My Blood Legacy: Bloodlines

The morning dawned slowly, as if time itself hesitated to cross the boundaries of that house after the previous night. The soft light filtering through the windows found an atmosphere bearing evident marks of excess—furniture slightly displaced, fabrics disheveled, and a heavy silence that was not one of rest, but of consequence. At the center of it all, the main room presented an almost absurd sight: two figures hung upside down, bound by chains of blood that pulsed with their own vitality, as if they were conscious extensions of the will of their creator.

Carmilla and Scarlett remained there.

Their long hair fell towards the floor, already slightly disheveled by time in that position, their bodies supported by a force that showed no intention of yielding. The physical discomfort had already passed; what remained was a growing irritation, fueled not only by the situation itself, but by the fact that this was clearly not carelessness.

It was deliberate.

At the other end of the room, as if the scene were perfectly normal, Serafall moved with an almost irritating tranquility. Still naked, with no hurry to cover herself, she moved through the kitchen preparing breakfast with a lightness disconnected from the chaos around her. The sound of utensils, the rich, metallic aroma of warmed blood mixed with other ingredients, all created a domestic... distorted atmosphere.

As if this were, somehow, an ordinary morning.

"You can let us go now."

Scarlett’s voice cut through the room with a controlled firmness, though laden with evident irritation. Her red eyes were fixed on Serafall, following her every move with calculated attention.

"This has gone beyond being funny."

Carmilla quickly added, her own voice sharper, less restrained. "If this is some kind of display of authority, it’s already been established. Now it’s just... inconvenient."

Serafall didn’t respond immediately.

She simply turned the meat she was preparing slowly, the subtle sound of it hitting the hot surface filling the small space between their words. Her gaze didn’t meet either of theirs; her attention remained entirely on the task before her, as if it were more important than any complaint.

The silence she allowed to linger wasn’t distracted.

It was intentional.

"You talk too much for someone who’s still alive by concession."

The reply came calmly, almost softly, but laden with a coldness that made each word heavier than any scream.

Finally, she looked away.

Not completely.

Just enough for both of them to know they were now being considered.

"If it weren’t for his emotional appeal," she continued, with the same naturalness with which she stirred the food, "you wouldn’t exist anymore."

Scarlett narrowed her eyes slightly.

Carmilla remained silent for another second.

Serafall tilted her head slightly, as if reflecting on something simple. "In my view," she added, turning slightly now, just enough to meet their gaze with a look that mixed indifference and something deeper, "the ideal scenario would involve eliminating them both and making peace with my husband."

The words were spoken without hesitation.

Without embarrassment.

Without room for interpretation.

"But," she sighed softly, as if it were a minor administrative inconvenience, "unfortunately, the world doesn’t revolve solely around what I want."

Carmilla raised an eyebrow, even in that uncomfortable position.

"Then perhaps you should start considering other variables," she retorted, her voice firm, yet restrained. "You’re dealing with more than just—"

"You were the Primordial of the family, weren’t you?"

The interruption came softly.

But precisely.

Completely cutting off the flow of speech.

Carmilla fell silent.

Serafall finally turned completely, resting her hip slightly on the counter, crossing her arms in a relaxed manner as she observed her.

"Was."

The emphasis was subtle.

But sufficient.

"Now," she continued, tilting her head slightly, "you’re a working memory. Interesting, yes... but limited."

Carmilla’s gaze didn’t waver.

But something changed.

"You don’t have even a fraction of what you once had," Serafall finished, with a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "So perhaps it’s best to adjust your tone."

The silence that followed was heavier.

More dense.

And, for the first time since they began speaking, Carmilla didn’t respond immediately.

Scarlett watched this exchange attentively, her eyes moving between the two, analyzing not only the words, but the weight behind them.

"If you want to keep this functional," he then said, adopting a different, more strategic approach, "acting this way isn’t exactly... efficient."

Serafall turned her attention back to the stove, as if that speech were just another noise in the room.

"Rationality is a useful tool," Scarlett continued, insisting, "especially in situations where multiple interests—"

Serafall let out a light laugh.

Low.

Short.

But laden with an almost elegant disdain.

"Rationality," she repeated, as if she were tasting the word, evaluating its flavor. "It’s something humans use to justify limitations."

She turned the meat again, the movement precise, controlled.

"I don’t have that problem."

Scarlett narrowed her eyes.

"You’re dealing with variables you can’t simply ignore," she insisted, her voice now a little firmer. "If you continue down this path—"

Serafall turned her face away.

This time completely.

Her eyes met Scarlett’s with a sudden, almost oppressive intensity.

"I don’t accept it," she said, each word coming out with a calmness bordering on absolute, "other women hovering around him like flies."

The air seemed heavy.

There was no shouting.

There was no raising of voice.

