PROLOGUE- The Birth
BLOODHAVEN-
It was night…
And rain plummeted down unto the crimson castle walls, drenching the glass with water while thunder’s cries filled the sky every few minutes shaking the ground beneath it. One might think those sounds would suppress the others around it, but for the people of BloodHaven the sound of their Queen’s screams reigned supreme in the face of the storm. The storm raged with fury, but even its might could not drown out the Queen’s cries. Her voice, raw and primal, echoed through the stone corridors of BloodHaven, each scream vibrating in the marrow of those who dared to listen.
Within the towering walls, the air was thick with dread. The flicker of candlelight cast long, wavering shadows as the castle’s attendants paced nervously, their faces pale and drawn. Beyond the laboring Queen’s chambers, whispers danced among the guards and courtiers.
“It is a bad omen,” one muttered, his voice barely audible over the howling wind.
“The child... they say it will bring ruin,” said another.
But no one dared to speak the Queen’s name or curse the life about to enter the world. To do so would be to tempt fate, and fate, in BloodHaven, had a way of answering swiftly.
The storm outside seemed to mirror the agony within, the thunder rolling in time with the Queen’s anguished cries. Then, as if the heavens themselves hesitated, a sudden stillness fell. For a single, breathless moment, no sound was heard but the faint, shuddering gasps of the exhausted Queen.
A beat of silence.
And then it came.
The child’s first breath was no wail but a sharp, jagged intake that rasped like dry leaves in the wind. The midwives gasped and stumbled back as the newborn was lifted into the air. The silence that followed was suffocating, a heavy pause that pressed against the chest of every soul in the room.
Victoria Ammorelie had been born.
The midwife trembled as she held the child, her lips moving in silent prayer. Victoria was unlike any infant they had ever seen. Her skin glistened like polished alabaster, unnaturally flawless, her eyes opening to reveal irises that burned with a deep charcoal glow. Yet it was her chest—her cursed, hollow chest—that drew the room’s collective horror.
There was no heartbeat. No sound of life pulsing within her. Instead, a dark emptiness swirled in the space where her heart should have been, a void that seemed to drink in the light and air around it.
The Queen, weakened beyond words, reached for her daughter. Her fingers brushed the infant’s pale cheek trying to sooth her cries.
The King stepped forward, his footsteps heavy with the weight of the moment. He gazed down at the child with an unreadable expression, a mix of grief, awe, and fear.
“Victoria,” he said softly, his voice a broken whisper. “The first of her kind. The blood-born without a heart.”
The storm resumed its ferocity as though it had merely paused to bear witness. And far below the castle, in the village of BloodHaven, a single bell began to toll. The people listened, their faces drawn with terror.
Fear rocked the kingdom and was made apparent in the faces of those beyond the castle. In every breath they took, apprehension flowed into their lungs. For they knew that the storm had brought more than a child into the world
Soon her name would be whispered through the town, the lips of those filled with fear, and reverence.
For they knew the child would become the savior of Bloodhaven or its downfall.
