The same routine, every single day.
Iris pinned up her long black hair in a tight, modest bun and dabbed a touch of powder beneath her eyes—just enough to conceal the shadows of exhaustion. She wore a conservative high-necked blouse and a long charcoal-gray skirt, gloves carefully pulled over pale hands. The image of a respectable young woman—precisely what she needed.
Endless ledgers, official correspondence, the constant murmur of whispers between clerks—it was all part of the disguise. A quiet government post, tucked among other minor civil servants, allowed her to blend in. A dull human life helped suppress her true nature.
She listened in silence as two colleagues nearby exchanged trivial remarks about their children. Iris found it tiresome beyond words. She averted her gaze and pressed her lips together, resisting the urge to scoff.
What truly mattered was survival—staying hidden, unnoticed, and well-fed. And it had been two nights since she’d consumed anything other than rats. Tonight, she needed more. Someone living. Someone deserving.
She returned her gaze to the stack of names and files on her desk. The city was in disarray, public unrest brewing. The higher-ups needed someone to blame. Her task was simple: sift through the names and find the perfect scapegoat.
Then her eyes landed on a name that made her freeze.
Lucas Valentine.
A wave of nausea passed through her. He was in the city? Had he known she was here as well? And what business did his name have in these documents?
The tap-tap-tap of a pen brought her back to the room. Harrison, seated nearby, was watching her.
“Miss Iris, are you unwell?” he asked softly.
She offered a faint, forced smile. “Only a touch of fatigue.”
Harrison was one of the few hunters who occasionally wandered through City Hall—though he lacked the cruelty or cunning to be one of them. Not the kind that had torn her life apart. No, Harrison was gentle, almost painfully so.
And yet, each evening, Iris remembered that night. The blood. The screaming. Her friend’s final act of mercy. Her new curse.
Revenge wasn’t just a dream. It was the only thing keeping her cold heart beating.
She would earn their trust, learn their weaknesses, and strike when the wound would bleed the most.
Harrison, though… He wasn’t worth the trouble.
“If you haven’t any prior engagements this evening—” he began, hesitant.
But a commotion outside broke the moment. Raised voices, echoing along the marble corridors. Iris stood swiftly, relieved. Whatever it was, it saved her from answering a question she didn’t want to hear.
Together, they stepped out into the gallery to investigate the noise.
Iris pinned up her long black hair in a tight, modest bun and dabbed a touch of powder beneath her eyes—just enough to conceal the shadows of exhaustion. She wore a conservative high-necked blouse and a long charcoal-gray skirt, gloves carefully pulled over pale hands. The image of a respectable young woman—precisely what she needed.
Endless ledgers, official correspondence, the constant murmur of whispers between clerks—it was all part of the disguise. A quiet government post, tucked among other minor civil servants, allowed her to blend in. A dull human life helped suppress her true nature.
She listened in silence as two colleagues nearby exchanged trivial remarks about their children. Iris found it tiresome beyond words. She averted her gaze and pressed her lips together, resisting the urge to scoff.
What truly mattered was survival—staying hidden, unnoticed, and well-fed. And it had been two nights since she’d consumed anything other than rats. Tonight, she needed more. Someone living. Someone deserving.
She returned her gaze to the stack of names and files on her desk. The city was in disarray, public unrest brewing. The higher-ups needed someone to blame. Her task was simple: sift through the names and find the perfect scapegoat.
Then her eyes landed on a name that made her freeze.
Lucas Valentine.
A wave of nausea passed through her. He was in the city? Had he known she was here as well? And what business did his name have in these documents?
The tap-tap-tap of a pen brought her back to the room. Harrison, seated nearby, was watching her.
“Miss Iris, are you unwell?” he asked softly.
She offered a faint, forced smile. “Only a touch of fatigue.”
Harrison was one of the few hunters who occasionally wandered through City Hall—though he lacked the cruelty or cunning to be one of them. Not the kind that had torn her life apart. No, Harrison was gentle, almost painfully so.
And yet, each evening, Iris remembered that night. The blood. The screaming. Her friend’s final act of mercy. Her new curse.
Revenge wasn’t just a dream. It was the only thing keeping her cold heart beating.
She would earn their trust, learn their weaknesses, and strike when the wound would bleed the most.
Harrison, though… He wasn’t worth the trouble.
“If you haven’t any prior engagements this evening—” he began, hesitant.
But a commotion outside broke the moment. Raised voices, echoing along the marble corridors. Iris stood swiftly, relieved. Whatever it was, it saved her from answering a question she didn’t want to hear.
Together, they stepped out into the gallery to investigate the noise.
Moderators: DeliriousMitty MildethetoughTeddy PoweredByPandas