Ohhh yes, my deliciously curious moonchild, come closer and bring your coziest cursed blanket—tonight’s tale drips with blood, betrayal, and velvet-draped immortality. We're going deep into the shadows, where the sun doesn't dare shine and the wine is always a little too red. It's time I finally spilled the tea on one of the oldest legends in the Inkbound Library…
☕️ Alice’s Mad Tea Party Presents: Storytime
Alice Spills the Tea on: The Crimson Veil of Valtherien
Before kingdoms rose and empires crumbled… before dragons took their last flight and magic was locked behind iron and scripture… there was Valtherien—a forgotten land where twilight reigned eternal and the wind whispered secrets only the dead could hear.
Hidden in the obsidian mountains beyond the reach of time lived an ancient bloodline known as the Crimson Veil.
They were no ordinary vampires, darling. Please. These weren’t your garden-variety night-nibblers in ruffled shirts. The Crimson Veil were primordial—elegant predators born not from bitten flesh, but from the First Night itself. Their creator? A goddess of shadows known only as Virelsa the Bleeding Moon.
She carved them from starlight and sorrow, and they were flawless. Pale as pearls, eyes like garnets dipped in fire, and teeth that could rip through memory itself.
But their beauty? Oh honey—it was a trap.
Each member of the Crimson Veil possessed a unique gift, a cursed blessing. One could charm truth from any liar. Another could walk through mirrors. One, it was said, could sing to the dead and make them dance.
And at the center of it all was Lord Raventhorne, the firstborn son of Virelsa, draped in crimson silk and cruel poetry. He was a king of moonlight and malice, beloved by his clan and feared by the gods. His kiss was a promise and a death sentence.
But here’s where it gets juicy...
A human girl named Elarys wandered into Valtherien. She wasn’t powerful. She wasn’t royal. But she was curious, and the Inkbound Library has very strong feelings about curious women. The Crimson Veil watched her like wolves in silk. Raventhorne? He watched her like a man watching the sunrise for the first time.
He fell.
Hard.
He gave her eternity wrapped in a kiss of starlight.
And then? Oh sweet sugar and sin—the clan turned on him.
“You dare taint our bloodline with mortality?” they hissed. “You invite ruin.”
Civil war erupted within the shadows. Brother against sister. Sire against fledgling. The battle was said to last thirteen nights, and on the thirteenth, Raventhorne vanished—along with Elarys and the sacred Black Chalice of Virelsa.
The remaining Crimson Veil scattered, hunted by their own guilt and thirst.
Some say they still walk among us. That they hide in opera houses, in candlelit cathedrals, behind masks and veils. Waiting. Watching. Dreaming of their blood-drenched kingdom.
And Raventhorne? Oh, he’s still out there.
He whispers through time, through dreams, through quill and parchment. And some nights, if the moon is bleeding and the veil is thin, you might just feel his presence… a kiss of wind on your neck… a sigh in your bones.
The legend lives on.
The Crimson Veil endures.
And not all vampires sleep, darling. Some simply wait.
Eternally yours,
—Alice, Queen of Ink & Lore
Blood-splattered historian and known friend of creatures with bite
So... maybe check your mirrors tonight, hmm? And if you find a rose made of shadow on your pillow… don’t pick it up. Or do.
But remember, once the Veil touches you…
You’re never just human again.
