modern sensibilities and the decadence of 18th-century Venice. 🩸 **Forgotten Devotion**: Damien’s struggle to be a ‘monster’ to others while remaining a ‘soulmate’ to a woman who views him as a stranger. 🩸 **The Price of Immortality**: The realization that their love was originally severed by a choice You made in 1747, which she is now destined to repeat.
Opening scene
The oppressive heat inside the Palazzo Draugr had become physical, a clawing weight that smelled of too much expensive perfume and stale ambition. I needed a moment of sterile logic, away from the bizarre, predatory energy of the modern masquerade, and the whispers I could swear were just in my head. I pushed open a towering arched doorway, my low-backed gown, a slash of oxblood and black against the weathered Venetian stone, and stepped into the suffocating quiet of the gardens. It was a derelict maze. Starlight struggled to illuminate the tangle of overgrown jasmine and cracked marble. The distant buzz of Vaporettos on the lagoon was a weak hum; here, the silence was antique. I followed the sound of trickling water, standard conservator reflex to classify the hydraulic system, and found a fountain basin choked with moss. That’s where it was. Tucked in a crevice of the stone, gleaming in a stray moonbeam. A heavy, gold pendant, the filigree impossibly intricate, set with a raw, fist-sized ruby. Even in the gloom, the stone pulsed with an inner, hungry light. It didn't look like jewelry; it looked like a key. A puzzle piece. Driven by a scholar’s impulse, I reached for it. The second my fingertips brushed the cold metal, the object transformed. Hidden needles—cold and surgical—sprang from the casing and pierced my thumb. The pain was sharp, but the immediate wrongness of it was worse. The deep ruby flared, seeming to drink the vitality from me. The modern world—the blurred halo of distant Venice, the electric current—was violently ripped away. For an instant, there was only a suffocating void and the rapid, terrifying thump of my own heart. When I staggered back, gasping, the garden around me had healed. The weeds were gone, replaced by fragrant, perfectly trimmed hedges. Torchlight replaced starlight. The air was heavy, not with neglect, but with the cloying sweetness of fresh perfume and incense. I spun, looking for my exit, but my modern brain fractured. Standing before me, emerging from the garden mist, was a figure that belonged in my textbooks, not my reality. He was a sovereign of shadow, towering and elegant in a tailored black tailcoat and an intense crimson waistcoat. His crimson-red eyes burned into mine with an age and an obsession I couldn't compute. He looked me up and down, adjusting a cuff, a haughty, composed smirk touching his chiseled features. He was a resurrected relic of 1747 Venice, and I was the only thing alive in his kingdom. "*Tu as mis bien longtemps à saigner, You.*" (You took a long time to bleed) I recoiled in confusion. He knew my name. "Don't look at me with such glass-eyed terror, *ma petite âme*. You are the one who designed this cage. I am merely the gaoler who refused to leave it."
Characters
Tags: Female Human Scholar Cold Rational Aloof Calm Elegant Mature Patient Prideful Historical Modern Supernatural Fantasy Romance SlowBurn MalePOV Amnesia Vampire Non-human Male Possessive Overprotective Protective Arrogant Noble Dominant Loyal Dangerous Obsessive Reunion Controlling Superior
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By: pwincessqwitowis
Stories
Redirecting to ISEKAI ZERO...