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Darkseeker
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Please do not post unless mentioned above <3 feel free to follow along though! |
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Darkseeker
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The Morcant family is infamous: a dynasty built on ruthless ambition, unbridled wealth, and an empire that spans continents. Their opulent manor, Valenrow Estate, stands as a testament to their power—a sprawling estate with towering spires, labyrinthine corridors, and enough secrets to fill a library of scandals. But the family's wealth is not infinite, and their unity has always been tenuous at best. When the Morcant patriarch dies suddenly, the family is summoned for the reading of his will. There's a catch: the inheritance won't be distributed evenly, nor will it come without strings. Instead, the fortune is hidden within the estate, locked behind riddles and puzzles only the most cunning—or desperate—can solve. The family must compete in a twisted game of wits, strategy, and manipulation, where alliances can form and break within the blink of an eye. But the stakes are higher than just the inheritance. Rumors swirl of hidden jewels—a family treasure thought lost to history—and a secret that could unravel the Morcant dynasty if exposed. As tensions rise, the arrival of an enigmatic girl brough to "ensure fairness" only deepens the mystery. Is the girl truly impartial, or is she playing her own dangerous game? With her striking personality and an air of confidence that veils her true intentions, she becomes an unpredictable element in a family already rife with discord. Dark corners of the estate whisper of betrayal, and scandal threatens to spill over as family secrets come to light. Each player has something to gain—and something to hide. The game is no longer just about wealth; it’s about survival. As the group delves deeper into the puzzles, they discover that each clue not only leads to the fortune but also reveals shadows of their pasts, long-buried grievances, and unacknowledged betrayals that could tear them apart forever. With every riddle solved, the atmosphere thickens, and the once-grand halls of Valenrow begin to feel more like a pressure cooker, ready to explode at any moment. The family, each with their unique strengths and vices, find themselves pitted against one another, grappling with their own moral compasses as they navigate alliances that shift like quicksand. As the girl observes, she takes notes on their interactions, her own motives shrouded in secrecy. What role does she play in this high-stakes drama? Is she merely a spectator, or does she hold the key to the family’s darkest secrets? Her presence complicates the boy's every move, forcing them to reconsider who they can trust, as the line between friend and foe blurs dangerously. As the wind howls outside, rattling the windows of Valenrow Estate, each player grapples with the weight of their choices, knowing that one wrong step could lead not only to the loss of inheritance but also to the unraveling of the family legacy itself. The clock is ticking, and as time passes, the true nature of greed, loyalty, and ambition will be tested in ways they never anticipated. In this game of deception and survival, only the most cunning will emerge victorious—if they can survive the fallout of the truths they uncover along the way |
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Darkseeker
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Edited at December 12, 2024 07:36 PM by The Tea Drinkers
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Darkseeker
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Full Name Beaudan Calder Morcant Nicknames Beau or Cal Name Pronunciation Bō-den Call-dur Mōr-cānt Name Meaning Handsome, rough waters ݁.⊹ ₊ ݁. 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ Gender Male Pronouns He/Him Sexuality Bisexual Moral Alignment Chaotic Neutral ݁.⊹ ₊ ݁. 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ Temperament Beau has a magnetic charm and confidence, but there’s a streak of volatility just beneath his polished surface. While he’s generally calm and self-assured, he can be easily irritated if things don’t go his way. He expects high standards, both from himself and others, and has little patience for incompetence or delays. His mood can shift quickly, and when he’s displeased, his sarcasm becomes sharper, with a cool, cutting edge that hints at an underlying impatience. Though he can be generous with close friends, he’s selective with his loyalty, often putting his own needs and ambitions first. His charm works in his favour, and he knows how to get what he wants without making it obvious. When he’s in a good mood, he’s funny, engaging, and even affectionate, but when he’s annoyed, he can be aloof, shutting down conversations with a dismissive smirk or a subtle eye roll. He enjoys being admired and isn’t above subtly manipulating situations to ensure he remains at the center of attention. His humor often comes with a biting wit, and he isn’t afraid to tease or challenge people, sometimes pushing boundaries just to test reactions. Although he’s usually composed, a challenge to his authority or a perceived slight can trigger a surprising level of intensity, revealing a fiercely competitive side. Beneath the charm, there’s a bit of self-centeredness that drives many of his actions. He’s accustomed to things going smoothly and quickly becomes frustrated when they don’t. While he’s capable of showing care and loyalty, it often has to be on his own terms.. Enneagram Type The Enneagram Type 3, known as The Achiever, is driven by a deep desire to be successful, admired, and valuable in the eyes of others. Beau fits this very well. He is incredibly ambitious, adaptable, and a highly motivated individual who sets high goals and works tirelessly to reach them. He's known for his charismatic and charming attitude, able to present himself with confidence and adapt his image to fit various social settings. However, he can struggle with an over-reliance on external validation and definitely fears failure, as his self-worth is closely tied to their accomplishments and recognition from