Third Preparation: Tests, Etiquette, and Secrets in Clémarine...

The morning at the Scarlette de Montfroid mansion began not with birds or bells, but with an uneasy murmur that permeated the main hallway.

One by one, the members of the group awoke in the guest rooms, still reeling from the discomfort of having slept under the same roof as their "unexpected hostess."

Lucien emerged first, in his threadbare robe, stretching like an actor preparing for the stage.

"Ah... the thick air of this house, steeped in desire and tragedy. A bed too soft for a martyr like me... but bearable."

Vera ignored him, busy arranging her hair in front of an antique mirror.

"Where's Rydia?"

Silence was the only response. The succubus's room was empty, the bed untouched. She had vanished without a trace.

"Of course..." Isolde sighed, crossing her arms. "She took advantage of the night to leave. Enemies or not, it was only a matter of time."

The conversation was interrupted when the large side door creaked open. Ayato shuffled into view, his eyes so dark under his eyes that he looked like a moving corpse.

Everyone turned to him. No one asked anything at first… until, behind him, Fatima appeared.

The dhampir wore a scarlet, semi-sheer silk nightgown, draped just enough to hint without revealing. Her dark red hair was loose, her expression that of an actress who had slept peacefully in the arms of her co-star.

"Bonjour, mes invités," she said in a relaxed, sing-song voice, stretching out like a cat. "I hope you rested. I, at least, slept like an angel…"

Ayato groaned, half-dead.

"Yes. You slept like an angel. I slept like a stone. A stone crushed beneath a damn obelisk."

Lucien, trying to contain himself, failed miserably and burst out laughing.

"Magnificent! A night of romantic martyrdom! Ayato, a tortured shadow used as a pillow by the fatal lady. Fate has an exquisite sense of humor!"

Sylphidia couldn't hold back her laughter and covered her mouth.

"So all night... she hugged you like that, right there? No wonder you have a zombie face!"

Ayato glared at everyone.

"Someone explain to me how I'm still the joke of this group!"

Isolde responded slyly.

"Not by much, given that you have a competition to see who's the most ridiculous..."

She said, pointing at Lucien.

Fatima took his arm with feigned innocence.

"Don't be shy, mon cher. If you needed me as a pillow, you should have said so. I don't mind being... welcoming."

Vera choked on her own air.

"Excuse me? It was the other way around and we all know it!"

***

Later, already dressed and gathered in the main hall, Fatima settled into an armchair, crossing her legs with rehearsed theatricality.

"I suppose you're wondering why I invited you to stay?"

"Because you enjoy playing with your prey?" Vera murmured.

Fatima smiled calmly.

"Partly. But also because I want to test them. To find out if they really are what they claim to be. 

Not just anyone infiltrates the event about to take place in Thalassomare."

Ayato tilted his head.

"Ah, perfect. A cultural festival with monsters waiting around every corner? It's not surprising anymore."

Fatima snapped her fingers, and several candles in the hall lit themselves, illuminating an embroidered tapestry map.

"In two nights, Anastasia Vodnikova will kick off a cultural and artistic event that will span the entire Thalassomare pseudo-castle. A festival of masks, music, theater… and invisible sacrifice. A ruse to steal life energy en masse, but wrapped in luxury and art."

Lucien leaned toward the tapestry, fascinated.

"A macabre opera in motion! Art in the service of horror."

"The problem," Fatima continued, ignoring his excitement, "is that not everyone can enter. Only those "authorized" by Anastasia, those she considers to have strong life energy. Nobles, aristocrats, renowned artists… and her retinue of guardian monsters disguised as cavalry."

Sylphidia gulped.

"I mean… if we go like this, they'll crush us at the door."

Fatima smiled, barely showing her fangs.

"Exactly. The only way is to infiltrate. Disguise yourself, act like them. Aristocrats, ladies, high-born knights. Win their attention, deceive their thematic army, and blend in with the crowd."

Isolde looked at her suspiciously.

"And what do you gain by helping us?"

Fatima stood up slowly, walking with feline grace to the center of the room.

"Let's just say I also have a score to settle with Anastasia. But before I entrust you with my knowledge... I must see if you can survive a simple test."

Ayato massaged his temples.

"Let me guess. Another 'pillow night'?"

Fatima laughed softly, enjoying the general discomfort.

"No, mon cher. This time it will be more fun. A test of etiquette, persuasion... and seduction. I want to see if you can act like true aristocrats before I drag you into the lion's den."

Lucien, with a gesture of confidence, given that he already belonged to an aristocratic family.

"Piece of cake~"

Vera placed a hand to her forehead.

"It's going to cost us a fortune in dignity..."

Isolde pursed her lips, resigned.

"And perhaps in blood."

***

The main hall of the Scarlette mansion had been transformed.

