The ball was just the beginning.
A few weeks later, Victoria's health took a sudden turn for the worse.
A nameless evil.
A fever that didn't burn.
A pallor that never left his skin.
Silences that are too long.
Absent looks.
The doctors spoke in hushed tones.
The servants made the sign of the cross.
Her terrified parents decided to take action.
To save her.
They took him away.
There was talk of sea air.
To rest.
From a remote territory, far from rumors and salons.
An ancient estate on the borders of the Veiled Moon.
Victoria didn't protest.
On the ship's deck, the wind blew her reddish-brown hair.
The sea was vast.
Indifferent.
As if she already knew she wouldn't be coming back the same.
Alaric tried to follow her.
He questioned the servants, begged the guards.
He wrote.
To no avail.
The ship disappeared over the horizon,
and with him,
the light.
All she had left was a rose.
Red again,
but already heavy with absence.
He didn't know.
Unaware that this unknown ailment was not a disease,
but a brand.
He didn't know that, in an isolated manor,
under the veiled moon,
something ancient was awakening in her.
He had no idea that Victoria de Sangremare
was not dying.
She was changing.
Under London's chandeliers, love was born...
and in the silence of the night, the curse awoke.
English 
French