A few generations from now, in the not so distant future…

A crash of thunder and a radiant spark of lightning appeared over the skyline of The House of Fallen Trees, illuminating the sky with a vibrant blue.

The Count and Contessa shivered in the rain. It was not a necessity for them to do so, as vampires have no body temperature. It was merely a byproduct of their former humanity creeping to the surface, an uncontrollable urge in vampires as young as them.

They knocked on the door timidly as a rush of rain pummeled their backs.

No one answered.

They exchanged a glance, and though the Count gestured to the stairs, both knew that it was more than their lives were worth to turn back now.

They knocked again.

This time, the door creaked open of its own accord, seemingly beckoning the two into the house.

“Is she a witch, as well?” the Count asked his partner as he crossed the threshold.

“Do you know nothing?” the Contessa sneered. “This place is haunted and has been for generations.”

“One of us living among the non-corporeal dead? That is preposterous. Spirits will not stay in a vampire’s den. They would have left–”

“It’s true,” she protested. “The spirits are too afraid to leave this place. They fear she will feed upon their very souls if they try to leave.”

“It is rumored that she never leaves, you know,” commented the Count.

“She doesn’t have to.”

“But how does she feed–”

A voice suddenly appeared in the room in front of them. “She doesn’t.”

“She made a pact with a warlock years ago. Now she only feeds upon the undead. That’s how the story goes now, yes?”

The Contessa began to cower. “Your Grace, we meant no–”

“Answer my question.”

The Contessa bit her lip, drawing blood. “Yes. That is what they say.”

“And you believe it. Do not lie.”

“Yes. I believe it.”

The Count and Contessa exchanged a glance, then the Contessa cleared her throat. “His Excellency, the Grand Magistrate of Arbordale River Plain, heretofore known as Sim City, sends his most humble greeting. It is with great honor he presents through his servants humble tribute.” She moved to bite her own wrist.

“No!” their hostess cried, spinning around. “For god sakes, no. I am not one for pomp and circumstance. Put your wrist away.”

The Contessa did so, a look of relief crossing her face before she blanked it again.

The old vampire gestured for her guests to take a seat. As they sat, they noticed the corner chair moved of its own accord to a much more prominent position.

“Well, that’s just unsettling,” the Count muttered. The Contessa glanced nervously at their hostess, sighing in relief when she appeared not to have heard his irreverent comment.

She sat down, spreading her skirts around her. Then she looked at her visitors. “The Council has not paid me a visit in decades.”

“Yes, well,” the Contessa said. “We were sent to tell you that a Doran has been spotted in our region.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “After all this time? Is he sure?”

“He is certain of it, Your Grace. He would not have sent us otherwise.”

“Boy or girl?”

The Count shook his head. “We do not know, Your Grace. His Excellency sent us to tell you that there was a Doran threat–”

“Threat?” she interrupted, her hands clenching. “He said threat? Those were his exact words?”

The Count and Contessa shared a glance, then the Contessa spoke hesitantly. “I do not remember. He simply asked that we relay the arrival and ask your guidance in the matter.”

“He wants my guidance. Now, he wants my guidance.”

“Yes, Your Grace. Because of your involvement the first time a Doran–”

“My involvement?” Her voice grew louder. “My involvement?! You have no idea what happened or who the Dorans were, do you?”

The Count swallowed. “No, Your Grace.”

“Only that they were elves, Your Grace,” the Contessa said quietly. “And that many died.”

The old vampire raised an eyebrow. “Many. Of course.”

She took a deep unnecessary breath, then turned and called warmly toward nothingness. “Dear One, would you fetch our guests something fresh to drink? The Beaujolais will mix well with the athlete heme – not the baseball player, the other one. Steroids make me jittery.”

The two young vampires watched uncomfortably as the ingredients seemingly mixed themselves at the bar and sauntered over on a tray. They each took one sip out of a glass and hastily put it back on the tray, causing their elder to smile.

“I will tell you what happened–”

“Your Grace, we do not need to know the details, only your answer.”

She glared at the Count and he blanched, realizing suddenly that he’d interrupted her. He ducked his head.

Her gaze turned to the Contessa, who looked down as well.

“Why do you not want to hear the story of the family whose fate rests in your hands?”

The Contessa forced herself to look up. “With all due respect, Your Grace, why are you so engrossed by this Doran family?”

“Because, my dear Contessa…”

“I am Roxanna Doran.”

* * *

So! Welcome back to the Boolpropian Round Robin Legacy! I am RoseFyre (or Rose), and I will be your host this fine…well, quite a bit later.

Stacie has dropped out of the Round Robin due to a number of RL commitments, and, after much discussion, I offered to take over her turn, as I was both familiar with her plot, as Roxanna began as my sim, and willing and able to take the time to do it. In a way, it’s not easy, taking over someone else’s ideas, but I hope to do them justice.

On that note, I decided to rewrite and refilm both the prologue and part one, for a number of reasons. The prologue was primarily for consistency – skins, eyes, hair, backgrounds, the sims in general. While the prologue is not substantially different from Stacie’s original (I changed a few words, added a few sentences, but the gist of it is the same), part one will be substantially different. I’m working with Stacie’s ideas, yes, and that’s my general framework – the main gist of the plot was completely her idea. But it will not be my final product. I am turning things upside down and changing them around to make them fit my plans better.

So I hope you enjoy, and there will be a meta on what I changed and what I didn’t when I am done!