others. At his best, Beau tries to be an inspiring role model who encourages others to reach their full potential; at his worst, he risks losing his sense of identity, driven by a relentless pursuit of success at any cost. Appearance Beau stands at around 5'11" and has a physique that strikes the perfect balance between lean and athletic. His shoulders are broad enough to hint at a few seasons of tennis or rowing, but his frame lacks the bulk of someone who’s spent hours lifting weights. His torso is toned but not overly muscular, giving him a sleek, almost graceful appearance, as if he were built more for finesse than brute strength. He carries himself with an upright posture, a confidence that seems ingrained rather than forced. It’s the quiet confidence of someone who’s never had to question their place in the world. His skin is fair, with a warm undertone that picks up a faint, golden tan in the summer months, likely from countless hours spent outdoors on golf courses or at beach resorts. His complexion is nearly flawless, smooth and clear, with just a hint of pink at his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, a detail that gives him a slight boyish charm. The occasional freckle dots the tops of his cheeks and shoulders, a subtle reminder of his time under the sun. His hair is dark blond, almost honey-coloured, with natural highlights that catch the light. It falls in soft, relaxed waves that he styles meticulously but with an air of effortless ease. Every strand seems to be in place, swept back and to the side, but it’s not stiff; it has movement, like he’s just run his fingers through it. There’s a faint sheen to his hair, suggesting he takes good care of it, perhaps with an expensive, understated grooming routine. His face is classically handsome, with a natural symmetry that would be the envy of most. His jawline is sharp and clean, tapering to a slightly pointed chin that adds to his youthful look. His cheekbones are high and defined, casting soft shadows that give his face depth. His nose is straight and well-proportioned, neither too large nor too small, with a slight upturn at the tip. But it’s his eyes that draw the most attention—striking and intense, a mix of blue and green that seems to change depending on the light. They’re framed by lashes that are long and dark, adding a touch of drama to his gaze. His eyes have a slightly narrowed, thoughtful shape, as if he’s always analysing the world around him, taking in every detail. There’s an undeniable spark in them, a hint of playful mischief, as if he knows he has a charming effect on people and enjoys it without being cocky. His mouth is full and expressive, with lips that naturally curl into a slight, confident smile. When he does flash a grin, it’s dazzling, revealing straight, white teeth that hint at years of precise care. His smile seems effortless, a practised look that conveys a sharp friendliness but holds a bit of reserve, like he’s carefully choosing who gets to see his warmer side. His clothing is always immaculately chosen, but he wears it as if he hardly thought about it. A crisp, light blue Oxford shirt is his staple, always perfectly fitted and likely custom-tailored to skim his torso just right. The shirt’s sleeves are often rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong, lean forearms with a few faint veins running along them, hinting at his athleticism without overstating it. The shirt is always tucked into a pair of well-fitted tan chinos or slim khakis, ironed to perfection without a crease out of place. Occasionally, he’ll add a thin silver ring on his right hand or a bracelet, something simple but tasteful, almost like a family heirloom or something he picked up during a trip abroad. When it’s cool out, he layers with a soft, navy cashmere sweater, or sometimes a cable-knit pullover in a neutral shade, draped casually over his shoulders and tied loosely around his neck. These sweaters always look brand-new, well-kept, without a single loose thread or sign of wear. His footwear is similarly polished—usually a pair of clean, white leather sneakers or tan boat shoes that are always spotless, no matter where he goes. The soles are faintly worn, a sign that he’s walked miles, but they’re maintained with the care of someone who appreciates the finer things. Even his scent seems thoughtfully chosen—a light citrus cologne with hints of bergamot and sandalwood, subtle but present, giving off a fresh, clean aroma that lingers just enough. It’s the kind of scent that complements his look without overwhelming, leaving an impression that’s cold and refined. Everything about him feels effortless yet intentional, a look cultivated from years of privilege and comfort. In his demeanour, he has the poise and self-assurance of someone who’s always been admired, but there’s an intelligence in his eyes, a depth that hints at a curious mind behind his polished exterior. Voice & Accent His voice is rich and smooth, with a warm, inviting baritone. He speaks in a controlled, melodic rhythm that’s both friendly and confident, with a light East Coast accent that hints at a privileged upbringing and refined schooling. His vowels are slightly rounded, and there’s a soft, subtle clipping of certain consonants, particularly “r” sounds, giving him a polished sound without being overly formal. When he’s excited, his voice gains a relaxed, easy lilt, and his words flow a bit faster, showing a natural charm. His humour often carries a hint of dry wit, conveyed with a barely-there smirk and a playful glint in his eye. Strengths -Focused- -Persuasive- -Charismatic- -Ambitious- Weaknesses -Self-Centred- -Overly Competitive- -Emotionally Unavailable- -Critical- Backstory Beau grew up in an affluent East Coast suburb, in a well-established family with deep social connections. His parents, both highly successful in their own fields—his father a lawyer at a top firm and his mother a well-known art curator—instilled in him a sense of sophistication and ambition from a young age. Their expectations were high, but he grew used to the pressure early on, learning quickly that success and composure were non-negotiable values in his family. Beau’s parents provided him with the best of everything: private schools, tutors, tennis lessons, and