A note of harsh disapproval snapped from Vlad’s sensuously generous lips at the new entry. “Luana! Where have you been? Another of your dreaming spells?” Hot red flashed in his eyes, ensconced suddenly in narrowed irises that flashed silver and putrid green-yellow, only to flow back into more human-seeming black an instant later. Smoothing his face, which had become a rictus as surely as any animal’s, Vlad gestured with a sweeping, graceful hand at the newcomer.<br/><br/>“My ladies and gentlemen, this is Luana. She and Izolda are indeed,” he paused, a hint of mocking mirth coloring his rich accent, “cousins. Close as sisters, though most would say. She helps with very specific affairs here and around the castle.” His eyes shifted back to Jonathan, clearly – to his brides’ anyway – considering whether or not the aged old man would survive their attentions.<br/><br/>Who cares, really? Vlad smirked to himself, doubly eager now. Izolda was brilliant, a beauty and as sinister as a blade. Would his daydreamer prove to rise to Isolda’s reaches? A little competition might do her some good, draw her out. As it was, Izolda was responding as he’d hoped to Lyanna’s presence – there was nothing that looked better on his warrior-goddess bride than a little hungry competition, after all.<br/><br/>Snapping to attention, as though from a daydream himself, the Count returned his gaze back to the three guests. “Ah, yes. The time. It flies. Perhaps we can make more proper introductions to Luana in the morning?” He extended his hand in Lyanna’s direction, offering a hand up, even as two pale skinned, but clean and silent men in black livery entered the room, their faces utterly blank. Their escorts, no doubt.<br/><br/>In truth, utterly broken, obedient Ghouls, worth fairly little, in terms of vitality or spirit. But loyal, oh yes. As loyal as Lyanna’s mother was quick to become.<br/>