The heavy red curtains were drawn, letting in daylight that illuminated the black marble floors. Fatima had ordered instruments, glasses, and a dusty phonograph that began to spin an antique waltz.

She, now dressed in a tight, backless scarlet velvet dress, strutted like a mistress of ceremonies in a macabre theater.

"Welcome, mes invités. Today you will have your first test: learn to act like nobles, even if it's just for one night." She smiled wickedly. "In Thalassomare, it won't be enough to brandish swords and cast spells. You will have to dance, speak, and seduce like true aristocrats. And if you don't know how to do it... you will die."

Lucien spread his arms as if receiving invisible applause.

"A test worthy of an actor like me!" Finally, the curtain rises.

"This isn't theater," Vera growled, openly against this test due to the vast contrast with her more humble upbringing. "It's a waste of time."

Fatima snapped her fingers. Suddenly, the air thickened. Her eyes glowed a deep red, and threads of crimson energy floated from her skin like veils. Ayato's heart instantly beat faster, as if a silky voice in his mind whispered: surrender, give in.

"This is more than a rehearsal," she explained. "It's resisting temptation. Anastasia Vodnikova is a rusalka: her hypnotic singing steals the will. If they can't stand my tricks, they'll be even less able to endure hers."

Isolde frowned.

"Do you want to test me with seduction games?" She stepped forward, erect as an empress. "Go ahead." I warn you, you're wasting your time.

Fatima smiled and approached her, tilting her head mischievously.

"Amour Éternel." Her fingers brushed the air in front of Isolde's face, releasing a crimson glow like a luminous petal seeking to enter her mind.

The pure vampire looked at her coldly. And with a flick of her pinky finger, she threw her back against the wall with such force that the plaster creaked.

"Ridiculous to assume it would work this time," Isolde declared.

Sylphidia flinched, clutching both hands to her chest.

"Oh no! I thought I was going to kiss her!"

Lucien nearly choked with laughter.

"A duel of divas! Vampiric pride versus dhampiric coquetry. It's a masterpiece!"

Fatima sat up slowly, dusting herself off with forced elegance. Her eyes now shone with a more mischievous tinge.

"Very well, Mademoiselle de l'Iron, let's move on to the next one."

And her steps headed toward Ayato, who was already covering his face with one hand.

"No. Don't even try."

"Oh, mon cher..." she said, leaning too close, her voice velvety. "You have something special. Darkness... power... it's as if your veins are burning with the souls you carried." Her fingers traced a line along Ayato's shoulder, slowly descending. "With that strength, you could be more than a hunter. You could be a Dark Lord, a full-fledged vampire. And I... your favorite concubine, the kind of girlfriend you always wanted..."

Ayato gritted his teeth, sensing Fatima interfering with his lack of romantic experience.

"Concubine, my nose."

She tried to force his arms open, leaning forward until her cleavage almost touched his face.

"Surrender to me, mon chéri. It will be delicious..."

But Ayato stood his ground, his muscles tensing. And suddenly, he headbutted her brutally across the forehead.

"AAAUGH!" Fatima staggered back, covering her nose, while Lucien and Sylphidia burst into laughter. "Mon dieu, how wonderful!"

Ayato, snorting, dusted off his hands.

"If that's your idea of ​​training, I'll pass."

Fatima, still dizzy, didn't give up. She clicked, and the phonograph changed tracks: a solemn waltz.

"The last rehearsal: a dance. If you can keep pace while I resist... my charms, we'll consider this round over."

Reluctantly, everyone was paired off. Lucien took Sylphidia's hand like a prince, Vera was dragged along by Isolde, barely concealing her annoyance... and Fatima, with a renewed smile, caught Ayato's arm.

"Don't even dream about it," he protested.

"Too late, mon cher. We're already a couple."

The waltz began, and Fatima's dark energies intertwined with the music, pushing seductive whispers into every twist. Isolde remained unfazed, Vera struggled with the spell, Lucien acted exaggeratedly, and Sylphidia could barely contain her laughter.

In the middle of the dance, Fatima leaned close to Ayato's ear.

"Admit you want me."

Ayato sighed.

"I admit I wish you'd shut up."

She paused for a second, puzzled, before laughing softly.

"Maybe I like you more than I thought."

***

When the waltz ended, Fatima released them from the spell with applause.

"Fine, mes invités. They're not perfect... but they held up better than I expected. Anastasia will be much worse."

Vera pointed at her coldly.

"If you lay a hand on Ayato again, I'll be the one to slam you against a wall."

Fatima raised her hands as if in surrender.

"Oh là là, anticipated jealousy. I didn't think I'd be defeated by such a temperamental mother-in-law."

Ayato snorted and sank into an armchair, exhausted.

"I still don't understand how I always end up the damn center of the circus."

Lucien, with an exaggerated bow, concluded:

"Because, my dear friend, in every tragedy... there's always an involuntary protagonist."