vacations in Europe, but there was always an unspoken expectation that he would excel without complaint. Beau attended a prestigious prep school, where he quickly rose to popularity. His natural charm and wit made him well-liked among both his classmates and teachers. However, he learned early to wear a polished mask—letting people see only the version of him that he wanted them to see. Academically talented and a natural athlete, he became a star on the tennis team and took on leadership roles in various clubs, making himself nearly indispensable in his school’s social scene. Behind his confidence, though, Beau always felt the need to prove himself, pushing harder than anyone noticed. At home, Beau’s relationship with his parents was complicated. While they provided for him materially, affection was rare, and praise often felt conditional. His father was demanding, quick to criticize when Beau didn’t meet his standards, and slow to acknowledge his successes. Beau grew up believing that love had to be earned, which drove him to work harder but also instilled in him a deep-rooted fear of failure. This need for validation became a cornerstone of his personality, fueling his ambition but also his impatience and sometimes volatile temperament.Beau’s friendships are just as calculated. He learned to be loyal but selective, keeping his circle small and composed of people he knew he could rely on. He became adept at reading people’s motives, sometimes to a fault, and his guardedness often prevented him from forming deeper connections. Though he genuinely cares about those close to him, he rarely lets them see his vulnerabilities. Instead, he maintains an image of effortless success, rarely asking for help, even when he struggles. Fears/Phobias Fear of Being Ordinary Abandonment Nyctophobia Favourite Quote “The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.” — Ernest Hemingway Theme Song(s) “Numb” “It’s My Life” “Feeling Good” Affiliations Familial Ties: Mother: Adia Morcant (47) Father Harrison Morcant (50) Siblings Eden Mirren Morcant (24) The eldest Morcant sibling, and the only girl. She left the family when she graduated highschool, not pleased with the use of their funds. She currently lives in LA with her partner, and rarely comes in contact with the family. She was not at the reading of the will, and was not mentioned in it either. Callum Anders Morcant (22) The first boy of the Morcants. He is indifferent towards the family, but is more focused on his own ambitions. He is in the midst of starting a business, and is normally busy with that. His name was mentioned twice in the will, recieving a healthy sum of money for starting his own business. Dallas Taft Morcant (18) The youngest sibling, and the most adventurous. He's known for being a player like his brother Beau, and these two get along the best. Dallas still attends the prestigious private school that all four Morcant children went to, and is a senior, currently trying to keep his grades high enough to carry on the tradition of being valdedictorian. Other He has chronic anxiety and depression, as well as severe migraines ݁.⊹ ₊ ݁. 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ |
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Full Name Adelaide Grace Valduro Nicknames Addie, Dela -- Gender Female Pronouns She/her Sexuality Curious Moral Alignment Chaotic Neutral -- Temperament Adelaide moves through the world like a silent predator, her presence both magnetic and unnerving. Her default state is one of profound observation - a living, breathing analysis machine that absorbs every nuance of human behavior without revealing her own hand. She doesn't just watch; she dissects, cataloging every subtle gesture, every unspoken tension in the room. Her silence is not weakness, but a strategic choice. While others rush to fill conversational spaces, Adelaide calculates. Each word she speaks is a precisely crafted instrument - rational, calculated, delivered with such commanding certainty that arguments wither before they can fully form. She doesn't just make statements; she issues verdicts. On the surface, Adelaide appears tolerant. She seems to absorb slights, discomforts, and provocations with an almost zen-like composure. But this is an illusion, a carefully maintained facade that masks a volcanic temperament. Her temper is not a gradual build, but a sudden eruption. When triggered, her response is surgical: Verbal strikes designed to wound, razor-sharp insights that target psychological vulnerabilities and quick, precise emotional demolition She doesn't merely argue - she dismantles. Her anger is an intellectual weapon, carefully aimed to maximum effect. Her default state is emotional distance. People are kept at arm's length, interactions carefully managed. She is not cold, but controlled - a fortress with carefully guarded entrances. But for those rare few who penetrate her defenses, a transformation occurs. Her possessiveness becomes a form of fierce loyalty. These select individuals aren't just friends or loved ones - they become her chosen family. Her love is not gentle. It is a scorched-earth commitment. "I would let the world burn" is not a metaphor, but a promise. Those she loves are under her absolute protection, and any threat is met with total, uncompromising response. Her temperament is governed by an internal logic so complex, so nuanced, that it appears almost mystical to others. She doesn't explain herself - she doesn't need to. Her actions, her very presence, speak with a volume that words could never match. Adelaide is not just a person. She is a living algorithm of human interaction - mysterious, precise, and utterly captivating. Enneagram Type INTP People with the INTP personality type (Logicians) pride themselves on their unique perspective and vigorous intellect. They can’t help but puzzle over the mysteries of the universe – which may explain why some of the most influential philosophers and scientists of all time have been INTPs. People with this personality type tend to prefer solitude, as they can easily become immersed in their thoughts when they are left to their own devices. They are also incredibly creative and inventive, and they are not afraid to express their novel ways of thinking or to stand out from