But there was something there that made any argument... irrelevant.

"I’m not human," she continued, her voice now lower, closer to a dangerous whisper. "I don’t share. I don’t divide. I don’t negotiate this kind of thing."

Scarlett held her gaze.

But she didn’t answer.

Because, at that moment, there was no real space for debate.

Serafall returned her attention to preparing breakfast as if nothing had happened, resuming her routine with the same initial serenity, as if that conversation had been just a small detour in something much more important.

The sound of utensils returned to fill the room.

The aroma intensified.

And, above all, the feeling that the situation was far from resolved inevitably solidified.

Carmilla, still silent, observed.

Scarlett, now more restrained, analyzed.

And Serafall... simply continued.

As if everything were already decided.

Even though no one else there had been consulted.

The light sound of footsteps began to echo down the stairs a few minutes later, breaking the almost domestic—and completely distorted—rhythm of that morning. Victor descended without haste, his hair still slightly damp from the shower, wearing simple clothes, but with the relaxed posture of someone who seemed completely oblivious to the field of tension that dominated the environment. His eyes first swept across the living room... and, inevitably, found the two figures still hanging there.

Carmilla and Scarlett.

Both turned slightly upon noticing his presence, their gazes laden with a not-so-subtle mixture of irritation, exhaustion, and a silent expectation that didn’t need to be verbalized.

Victor paused for a brief moment before them. He observed.

He assessed.

And then... he let out a small sigh through his nose, as if recognizing exactly the kind of situation he’d gotten himself into—and yet he didn’t seem the least bit regretful.

"Good morning..." he murmured, with an almost offensive nonchalance given their state.

Scarlett immediately narrowed her eyes.

Carmilla simply stared at him in silence.

Without saying anything more, Victor nonchalantly raised his hand, and the blood currents reacted instantly to his presence. It wasn’t a brutal break, nor a gesture of exaggerated force; it was control. Refined. Precise. The liquid structures vibrated for a second before dissolving into finer threads, receding as if recognizing a different authority.

A clean cut.

Direct.

Without apparent effort.

The two women’s bodies began to fall, but before they hit the ground, the surrounding blood itself shifted again, molding itself into subtle supports that cushioned the impact and then guided them to the nearby sofa. Within seconds, both were sitting—free, though still clearly affected by the long suspension.

Scarlett rested her elbows on her knees, slowly exhaling as she regained her balance.

Carmilla crossed her legs, adjusting her posture slightly, her eyes still fixed on him with a glint difficult to decipher.

Victor, on the other hand, had already lost immediate interest in the scene.

Without looking back, he continued walking.

Straight to the kitchen.

Straight to her.

Serafall didn’t need to turn around to know he was approaching. Her body reacted first, a slight stiffening in her shoulders that quickly dissolved when he stopped behind her and, without ceremony, wrapped his arms around her waist. The contact was natural, firm, intimate — as if it were already routine.

His face drew closer to her neck.

And then he kissed her.

A slow, deliberate touch that contrasted completely with the chaos that still hung in the room.

Serafall let out a small sigh, her eyes closing for a moment as her body relaxed against his, as if all the previous tension simply... receded.

"Good morning..." she murmured, her voice softer than at any other moment since it all began.

Victor rested his chin lightly on her shoulder, still close, still present.

"Good morning..." he replied, with a slight smile in his tone.

There was a short pause.

Short.

But enough.

"You can stop torturing them now," he added next, without moving away, his tone calm but firm enough not to sound like a simple comment. "They are mine too."

The silence that followed that sentence was... interesting.

In the room, Scarlett raised an eyebrow.

Carmilla tilted her head slightly.

And in the kitchen—

Serafall pouted slightly.

Literally.

Her lips curled into a clearly displeased expression, her eyes narrowing slightly as she glanced sideways, as if pondering how much it bothered her.

"Hmm..." she murmured, dragging out the sound almost childishly, completely out of sync with the ruthless general image she usually maintained. "I don’t like this..."

Victor didn’t respond immediately.

He just tightened his embrace slightly.

Enough.

Serafall let out a longer sigh, her shoulders relaxing again, as if yielding to something inevitable.

"Okay..." she finally said, still pouting, though softer now. "But only because you asked."

She picked up the utensil she had put aside, resuming the coffee preparation as if nothing had happened—although, this time, the atmosphere was... different.

Less hostile.

More... controlled.

In the living room, Scarlett leaned back on the sofa, crossing her arms.

"It took you long enough," she commented dryly.

Carmilla let out a light laugh through her nose, resting her face in her hand.

"Interesting..." she murmured, her eyes still fixed on the kitchen. "She turned into a little puppy just from him talking."

Serafall turned to look at Carmilla, "Do you want to die?" She asked with a smile.