After nearly five years, Ymir Amaranthus finally returns home at his father's request, however disaster strikes when multiple unexplained attacks have been reported happening around the supernatural fractions. Witches, vampires, werewolves, and crea...
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MADAM CAMILLE DAHLIA, sovereign of the Dahlia coven.
I don't know much about the Dahlia coven other than what I was told by my father growing up. The Dahlia name holds very little weight in the witch fractions, but it's still one that'll send chills if muttered too loudly. While the Dahlia coven itself is not the oldest like Amaranthus, its practices and history predate the founding of The Order. Birthed during the early Renaissance, the coven of the Dahlia created a safe harbor for those who were fleeing persecution - powerful witches who did not have a place in the elitist covens because of practices that were deemed too far unethical — taboo.
I heard that when Camille Dahlia came into power she was the youngest for a Sovereign only being twenty–five at the time of her coronation, and at the time was the youngest to have a seat at The Order, over four decades have passed since then and any who doubted her capability has come to regret it. My father never agreed with her ways and how she handled her people. Said she was too lackadaisical with her practices and teachings, and yet here I am, sitting across from her inside this dingy diner here in Halence. I can smell the supernaturals around me — witches, wolves, vampires, and creatures alike as they entered and sat in the diner around us.
I don't think I've ever been so overstimulated in my life. Halence is a place free of segregation and discrimination for all supernatural species and yet I've never felt more secluded.
I don't know why she brought me here. I don't know why I agreed but we're here in this diner together. There's the steady patter of rain upon the diner's large square windows, droplets yet to scatter the nascent rays of the rising morning sun. The sound brings a realization to me that the day has been so long and tiring that it's finally a new one. I'm tired and a bed sounds way more appetizing than whatever the cooks here are cooking up, but I don't have a bed to sleep in or even a home.
All I want is to go home. But I've never been far from it, in an entirely different world now. I want my father to come get me. I want to go home, but I don't have a home. The home I did have is covered in the blood and guts of my family, the house I had is a crime scene covered in caution tapes and white blankets — the home I had is no longer a home.
"You sure you don't want anything to eat," Madam Dahlia says across from me on the red-painted booth of the diner with a cup of steaming black coffee in one hand and a half-finished cigarette in the other. "it's not too often I have to offer up something twice, you know?"
Her voice yet intimidating and threatening, didn't seem to have any malice behind them. She eyed me from across the table, her feline features sharper than the freshly coated nails on her fingers. Once she realized I didn't have anything to say she didn't protest again and put out the cigarette on the runny yolk of the eggs she ordered but didn't even touch. Her slim shoulders drop a bit as she leans back against the cushion of the booth, a low sigh escaping her full lips. I guess we both don't have much of an appetite.
