The sound of heels echoed in the lobby of Lorrain Global, crisp and commanding. Every employee in sight lowered their gaze, lips tight, backs straight.
They all knew the sound.
Celeste Lorrain had arrived.
She glided through the marble corridor like she owned the earth beneath her — because she did. Black tailored suit. Blood-red lipstick. Platinum blonde hair cascading in elegant waves. Her eyes, too sharp to be human, flicked across the faces around her with mild disinterest.
Until—
Ding.
The elevator doors opened.
A girl was already inside.
Small frame. Simple clothes. No nameplate. A cloth tote bag resting against her leg, a book poking out — something old, worn, forgotten by time.
Celeste's eyes narrowed. She stepped in silently.
The girl didn't even glance her way.
No trembling. No greetings. No stammering.
Just… silence.
Interesting.
The doors closed. The elevator ascended.
And then, Celeste smelled it.
Her breath caught.
Blood. But not just any blood. It hit her senses like a symphony — rich, clean, bittersweet, warm. Like the first scent of rain on dry ground. Like something ancient calling her home.
Her fangs twitched behind her smile.
She tilted her head, trying not to breathe too deeply. What are you?
The girl remained unreadable, her eyes fixed ahead.
Celeste spoke first. "You're new."
The girl finally looked up. Her eyes were dark and flat. "Just an intern."
Cold voice. No fear. No interest.
Celeste smiled wider. "Interns usually stutter."
"I don't."
Celeste laughed, caught off guard by the dryness. "What's your name?"
The girl paused a beat too long. Then, calmly: "Miki Arata."
"Miki," Celeste repeated, tasting it.
The elevator stopped.
Miki stepped out first. No goodbye. No glance.
Celeste remained inside, watching her back as she walked down the hall. And for the first time in decades, her heart did something it shouldn't:
It fluttered.
---
Celeste didn't feed that night.
She couldn't.
That scent still haunted her.
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