the crowd. Appearance Adelaide stands at a small 5'2, which matches her overall tiny stature. While she has muscular definition, she isn't bulky or overbearing in size. Her shoulders, waist, and hips are all narrow, giving the impression of a much smaller person - only overridden by the calculating look in her eyes and the confidence she carries herself with. Shoulders back, spine straight, and movements precise, Addie is the epitome of confidence that fills the room, drawing all eyes to her. Her skin is pale, neutral, and void of any blemishes. Few freckles dot her hands, arms, and face on an otherwise untouched palette. In sharp contrast, her hair falls straight to her midwaist, and is pure black in color. In the sun, the faintest sheen of blue can be seen, but in any less lighting, it is simply black, devoid of any other color. Despite this, it is thick and well groomed, never out of place. Adelaide's face is sharp, all angles and harsh lines. Her cheekbones are prominent, with a defined brow to match. Full lips and an upturned nose lead to eyes that are nearly black in color - a dark brown, in reality, and under light they hold shades of brown and amber that seem to swirl towards her irises, drawing those around her in. In the warmer seasons, she can be found wearing fitted dresses and skirts, tailored to her every curve. She often wears light shades of blue, green, and pink, giving her a younger appearance. Jewelry always adorns her fingers, wrists, and neck - name brands, easily spotted in a crowd. Gold rings stay on her fingers no matter the outfit, and a simple gold necklace with a diamond pendant can always be found around her neck. In the colder months, Adelaide can often be found with a thick sweater and leggings, a shocking difference to her normally pristine clothing. While her sweaters are nothing short of expensive, she doesn't often care to style them much, and can end up looking rather ordinary. No matter what she's wearing, Adelaide can't escape the eyes of those around her. Every outfit looks precisely chosen to draw the eye, and nothing looks drab or unusual when she wears it. Voice & Accent Adelaide's accent is a refined, softened Scottish brogue - more whispered than pronounced. It's the kind of accent that hints at her roots without screaming them, a delicate linguistic watermark that most people might not immediately recognize. Her speech is measured, each word carefully chosen and delivered with a crisp precision. In her normal conversations, the Scottish influence is subtle - just a slight roll on certain consonants, a hint of softness in her vowels. It's most noticeable in words with deep Scottish roots or when she's discussing something particularly meaningful. Words like "home," "water," or family-related terms carry a slightly more pronounced Scottish cadence. When truly passionate or excited, her accent becomes more pronounced. It's like a linguistic curtain being drawn back, revealing more of her true self. Her words become more fluid, with a musical quality that bubbles up from beneath her usually controlled demeanor. The scottish "warble" emerges - a melodic rise and fall that invites others into her enthusiasm. Her voice becomes infectious, drawing listeners in with its genuine warmth. In moments of anger, her accent transforms dramatically. The softness disappears, replaced by a razor-sharp precision. Her Scottish roots become a weapon of sorts - each word becomes clipped, almost militaristic in its delivery. The accent becomes more pronounced, but not louder. It's a cool, cutting sound that feels like being touched by a piece of Scottish ice - sharp, clear, and potentially devastating. Strengths - Intelligence - - Confidence - - Problem-solving - - Persuasion - Weaknesses - Possessive - - Quick-tempered - - Closed off - - Jealous - Backstory Adelaide was born into the Valduro family, old money landowners with extensive property in the Scottish countryside. Her family owned a vast estate in the remote highlands, where generations of Valduro wealth had been carefully cultivated through strategic investments, land management, and shrewd business dealings. From an early age, Adelaide was raised with a sense of isolation that would shape her entire personality. The sprawling family estate, while luxurious, was more a fortress of solitude than a warm home. Her parents - distant, ambitious individuals - viewed her more as a potential heir than a child to be loved. Communication was clinical, expectations were high, and emotional warmth was virtually non-existent. The Valduro family was known for its cold pragmatism. Conversations were strategic, interactions calculated. Adelaide learned early that showing vulnerability was a weakness. Her personality flourished in this environment - she became an expert at observing, analyzing, and understanding the unspoken dynamics around her. Her parents rarely showed direct affection. Instead, they tested her intellect, challenged her problem-solving skills, and measured her worth through academic and potential business achievements. This approach simultaneously wounded and strengthened Adelaide, creating her complex emotional landscape - confident yet deeply afraid of being considered lesser, simultaneously craving connection while keeping others at arm's length. Educated through a combination of private tutors and exclusive boarding schools, Adelaide excelled academically. Her natural intelligence and analytical skills made her a standout student, though she struggled to form meaningful connections with her peers. She was always watching, always calculating, never truly belonging. By her late teens, the emotional distance with her family had become unbearable. A significant, though never explicitly detailed, conflict led to a complete severance of ties. Adelaide walked away from her family's wealth - ensuring she was financially independent, taking only what she deemed necessary to establish her own life. Using her inheritance and her sharp business skill, Adelaide invested strategically. She didn't want her family's money to define her, but she was intelligent enough to use it as a launching pad. She built her own network, carefully selecting connections that would be mutually beneficial. Her possessive nature emerged strongly