Elena waited patiently for the right moment to approach Duncan Salvador. Days turned into weeks as she carefully observed his moods, looking for the perfect opportunity to bring up Damien's request.
Meanwhile, across the city, Damien grew increasingly restless. He paced his room - or rather, wheeled back and forth in his chair - his mind churning with possibilities and plans. Every knock at the door sent a jolt of anticipation through him. But as the days stretched on with no word from Elena, that anticipation slowly soured into frustration and doubt.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of crimson and gold, Elena found Duncan in his private garden. He stood motionless, admiring a blood-red rose, its petals unfurling in the fading light.
"My lord," Elena said softly, approaching with measured steps.
Duncan turned, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Elena. Come, join me. Isn't it beautiful?" He gestured to the rose. "Such delicate beauty, yet with thorns sharp enough to draw blood. Much like our kind, wouldn't you say?"
Elena nodded, seizing the opportunity his good mood presented. "Indeed, my lord. Speaking of our kind, there is a matter I wished to discuss with you."
Duncan's eyebrow arched slightly, but his smile remained. "Oh? Do tell."
Elena took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. "It's about Damien Durello, the vampire who once held significant influence in the five houses and of course, in ancroft."
"Ah, yes. The one I instructed Tessa to ignore. He isn't what my time" Duncan mused. "Now, what about him?"
"He seeks an audience with you, my lord," Elena said, watching Duncan's reaction closely. "He's... intrigued by the power you represent."
Duncan chuckled, the sound low and rich. "Is he now? And what would I do with a fallen prince, my dear Elena?"
Elena paused weighing her response. She pressed on, her voice taking on a note of urgency. "Please, my lord, hear me out. Damien's ambitions align with our own. He could be a valuable asset if restored to power. And..." she hesitated, then forged ahead, "I fear something terrible may befall him if he doesn't regain his strength soon."
Duncan's eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping into his gaze. "You seem unusually invested in this, Elena. Why do you care so much about Damien's fate?"
Mimic sat up, her eyes serious. "And what if Salvador refuses? What then, my lord?"
Damien's face darkened. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."
Days passed in tense silence, Damien growing more agitated with each sunset. Finally, on the fortnight, a sharp knock at the door broke the monotony.
Mimic answered, her eyes widening in surprise. "My lord, it's... it's Drake."
Damien wheeled around, his heart racing. Drake, Elena's most trusted knight, stood in the doorway, his imposing figure filling the frame.
"Damien Durello," Drake's deep voice rumbled through the room. "Lord Salvador has considered your request. He will grant you an audience."
Relief and anticipation warred in Damien's chest. "When?" he demanded, unable to keep the eagerness from his voice.
Drake's lips curled into a small, knowing smile. "Tomorrow night. At the old cathedral on the edge of town. Come alone, and come prepared to prove your worth."
With that, he turned and left, leaving Damien and Mimic to exchange worried glances.
"My lord," Mimic said softly, "are you sure about this? It could be a trap."
Damien's eyes gleamed with a mixture of fear and determination. "Trap or not, Mimic, this is my chance. Perhaps my only chance. We proceed as planned."
As night fell the following evening, Damien sat before his mirror, carefully applying the cosmetics that would hide the worst of his weakened state. His hand trembled slightly as he worked, the weight of what was to come pressing down on him.
"Whatever happens tonight," he murmured to his reflection, "there's no turning back now."