Vayne Manor

A gentle breeze caressed the stone walls, weaving between bared branches. There was no reprise to the winds gentle whispers, the familiar rustling of leaves had long since given away before winters might. Gates of iron, ornately decorated, reflected the allegiances of those who dwelt within. The winds shifted; a bright orb adorning the night sky as the clouds parted before its splendor. A full moon, gleaming brightly, dwarfed all the nearby stars with its radiant light as they bowed before their lunar mistress. A single peak, above the horizon, resisted. A single building, elevated above its peers, cast its shadow on its surroundings. A symbol of power. Influence. It had remained, renovated and improved over many generations. The greatest of the many buildings subservient to a single name. The moonlight continued to bathe all in its unwavering brilliance, painting the gardens, reflecting upon the glass. Everything was just as it had been. After so many years, just as it had been that night.

Eleven twelve.

There were no signs of discarded leaves within the gated property, the unmistakable sound of running water. The source of the sound was obvious; the large fountain standing in front of the manor- a true display of Demacian craftsmanship. The marble soldiers continued to stand guard just behind the gates. Pitter, patter of water blending into the ambiance with ease. Even if nobody currently resided in the building, nobility had to keep its appearances. Pride? To honour one’s family?

Eleven sixteen.

The flutter of leather answered the lonesome whispers in the air as a lone figure shifted. Hiding within the shade of one of the numerous trees, it stood atop the wall. The faintest glimmer of crimson as the figure took a step forward, its hand grasping a low hanging branch as it fell forward; breaking its descent and landing softly on the well groomed lawn. It drew itself to full height. A silver sparkle. A multi layered segmented cloak. Long strands of Onyx hair. The figure breathed in the cool night air then began its long trek towards the building. A place it once called home.

Eleven twenty one.

She ran her gloved fingers along one of the numerous pillars, dipping her digits along the ridges; standing still as her hand slowly travelled along the length, falling back to her side. She turned heel, heading towards the servant’s entrance instead. Her free hand fished a simple silver key from her cloak. She had always made it a point to enter the way she had left on these visits. There was no particular rhyme or reason to the matter. She simply… did. This entrance contrasted greatly with the front doors. Simple and out of the way. As expected of one’s servants. The door swung open with ease- showing no signs that it had once been completely ripped off its hinges. Silhouetted against the frame, the woman entered. Heels clicked against the hardwood floors as she descended into the darkness.

Eleven twenty seven.

Ignition. Light flared, expelling the darkness as a brilliant flame flickered into view; soon joined by another. The former was quelled with a single motion, the other wavered for a moment before stabilizing. The blood and corpses were long gone- yet she could still see the pooling blood clear as day. The slow steady dribble. Drop by drop as mangled corpses were wrung dry. The cries of anguish echoed together with the maniacal laughter. She took a few steps forward, stopping and turning, standing where her mother had hung; painfully suspended in the air. She was taller than her late mother. She glanced towards the cupboard. One of the doors open ever so slightly, a line of darkness between the door and the frame. Did her mother know she was there? Hiding? It was always her favourite hiding spot, to the point where the servants had left it devoid of trinkets purely for her. How much restraint must it have taken to conceal her location through the relentless torment? The mental anguish joined with the physical suffering could only have been excruciating. The woman closed her eyes, breathing in deeply.

A slow, tempered exhale.

A nearby clock gonged. Twelve.

Vayne opened her eyes. Sapphire orbs burned underneath rose tinted shades. With a flourish and a flutter of her cloak, the Night Hunter returned to the stairs. Taking, as she had many years before, the first steps onto her dark path. The curse that would lead her to forever battle the shadows. The tips of her pleated cloak touched against the sides of the hallway as she quickened her pace. There was one more task to be done.

Twelve thirteen.

The Night Hunter stopped in front of the family cemetery. A single white orchid held close to her chest. The pristine petal pressed against the taut material, joined by a few onyx strands that had escaped the silver holding her hair in place. She bowed her head lightly before a single tombstone. They had requested to be buried together. When she, too, fell. Who would bury her? Would she be able to join her parents in their ancestral burial ground? She stood, lost in thought- a moment for herself she scarcely ever granted herself. An opportunity to relieve the mantle of the Night Hunter, if only for a moment. To be nothing more than Shauna of House Vayne. What would have happened? If not for the aggravated assault? If she were still the same naïve little girl, living a sheltered life; completely oblivious of the demons lurking in the dark. Would she have spent her time fussing over outfits? Would the tutoring have paid off? The numerous nuances she was to know before being presented as nobility. The upper class. Which house would she have been married into? A brief smile found its way onto her face. Her eyes had closed again as she lowered herself to her knees.

The single flower, already dying, now rested upon her parent’s grave.

Twelve Forty Seven.

She was out of time. Vayne muttered another soft apology to the deceased as she stood. After another lingering moment, the Night Hunter turned; her visage once again emotionless. Her sources had brought her information that confirmed the worst of her fears. The tentative peace that had fallen over the land with the creation of the Institute was all but falling apart. Her move was already delayed in favour of returning to Demacia for this anniversary. She clenched her fists lightly, as she took off. There were monsters to be cleansed from this world. On wings of night.