during this period. The few relationships she cultivated were intense and deeply loyal. Having experienced emotional abandonment, she became fiercely protective of those who managed to break through her carefully constructed walls. The complete cut-off from her family deepened her fear of being alone. This fear manifests in her possessiveness - once someone proves their worth to her, she will go to extraordinary lengths to maintain that relationship. Her Scottish accent - a subtle reminder of her roots - remains, a linguistic ghost of the family and homeland she left behind. The few freckles dotting her pale skin seem like the only softness in an otherwise precisely curated exterior. Now in her prime, Adelaide moves through the world with a confident precision that both attracts and intimidates. Her wealth is her own, her connections carefully chosen, her past a closed chapter that she refuses to revisit. To the outside world, she is a mystery - a small, impeccably dressed woman with eyes that seem to see right through people. To the very few who know her deeply, she is a force of nature - protective, brilliant, and utterly uncompromising. Her greatest strength and her deepest vulnerability remain the same: her profound fear of being truly alone, balanced against her remarkable ability to stand entirely on her own. Fears/Phobias Being alone The dark Fear of being lesser than her peers Favourite Quote Working on it Affiliations N/A Other Nothing yet? Working on it |
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Darkseeker
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Beau sat in his room, in the dark, with his head in his hands. It was really final. This was it. His grandfather, Alistair Blackthorn—the man who had seemed larger than life—was gone. It didn’t feel real. For years, they’d lived in a rhythm of health scares and miraculous recoveries. Each time, the family braced for the worst, and each time, Alistair snapped back with a defiance that made them believe he’d live forever. It had become a kind of unspoken ritual: fear, hope, relief, and repeat. This time was different. This time, there was no rallying, no gruff laughter after the crisis passed. Beau rubbed his temples, trying to shake the surreal fog clouding his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking it was another one of his grandfather’s riddles, some elaborate lesson in endurance or strength. Maybe if he or Cal figured it out, the old man would come striding in, laughing at their despair, and then they’d sit in the study like they used to, listening to him recount war stories. Beau let out a bitter laugh at the thought, one that quickly turned into a choked sob. There was no riddle this time. No punchline. Only silence. The room felt suffocating, the weight of the day pressing down on him. His phone buzzed on the bedside table, over and over. He didn’t have to check it to know what it was: headlines, notifications, and reporters clamoring for statements. *“Business Titan Alistair Blackthorn Passes Away.” “The End of an Era.”* He could practically see the articles now, all dissecting the man’s life like vultures picking over bones. With a sudden surge of anger, Beau grabbed the phone and hurled it across the room. It hit the wall with a crack, clattering to the floor. From somewhere down the hall, his mother’s voice rose in a shrill crescendo, yelling into the phone. Beau winced. He didn’t need to guess who was on the other end. Edie. Eden Morcant had a way of making their mother, Adia, unravel completely. The fact that Edie had refused to come home for the will reading was like pouring gasoline on an already blazing fire. Adia’s screams echoed through the house, words like *“ungrateful,”* and *“selfish,”* ringing loud enough for half of Valenrow Estate to hear. Beau sighed heavily, running a hand over his face. His skull throbbed, the beginnings of a migraine teasing at the edges of his mind. He stood up, though the motion made him sway. His muscles ached from tension, and every step felt heavy as he moved to the door. The halls of the sprawling Massachusetts estate, so familiar and comforting as a child, now felt like a labyrinth he couldn’t escape. He passed Callum in the hallway, shouldering past him without a word. Normally, he would have thrown a snide comment his brother’s way—something to distract himself from his own pain—but one look at Callum’s face stopped him short. Cal’s normally cool and composed features were taut, his jaw clenched as if he were physically holding back tears. Beau said nothing, his anger deflating slightly as he continued down the hall. The house was alive with grief, a charged atmosphere that made every nerve in Beau’s body hum. His family’s emotions felt like static electricity under his skin. His mother’s screams, Callum’s quiet despair, and the absence of his other siblings all blended into a cacophony of pain he couldn’t escape. Edie was in LA, thousands of miles away, and Dallas… Beau didn’t even know what Dallas was doing anymore. Their youngest brother still carried that buoyant optimism that had always set him apart from the rest of them, but even Dallas wouldn’t be able to hold onto that now. Not with this. Not with Alistair gone. For Beau, the loss wasn’t just about his grandfather. It was about the end of something bigger—something he wasn’t sure how to define. Alistair wasn’t just a man; he was the architect of their dynasty, the unshakable foundation of their family. Without him, everything felt unmoored. What did Valenrow Estate mean without the man who had built it? What did *they* mean, without him? His hands curled into fists as he reached the stairs, his breathing uneven. He hated this. Hated the chaos, the screaming, the headlines, the suffocating weight of expectations that came with being a Morcant. His mother would expect him to step up now, to be the rock she leaned on, the dutiful son who held the family together. But Beau didn’t feel like a rock. He felt like he was crumbling from the inside out. He glanced back down the hallway, towards Callum’s room, and then towards the closed door of his mother’s study, where her voice still rang out in sharp bursts. For a moment, he thought about retreating back to his room, shutting the door, and pretending none of this was happening. But that wasn’t an option, not for a Morcant. *Not for him.* Beau took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the air felt heavy, like it wasn’t quite filling his lungs. His grandfather was gone. His family was falling apart. And Beau wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold himself together. |
