The Bloodbriar Family Creed

The Bloodbriar dining room was dim, candles flickering, shadows stretching along the walls lined with portraits of ancestors who seemed to glare knowingly.

Diana adjusted her sheer black blouse and leather skirt, dangling spider earrings catching the candlelight. Beckett, surgical mask in place, gloves on, leaned back silently, observing, while the twins perched on the long table, stoic, their fangs faintly visible when they yawned.

“Tonight,” Diana began, her voice calm but commanding, “we reinforce the Creed.”

Peresphone and Hades exchanged a glance. They knew this ritual: a family gathering where values of intellect, patience, and the survival of introverted, clever types were quietly celebrated.

Beckett sipped his soda. “Do we really need this?”

“Yes,” Diana said, fixing him with a look that melted any protest. “It’s tradition.”

Each family member—parents, siblings, and cousins present via voice chat on discord for this “special night”—took turns sharing one insight on dealing with foolishness in the outside world.

“Never trust anyone who brags too loudly,” Diana intoned.
“People love to reveal their own idiocy,” Beckett added quietly, earning a small smirk from Diana.
“We are the shadows in which truth thrives,” Hades said, mimicking Diana’s posture, expression icy.

By the end, everyone had participated, the Creed quietly reinforcing their identity as outsiders, clever, and resourceful. The twins were satisfied, Beckett secretly proud, and Diana, ever the dominatrix-mother, ended the ritual with a playful tap of her hand on Beckett’s shoulder.