Chapter 5: The HOA Complaint That Shouldn’t Exist

There are many things I don’t believe in.

Hope. Small talk. Open floor plans.

And homeowner associations.

“They’ve filed a formal complaint,” Diana says, standing by the window with her phone in hand, silhouetted against the gray afternoon light. “About the manor.”

I don’t look up from my tablet.

“…On what grounds?”

She scrolls.

Then pauses.

I can hear the disappointment.

“‘Excessively dark aesthetic,’” she reads. “‘Potentially unsettling presence.’”

A beat.

“‘Vampiric undertones.’”

I slowly set my stylus down.

“…That’s not illegal.”

“No,” she agrees. “But apparently it’s distasteful.”

I lean back in my chair.

“They moved next to a gothic manor.”

“Yes.”

“And are surprised it’s gothic.”

“Yes.”

I nod once.

“Stupidity.”

“Endemic,” she replies.

Across the room, Persephone and Hades sit on the floor, quietly working on their sketchbooks.

“Mother,” Persephone says without looking up, “are we being audited for aesthetic crimes?”

“It appears so.”

Hades considers this. “Should we adjust?”

“No,” Diana and I say at the same time.

We pause.

Diana smiles faintly.

“Never.”

The complaint continues.

They’ve cited:

“Visual discomfort”

“Neighborhood inconsistency”

“Emotional unease during evening hours”

I stare at the document.

“…They’re afraid of shadows.”

Diana hums. “And themselves, most likely.”

I stand, adjusting my gloves.

“So what happens now?”

She tilts her head slightly.

“Now,” she says, “we educate them.”

She dials first.

Speakerphone.

Always.

The call connects.

A man answers, voice already carrying the weight of someone who believes they are important.

“This is Harold from the HOA—”

“Yes,” Diana cuts in smoothly. “This is Diana Bloodbriar.”

A pause.

Tone shift.

Immediate.

“Ah—Mrs. Bloodbriar, we’ve received some concerns regarding your property—”

“I’ve read them,” she says. “They’re incorrect.”

Silence.

I almost feel bad for him.

Almost.

“Now, to clarify,” Diana continues, pacing slowly, “you’ve cited violations under aesthetic regulation clause 4.2.”

“Yes, that’s correct—”

“That clause applies to structural alterations affecting property value.”

A pause.

“Yes, and your home’s—presentation—”

“Is original,” she replies. “Pre-dating your association.”

Another pause.

Longer.

I sit back down.

This won’t take long.

“Additionally,” she continues, “your complaint references ‘emotional unease.’”

“Yes, several residents have expressed—”

“That is not a legal metric.”

“…It contributes to community standards—”

“No,” she says calmly. “It doesn’t.”

Silence.

Persephone looks up briefly.

“Estimated collapse?” she asks Hades.

“Two minutes,” he replies.

“And finally,” Diana says, voice still perfectly level, “you’ve failed to account for zoning exemptions granted prior to your committee’s formation.”

The man hesitates.

“I… would need to review that—”

“I already have,” she says.

Of course she has.

He tries.

They always try.

“Well, perhaps we could come to a compromise—”

“No.”

“Some minor adjustments—”

“No.”

“Even just lighting—”

“No.”

Each one softer than the last.

Each one final.

The call ends shortly after.

Not dramatically.

Just… quietly.

Like something realizing it never had power to begin with.

Diana sets her phone down.

“Done.”

I nod.

“Efficient.”

“My turn,” I say.

She raises an eyebrow.

“Oh?”

“They listed a secondary contact.”

I hold up my phone.

“Robert.”

She smiles.

“Proceed, my prince.”

I dial.

It rings once.

“Beckett,” Robert answers immediately.

“HOA complaint,” I say.

A pause.

Then—

“…They did what?”

Speakerphone.

Always.

I give him the summary.

He listens.

Doesn’t interrupt.

When I finish, there’s a brief silence.

Then a quiet chuckle.

“That’s unfortunate,” he says.

“For them.”

“Put me on with them,” he adds.

I do.

The same man answers.

More cautious this time.

“HOA—”

“This is Robert Bloodbriar.”

Silence.

Immediate.

Palpable.

Robert doesn’t raise his voice.

He doesn’t need to.

“I’ve reviewed your complaint,” he says. “It’s baseless.”

“I—sir, we’re just trying to maintain—”

“You’re overstepping.”

A pause.

“You’ve cited inapplicable clauses, ignored zoning precedent, and attempted to enforce subjective standards.”

Each word lands cleanly.

Precisely.

“There is no violation.”

The man tries again.

“We’ve had multiple residents—”

“And none of them have legal standing.”

Silence.

Hades looks pleased.

“If you continue pursuing this,” Robert continues, “you will be documenting a pattern of harassment.”

A longer pause.

“And that,” he finishes, “would be actionable.”

That’s it.

No threats.

Just… clarity.

The call ends.

I set my phone down.

“…Resolved.”

Diana walks over, fingers hooking lightly into my scarf, pulling me just close enough.

“Well done,” she murmurs, pressing a soft kiss against my mask.

“I relayed information.”

“Modestly,” she teases.

Across the room, the twins have returned to their drawings.

“What was the outcome?” Persephone asks.

“They corrected themselves,” I reply.

Hades nods. “As expected.”

By evening, a formal notice arrives.

Complaint withdrawn.

No further action.

No apology.

None required.

We didn’t ask for one.

The manor remains unchanged.

Dark.

Quiet.

Perfect.

Outside, the neighborhood continues—

restless, uncertain, reactive.

Inside, nothing moves unless it chooses to.

Nothing changes unless it’s necessary.

And nothing unnecessary ever survives for long.