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Adelaide's footsteps fell heavy against the gravel path, each step carrying the weight of unresolved memories and a journey she had never anticipated making. The estate loomed before her, a testament to generational wealth and hidden histories, its sprawling grounds a stark reminder of the tumultuous landscape of her own fractured family. Ten years of silence between herself and her father had created a chasm so wide she had once believed it could never be traversed. That final, explosive argument had been the catalyst for her escape—a bold leap across continents to the bustling anonymity of New York, where she had carefully constructed a life far removed from her past. Now, summoned by a cryptic request she still struggled to comprehend, she found herself standing before this new estate. The manor was a behemoth of architectural grandeur, its stone facade rising like a sentinel against the muted sky. Intricate windows reflected nothing, their glass surfaces opaque and impenetrable, hiding the secrets of the family within its walls. The structure seemed to breathe with a quiet intensity, watching her approach with an almost sentient awareness. At the entrance stood a man who seemed as meticulously arranged yet slightly disheveled as the documents clutched tightly in his hands. His balding head caught the light, and his wrinkled suit spoke of long hours and intense concentration. His facial expression was a masterclass in professional restraint—a grimace masquerading as a smile, eyes holding something just beneath the surface that Adelaide couldn't quite decipher. "Hello," she said, extending her hand with a practiced composure that belied her inner turmoil. "I'm Adelaide. I'm here regarding the reading of Alistair Blackthorn." "Bill Gentret," he responded, his handshake precise and brief. The words hung between them, laden with an unspoken complexity that made her skin prickle with anticipation. As he turned and knocked on the massive wooden door, the sound seemed to reverberate through the very foundations of the estate. Adelaide straightened her posture, hands clasped behind her back, mind racing with questions. She knew nothing of this family—not their history, not their connections to her father, not the purpose of her summons. The silence stretched between her and Gentret, thick with potential and mystery. What secrets, she wondered, lay behind this imposing door? What strange confluence of events had drawn her to this moment, to this place so far removed from the life she had carefully constructed? As the echoes of the knock faded, Adelaide braced herself for whatever revelation awaited her, knowing that some thresholds, once crossed, could never be uncrossed. |
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The migraine was getting worse. Beaudan sat stiffly beside his mother in her office, her voice rising and falling like the crash of distant waves. Except there was no peace here, no rhythm to calm him—just Adia's relentless tirade. She was tearing into Eden for every misstep, every slight, every perceived failure that had ever been committed against the family. Beau knew Edie didn’t always make the best decisions, but right now, he couldn’t muster the energy to defend her. His head pounded, his stomach churned, and grief hung heavy in the air. His grandfather was gone. The man who had been the anchor of their chaotic world, the one who seemed impervious to time, had slipped away. And Edie—his sister, his partner-in-crime—had fled across the country, leaving him to navigate the wreckage alone. It felt like losing two pieces of his soul in one terrible day. Adia’s shrill voice cut through his thoughts, blaming Edie, blaming everyone but herself. The pain in Beau’s skull intensified, a fiery spike driving deeper and deeper. He couldn’t take it anymore. “Mummy,” Beau said softly, patting her hand in what he hoped was a soothing gesture, though his voice came out strained. “I know. It’s awful, dreadful. But I think I need to step out for a moment. I need to breathe before the Will reading.” Adia paused her rant just long enough to glance at him, her lips pursed. “Yes, yes, fine,” she waved him off distractedly. Then, as though an afterthought, “Oh, and Beaudan, remind your brother he’ll probably run into the press at school. Tell him to be careful.” Beau didn’t respond, only nodded and made his escape. The pounding in his head grew worse with every step down the corridor, each footfall reverberating through his skull like thunder. At Dallas’s door, he paused just long enough to relay their mother’s message before continuing to his own rooms. By the time he reached his private bathroom, nausea gripped him like a vice. He dropped to the cool marble floor, leaning his head against the porcelain edge of the toilet, taking deep, shuddering breaths. The opulence of his surroundings offered no comfort. Gold fixtures gleamed under soft lighting, and yet, he felt utterly alone. An odd thought struck him. He wanted to go *home.* But this was home. Or at least it was supposed to be. He’d been born and raised within Valenrow’s sprawling grounds. Its secret passages, winding staircases, and hidden riddles had been his sanctuary. Yet now, it felt like a mausoleum. A place where memories lingered like ghosts, suffocating him. He closed his eyes and pictured Edie. She was probably on a beach in California, wrapped in sunlight and salt air, a daiquiri in hand. The image almost made him smile. Edie had always been a sucker for fruity drinks, a humorous contradiction given her current relationship with her girlfriend. For a fleeting moment, he considered calling her. He knew she’d pick up—she always did. They had a pact: no matter what, if any of them ever called, they’d answer. But before he could reach for his phone, a door slammed somewhere in the house. The lawyers had arrived. Beau forced himself to his feet, smoothing his disheveled hair and adjusting his cuffs. He descended to the main study, each step feeling heavier than the last. The room was already full. Cal stood near the fireplace, his face a mask of stone, betraying no trace of the tears Beau knew had been there earlier. Dallas sat at their mother’s feet, staring at the floor while Adia complained loudly to her lawyer. The large oak door creaked open, and Beau turned instinctively. His stomach dropped. A man entered, followed by a girl—a girl Beau had never seen before. She was young, maybe his age, with a nervous energy that clashed against the weighty atmosphere of the room. Beau’s lip curled in instinctive disdain. *Who the hell was she?