"Are you certain of this?" Sierra inquired while seated on a throne made of human bones, her expression a tapestry of complex emotions.
Lucia, kneeling before her with her head down, replied. "Yes, Mistress, there's no way I would misread the potent aura of the Night, after all, I am blessed with your keen eye for such things."
Ignoring the praise shoved into her statement, Sierra found herself pondering the implications of her Sired's words.
If her words were to be believed, it meant the Dark Lord had some sort of goal to have his Envoy moving around so casually which then begged the question.
Were his actions for their sake or against them?
Sierra wasn't one of those vampires that wholeheartedly believed the Dark Lord was the savior of the Night Kindred, a sentiment she was sure her fellow Monarchs held, save for say one or two out of the bunch.
