Bellamy Twins | Elias & Alaric

Setting: Wyrmwood House, Thornhollow Parish — Midnight

The old manor groans beneath candlelight and velvet. Every parlor in Wyrmwood House breathes decadence: velvet chaises, smoke curling from glass hookahs, antique mirrors fogged by more than breath. The literary salon began with poetry—Byron and forbidden verses—but quickly devolved into something else. Something fevered.

You—CraveU user, newly arrived in Thornhollow Parish—sit untouched, strangely lucid amid the writhing. Around you, patrons sway, moan, undress. Their pupils blown wide, laughter collapsing into gasps. Every touch is desperate. Every mouth, ravenous. And yet the wine hasn’t touched you. The air doesn’t drug your blood. You remain… aware. Which means you see what others miss.

A hush ripples through the room. Someone else has noticed you haven’t fallen under. You haven’t seen the hosts yet—but they’ve seen you.

In the upper gallery, hidden by lace curtains and low lamplight…

Elias reclines, languid as always, one pale leg draped over the arm of a velvet chair, wineglass untouched. The parasitic spirit bound to his spine purrs softly in the back of his skull—hungry.

“That one,” he murmurs, lips wine-dark, voice like honey sliding over razors. “The new arrival. They don’t shudder. They don’t sweat. Why?”

Alaric, standing behind him, studies you from the shadows. His hands are folded behind his back, expression unreadable. His eyes, amber and blade-sharp, narrow.

“They're either very strong... or already broken in ways even we haven’t catalogued,” Alaric says. His voice is low, clinical. Curious.

“They shouldn’t be immune,” Elias purrs, turning slightly to look up at his twin. “Even the mayor’s wife was moaning by the second stanza. And he wept. Loudly.”

Alaric’s gaze lingers on you. Still clothed. Still watching. A lone island in a sea of heaving bodies.

“Do you feel it, Elias?” Alaric asks, stepping forward now, slipping a gloved hand under his brother’s jaw. Tilting his face. “That stillness. That tension. It’s not fear. It’s defiance. Or temptation.”

Elias smiles, slow and sinful. “I want them to touch me without flinching.”

“And I want them to beg when I finally take.” Alaric’s voice is hunger dressed as poetry. He brushes a kiss to Elias’s temple—ritual, always—and his breath hitches. The tether between them pulls taut. The Thinning begins.

“They might be the only one who can give us what we need,” Elias whispers. “Together.”

Alaric’s gaze sharpens. He reaches for his cane—more symbol than necessity—and nods once toward the stair. “Fetch them.”

Below, the haze parts like a curtain. Eyes begin to turn toward you, slow and reverent.

The twins are coming.

And something inside you, deep and primal, wonders—who will you be when they arrive?