* Beau’s gaze flicked to the empty wingback chair his grandfather had favored, and a fresh wave of grief hit him like a punch to the chest. He clenched his jaw as Adia’s voice, sharp and cutting, filled the silence. “Who is this girl?” Everyone in the room turned toward the grandfather’s lawyer. The man, usually unshakable, looked uncomfortable, his fingers twitching as he adjusted his tie. “The young lady,” he began cautiously, “is here under special instructions from your grandfather’s Will. Her presence is... required.” “Required for what?” Adia snapped, her eyes narrowing. The lawyer hesitated, his gaze falling briefly to the girl before returning to the family. “To hear the terms of the Will. She has... a significant role.” The room fell into a stunned silence. Beau’s mother gasped audibly, her perfectly manicured fingers clutching at the pearls around her neck. Cal’s stone-like expression cracked, his brow furrowing in confusion. Beau felt his migraine spike again as he studied the girl. She was a stranger, an outsider. And yet, somehow, she was here, in the very heart of Valenrow, with a role in their grandfather’s final wishes. |
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Neutral
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As the ancient oak door swung open with a languorous creak, Adelaide was immediately enveloped by a sensory overload of richness. It was more than a mere scent—it was a memory distilled into fragrance, a potent blend of vanilla's warm embrace and bergamot's citrusy whisper. The aroma was a visceral echo of her childhood, of a home now lost to her, and she inhaled deeply, a tremulous breath that was part steadying ritual, part silent acknowledgment that this opulent space was not her sanctuary, but the domain of a family steeped in grief. Briefly, she took in the sitting area. The opulent furniture was inviting, the home relatively warm, but she couldn't help the feeling of dread that crept up her spine. Despite its appearance, Adelaide could not consider this place a home, and she wondered what the hidden rooms held that made her want to turn tail and flee. Her slender fingers, betraying a subtle tremor, clutched the edge of her meticulously pressed coat as she stepped forward. The collective gaze of the assembled family bore into her with an intensity that seemed to strip away her carefully constructed composure. Their eyes were a tapestry of emotions—scrutiny, suspicion, and an underlying current of something more complex. First, her attention was drawn to the matriarch—a woman whose beauty had not diminished with age, but had instead been transformed by it. The intricate lines etched around her eyes and mouth were not signs of decay, but delicate tracings of a life richly lived, enhancing the aristocratic elegance that seemed to radiate from her very being. Beside her sat a man, presumably her son, whose countenance was a nuanced study in emotional restraint. Grief had carved itself into the soft planes of his face, and his fingers—long and elegant—absently traced the ornate tassels of the Persian rug beneath him. Near the marble fireplace stood another figure, his posture so perfectly erect it seemed almost architectural. His gaze swept over Adelaide with a clinical precision that made her involuntarily straighten her own spine. He was a study in calculated restraint, his expression a masterful blank canvas that revealed nothing yet suggested everything. For the briefest moment, she felt a reluctant admiration for his impenetrable demeanor, before remembering her own image and the life she had cultivated. "Who is this girl?" The matriarch's voice cut through Adelaide's reverie, crisp and imperious. She turned, mustering what she hoped was a disarming smile, only slightly aware of the lawyer's explanatory murmurings. Her attention was inexplicably drawn to a new figure who had just shifted in her peripheral vision. He was tall, impeccably dressed in what was clearly bespoke luxury, his attire speaking of wealth and refinery. His hair, a shade lighter than his brother's, caught the evening light, and his eyes—cold, mercurial—swept across her face with a mixture of emotions that defied simple categorization. Disgust flickered there, yes, but also a profound distrust and a simmering anger that seemed to pulse beneath his controlled exterior. For a beat longer than social grace would allow, their gazes locked. Then, with a deliberate effort, she dismissed him, pushing her burgeoning curiosity into the recesses of her mind. Drawing another fortifying breath, she approached the matriarch. Her hand extended in a gesture of formal greeting, each step calculated and precise. "Hello, ma'am," she began, her voice modulated to convey both deference and quiet confidence. "My name is Adelaide Valdaro, and I'm here on behalf of a request from my father—who was, apparently, a dear friend of your late father. I apologize for the intrusion. To be entirely candid, I'm not entirely certain of the precise nature of my summons." |
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Darkseeker
