The Hunt
The air in Nocturn's armory held the sharp bite of steel and leather, mingled with something older – a wild scent that made Elara's pulse quicken. Moonlight filtered through narrow windows, casting silver light across rows of ancient weapons and hunting gear.
'I can do this,' she told herself, adjusting the fitted leather hunting jacket that had been delivered to her chambers that morning. The outfit was a far cry from her usual royal attire – sturdy pants tucked into high boots, a crimson shirt that wouldn't show bloodstains (a thought she was trying very hard not to dwell on), and leather guards protecting her forearms.
"Traditional hunting garb," Lydia had explained while helping her dress. "Though perhaps with a few more... protective elements than usual."
Now, surrounded by vampires preparing for the night's hunt, Elara felt distinctly out of place. The others moved with fluid grace, selecting weapons with the casual familiarity of centuries of practice.