Annabella carefully pulls Jackson along by his wrist, a sad smile gracing her face. “The apartment has been cleared, all artwork and artifacts she collected over the years have been cataloged and donated as per her final wishes. She left something for you, my sweet boy.”
Jackson’s attention snaps to his mother, thoughts returning to the present. “I see. Well, it can wait till after the ball.” An inheritance can’t fill the hole she left behind, it would only serve as a distraction. Thoughts of an apartment he helped her fill, with stories and memories over several decades, hedoesn’t need any of that now.
“Jackie,” sighs Annabella. The desire to argue is clear in her tone, he’s thankful she lets the matter drop until he has the chance to ingest several drinks. Maybe pull someone into his proverbial bed to lose himself in someone else.
Even for just a moment.
When they arrive at his room Jackson pauses before turning the handle to look at his mother once more. “Oh, mother, one last thing.”
“Yes, sweetie?”
“I get we have a whole vampire Gothic romance thing going here, but for fuck’s sake, it’s the 21st century. Just call father’s cell and get him to hurry home before he causes the hosts of the party to keep all their guests waiting!” He huffs and opens the door before shutting it behind him, cutting off what is sure to have been a snarky comment from his mother. “And does every light in this castle have to be provided by candlelight? Would it truly kill our esteemed guests for us to use a light bulb?!”
Jackson strips out of his gear, clothes flung to the ground in a rage of emotions. The estate being handled, the final nail in the coffin. Denial has been the song Jackson has sung for months. No tears shed for the sister he chose when life gave him none of his own, for it would have been another nail in Brenda’s coffin. A void lingers in his heart that longs to be filled with her snarky remarks and ominous predictions.
“Dammit.” Jackson knuckles blanche where he grips the marble sink of his ensuite, the only thing breaking the silence being the pitter patter of the water warming up in the shower. He bares his fangs in frustration, glancing up to meet his reflection in the mirror. “Godsdammit…”
Red bleeds to the green of his eyes, shadows clinging to his curled fingers. He shakes his hands loose, willing the inky mist to dissipate. They only thicken with his aggravation. “You’ve taken enough from me. Just. GO!” He slams his fist into the wall, the stone crumbling under the impact. Debris clings to his split knuckles. Stepping into the shower, the water turned up till it scalds his ivory skin, Jackson lets the water wash away the blood, debris and sweat. His shoulders remain tight, even under the heat of thewater, forehead dropped to the cool stone in a defeated exhale.
* * *
Jackson steps out of the shower, steam filling his ensuite. Clearing off the mirror, he gives himself a once over. Black hair sticks to his head, red tips prominent against his pale skin. His eyes have returned to their usual hue, as they always do when he cools his head. Brushing a hand over his lean build framed by strong arms, built up from decades of martial training and practically hairless save for a crown of dark hairs under his navel, Jackson flinches when he finds one sore spot yet to fully heal around his abs. He heals fast and well but not immediately, a reminder of his lineage: an elven body with the blood of cursed immortals running through its veins. Magic of the shadows filling his soul.
As he looks out his window towards the moon hanging in the sky his eyes fluttering shut, thinking of that damn prophecy he had been taught when he was so young, one he always thought was nothing more than a fairy tale till his magic awakened.
His birthright.
“Born of the curse of immortal life,
by blood of courts’ darkest fae.
One who will rule the night that devours the day.
The darkest night shall be their throne.
Lest they drown in its grasp, never to return home.”
Jackson’s life was the only one his mother could create naturally, one of her own body and blood mixed with that of her beloved. Strength apparent from his first breath. The mana that flows through his body is practically limitless, the shadows bow in his presence as though he were a king walking through loyal subjects.
Lord of the Darkest Night, a title he would one day claim, one whispered among the royal courts. Jackson is destined for power unseen in the realms for a millennium.
Or, at least he should be.
His power responds well to his anger, ignoring him most other times. His tendrils treat him like a fool, as though they wield a mind of their own. He is forced to expel magic into a mana well just to get relief from the ever growing power that threatens to suffocate him from within. How many times has he prayed to a starless night the shadows would recede from his world permanently?
“Lest they drown in its grasp, never to return home huh? That’s not foreboding at all,” Jackson sighs as he opens his eyes, head tilted to the ceiling. Now is not the time to dwell in decades past.
Jackson dries himself off as the rest of his bruises fade and heal. He fixes his hair as his mother would want him to, tied up at the back and pushed away from his face. One has to admit she was right when it came to the fact his face is one of his better features, piercing eyes with a sharp jawline.
He enters his bedroom and looks towards the grand four poster bed, the whole aesthetic of this place truly too much for him at times, but at least comfort never escaped him.
Jackson slips into form-fitting black dress pants, then threads his arms into a forest green shirt; certain his father would be in a matching ensemble. He buttons the black vest over his shirt before throwing on the suit jacket. Onyx velvet on the outside, a lining of ruby red satin on the interior, colors of house Nocturne on full display for the evening’s party. A simple black bow tie and red pocket square to match the jacket finishes the outfit. Shined black loafers wait for him at the end of his bed. Slipping them on he gives himself a once over in the full body mirror in the corner of the room besides the ensuite to his right.
“Well, this solstice party might be the same as the last nine decades of them, but at least I can look good whilst pretending not to be bored to undeath by the whole ordeal.” Jackson looks himself up and down, slightly peacocking in front of the mirror, admiring the tailor and fit of the suit.
A knock at the door and one of the Jeans voices interrupts Jackson’s moment in the mirror. “Master Jackson, your parents are ready and will be waiting for you by the entrance to the grand ballroom. Are you ready to join them?”
“Yes I am, be out in a moment.” Jackson exits his room and sees the mint green pocket square of Jean-Pierre, who takes a bow in front of the young master of the castle.