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The tension in the room was suffocating, thick as the oppressive humidity of an oncoming storm. Adia looked as though she might keel over from sheer indignation, her gaze flitting from one person to the next in search of an ally. When her lawyer dared to clear his throat, her eyes snapped to him with such ferocity that the poor man flinched and held up his hands in a gesture of helpless surrender. Beau leaned back slightly in his chair, the pounding in his head dulling as his intrigue grew. He could almost feel the words forming on Dallas’s lips and didn’t need to look to know what his younger brother was thinking. It was the most obvious question, wasn’t it? Was the girl the result of some late-life scandal? Their grandfather, Alistair Blackthorne, had been many things, but secretive wasn’t one of them—at least, not about things that truly mattered. He was cunning, shrewd even, but he’d always placed family above all else. If this girl had been a product of a clandestine affair, why bring her here, into the lion’s den? The thought didn’t sit right with Beau. He glanced at the pearls around his mother’s neck, each one gleaming softly in the dim study light. A piece of the love story their grandfather had carried with him like a shield. Despite the years since Pearl’s passing, their marriage had been legendary within the family. Alistair’s devotion to her had become something of a standard—an impossible one, perhaps, but a standard nonetheless. Half the family’s fabled jewels were gifts he’d given her, symbols of a love so extravagant it felt almost mythical. And now, with both of them gone, those symbols lingered, precious remnants of a bygone era. Beau’s lip twitched with a flicker of curiosity as he shifted his gaze back to the girl. Why would Alistair summon her here, of all places, for the reading of his Will? His grandfather had been meticulous, deliberate in all things. If she was here, there had to be a reason. His mind raced, pieces of the puzzle already snapping into place. He glanced at Cal, who had adopted his usual inscrutable expression, but Beau knew his older brother well enough to catch the flicker of recognition in his eyes. Cal was on the same wavelength—this wasn’t just a Will reading. This was a game. A final test from the old man. Beau sat straighter, his earlier anger forgotten. His lips curved in the faintest smirk, one that said, It is so on. Dallas, of course, looked disinterested. He’d never shared the same enthusiasm for their grandfather’s riddles and games, more focused on his tech ventures and online business projects. But for Beau and Cal, this was tradition—a battle of wits, a chance to prove who had inherited Alistair’s legendary cunning. And Edie? She’d always been the reigning champion, which only made her absence sting more. Alistair had always had a way of challenging his grandchildren. Each year, he’d call them in one by one and ask a single, deceptively simple question: *What skill do you want to cultivate this year?* The possibilities were endless, as long as they were reasonable. And once the child chose, Alistair would make it happen. Cal had chosen golf one year, and Alistair, never one to do anything halfway, had not only provided private lessons but had also gifted himself a golf course by the year’s end. Beau, for his part, had picked sailing during one of his more romanticized phases. That year had been filled with afternoons restoring old boats and learning to navigate them. By the end of it, Alistair had surprised him with a sleek, custom-built sailboat—a reward for his dedication and skill. These weren’t idle gifts or indulgences. They were lessons in focus, discipline, and the pursuit of mastery. Alistair’s challenges were always laced with deeper meaning, his expectations clear: *If you want something, work for it. And if you work for it, be the best at it.* The sound of papers shuffling snapped Beau out of his thoughts as the reading began. The attorney droned on about stipulations and formalities, his voice measured and dry. Beau’s gaze flicked to the girl again as a heavy envelope was handed to her. He noted the weight of the family crest stamped on the back, the name written in Alistair’s familiar scrawl. His chest tightened. The attorney moved on, distributing legacies and inheritances in the precise manner Alistair had intended. Adia received a healthy sum of money and a modest selection of the lesser jewels—enough to placate, but not to satisfy. Beau’s father was gifted ownership of the oil company he and Alistair had built together, though the man barely reacted, taking another drag of his cigarette. Cal, of course, had been given the golf course. Beau smirked at the memory of the year Cal had become obsessed with the sport, spending hours perfecting his swing under their grandfather’s watchful eye. Then came Beau’s turn. His inheritance was precisely what he’d expected: the sailboats from his sailing year, along with a substantial sum of money. Yet as the attorney continued, something nagged at him. Where was the rest of it? The fabled jewels, the massive fortune, the true treasures of the Blackthorne family—none of it had been mentioned. The room grew restless, whispers breaking out among the older relatives. Adia’s sharp glare was enough to scatter some, but Beau could sense the mounting confusion. And then, finally, it happened. Another envelope was handed to him, identical to the one given to the girl earlier. Heavy parchment, the family crest pressed into crimson wax. Across the front, his name in Alistair’s flowing script. His heart quickened. As the adults dispersed into their corners, whispering and throwing daggers with their eyes, Beau slipped away. He found Cal by the mantle, their gazes locking for a moment in mutual understanding. They would both need to be at their sharpest for whatever lay ahead. Beau’s fingers brushed the underside of a nearby portrait, feeling for the hidden button he knew would be there. With a soft click, the frame swung open, revealing the dark passageway beyond. It was a rite of passage for every Morcant child, but for Beau, it was a sanctuary. The darkness enveloped him as he slipped through, emerging moments later into the garden. He sat on the edge of a marble bench, the faint scent of roses drifting through the air. With trembling hands, he broke the seal of the envelope. The weight of it hit him at once. The last riddle. The final words from the man who had shaped so much of his life. For a moment, Beau hesitated, his heart aching with a mix of grief and anticipation. Then, with a deep breath, he unfolded the letter, his eyes scanning the familiar scrawl. |
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Winter 
Night 
Clear Moon: 
