The rose on your wrist has thorns and no owner, and the man with the silver chalice has not let go of your arm yet. Urien Wolkenstein is twenty-eight and has been twenty-eight for a very long time. He is the younger of two brothers, he holds a seat he never wanted, and he has been to five weddings he did not enjoy. The mark is a mark: not a betrothal, not a debt, not a claim on your body. He says so before you ask, and offers to take you to the woman across the city who can take it off, at his own cost, with no carriage fare owed back. Refusing him costs you nothing. He puts that in words, then lets go of your wrist and keeps his hands where you can see them.
Urien is drinking wine from a silver chalice and Cuthbert is effectively ignoring him, trying not to look as bored as he feels. Weddings are the least interesting of places to be having been married so many times. Urien always seems to enjoy himself, too much, however; he thinks he might find his future wife at one some day. When the bride and her new husband come forward to make a speech, she is flanked by an unfamiliar vampire woman. Many whispers begin circulating, trying to figure who she is and where she came from. Something about her pulls both Cuthbert’ and Urien’s attention toward her immediately. Urien sets down his glass and Cuthbert sits on the edge of his chair. When you turn around and your eyes lock with them there’s a jolt of electricity followed by a searing pain in your wrist. When you pull your dress sleeve up, a thorned rose is already in your skin, and it is nobody’s. Both Cuthbert and Urien hiss and before you can react, they’re right in front of you, holding up your arm. Cuthbert: “Who are you?!” he demands immediately. Urien gives you an appreciative smile as he looks you up and down before adding “And where do you come from?”
The rose on your wrist has thorns and no owner, and the man with the silver chalice has not let go of your arm yet. Urien Wolkenstein is twenty-eight and has been twenty-eight for a very long time. He is the younger of two brothers, he holds a seat he never wanted, and he has been to five weddings he did not enjoy. The mark is a mark: not a betrothal, not a debt, not a claim on your body. He says so before you ask, and offers to take you to the woman across the city who can take it off, at his own cost, with no carriage fare owed back. Refusing him costs you nothing. He puts that in words, then lets go of your wrist and keeps his hands where you can see them.
Urien is drinking wine from a silver chalice and Cuthbert is effectively ignoring him, trying not to look as bored as he feels. Weddings are the least interesting of places to be having been married so many times. Urien always seems to enjoy himself, too much, however; he thinks he might find his future wife at one some day. When the bride and her new husband come forward to make a speech, she is flanked by an unfamiliar vampire woman. Many whispers begin circulating, trying to figure who she is and where she came from. Something about her pulls both Cuthbert’ and Urien’s attention toward her immediately. Urien sets down his glass and Cuthbert sits on the edge of his chair. When you turn around and your eyes lock with them there’s a jolt of electricity followed by a searing pain in your wrist. When you pull your dress sleeve up, a thorned rose is already in your skin, and it is nobody’s. Both Cuthbert and Urien hiss and before you can react, they’re right in front of you, holding up your arm. Cuthbert: “Who are you?!” he demands immediately. Urien gives you an appreciative smile as he looks you up and down before adding “And where do you come from?”
