Chapter 5 Shadows of the Past

But before Isolde could step further into the encroaching darkness of the night, shadows of the past suddenly resurfaced in her mind. Deeply buried memories, like pieces of an unsolved puzzle, emerged to haunt her thoughts.

Behind the dark secrets hidden within the walls of the house, there was another story, intricately woven with her fate-a story that began with Rhysand and herself.

21 years ago,

Ravenhold was a city where Gothic architecture met modern skyscrapers, creating a striking contrast. The city, alive with sparkling nightlife and bustling daytimes, concealed a dark secret few knew about-vampire clans and werewolf packs coexisted with humans in a delicate balance.

This was where Isolde and Rhysands journey began-inside the dimly lit, neon-bathed atmosphere of the Neon Afterglow nightclub, where their fateful meeting unfolded.

What seemed like a chance encounter would mark the start of a journey full of twists and turns-uncovering Ravenhold darkest secrets while testing the boundaries of love, loyalty, and destiny.

In the heart of her slightly cluttered yet inspiring studio, Isolde danced with a brush in hand. Her long, red hair swirled with her movements, creating streaks of colour beneath the soft lamplight.

The canvas before her, propped on a weathered wooden easel, was nearly covered with vivid strokes-abstract shapes swirling in shades of deep blue and purple. An abstract figure with wide wings appeared to rise from the colors, as if it were trying to break free from the confines of the canvas.

Isolde paused for a moment, her green eyes narrowing as she studied her work, then her delicate fingers picked up a mix of cobalt blue and cadmium red, forming a gradient of mesmerizing hues.

"Almost done..." she murmured to herself, lost in her world.

Across the studio, a wooden table was piled with sketches and art books, contrasting with the floor, which was covered in splashes of colour. An old radio in the corner played soft jazz at a low volume, setting a soothing background.

With each stroke of her brush, Isolde's concentration deepened, adding intricate details to the wings of the figure, making them appear more delicate, more ready to take flight.

Just as she was fully immersed in her work, a sharp knock on the door shattered her reverie. The sound echoed in the quiet room, pulling her from her creative trance. Isolde turned toward the door, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

With a sigh, she set down her brush, the soft jazz now fading into the background, and adjusted the radio's volume.

"Come in!" she called out, her voice bouncing slightly in the room filled with the mixed scents of paint and turpentine.

The door creaked open, revealing Rhysand, standing tall in the doorway. His slightly messy jet-black hair framed his tired but handsome face, and he held a wicker picnic basket along with a bouquet of fresh white lilies.

"Hi,"Rhysand greeted, a faint smile tugging at his lips as his sharp eyes met Isolde's astonished emerald ones. "May I come in?"

He repeated the question, his voice carrying a hint of hesitation as he noticed the surprise on Isolde's face.

Isolde blinked and snapped out of her shock. "Oh, yes, of course, Rhysand. Please, come in." She gently wiped her hand, leaving a streak of cobalt blue on her cheek, dappled with paint spots.

Rhysand stepped inside, his presence filling the room, blending with the creative chaos of Isolde's studio. He placed the picnic basket and the lilies on the wooden table, pushing aside some sketches.

"I hope I'm not intruding,"Rhysand said, his obsidian-sharp eyes meeting hers meaningfully. "I just thought I'd drop by and see if you had lunch."

Isolde blinked, slightly taken aback by the unexpected gesture. Her cheeks, already dotted with paint, felt warmer now. Her heart beat faster than usual.

"Lunch?"she repeated, her voice a little breathless. She glanced at the wicker basket on the table, then back at Rhysand with a surprised look. "For me?"

"Yes, for you," Rhysand replied, his smile widening just slightly. There was an amused gleam in his eyes, clearly enjoying her innocent reaction.

"I noticed you were so caught up in your painting that you lost track of time. I brought a sandwich and your favourite orange juice. I hope that's okay."

Isolde felt her cheeks burn even more, flustered by his unexpected attention. The mysterious man she had met so briefly at the Neon Afterglow nightclub now stood before her, bringing lunch as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Rhysand, you didn't have to do this,"she said, her voice trembling slightly. She struggled to find the right words, but it seemed like her tongue was tied.

"I know I didn't have to,"Rhysand replied, his deep voice sending a flutter through her chest. "But I wanted to."

He took a step closer, closing the distance between them, and a familiar scent-masculine, smoky with a hint of tobacco-mingled with something oddly comforting.

"Besides," Rhysand added, his intense gaze holding hers, "I don't like seeing beautiful women skip lunch." His blunt words made Isolde fluster even more. She lowered her gaze, trying to hide the deepening blush on her cheeks, and fiddled nervously with the brush still in her hand.

"Rhysand..." Isolde murmured, her voice barely audible. She didn't know how to respond to such directness, but she could feel an odd stirring in her heart sensation she couldn't quite place.

Seeing her reaction, Rhysand softened his expression and smiled. He didn't want to make her more uncomfortable.

"How about we just have lunch first?" Rhysand suggested gently, his voice quieter now. "I'm sure Grandma Elara's sandwiches are much more interesting than those paintbrush buttons."

Isolde finally looked up, the tension in her body easing a little.

A faint smile appeared on Rhysand's lips, making the dimples on his cheeks stand out, and something about his smile made Isolde feel oddly calm.

"Grandma Elara's sandwiches are always tempting," Isolde admitted, giving in to the charm of both the food and the man before her. "Alright, let's have lunch."

Rhysand moved some sketches aside and made space for the picnic basket on the table. He patted the wooden surface lightly, inviting her to sit. "Have a seat, Isolde." Isolde sat gracefully, setting her brushes aside and pulling up a wooden chair.

The smell of freshly made sandwiches mingled with the scent of paint and lilies, creating a strangely pleasant combination in the air.

"Grandma Elara insisted on making you my favourite sandwiches," Rhysand said, opening the basket and pulling out two sandwiches wrapped in navy blue cloth. "She said that a girl who paints as beautifully as you must have good taste."

Isolde smiled, amused. "Your grandmother is very kind. She's never even met me."

"Grandmother Elara has always had a gift for reading people," Rhysand replied, handing her a sandwich. "Just like you can see someone's soul through your paintings."

"You're exaggerating, Rhysand."

"Not at all," Rhysand countered, his gaze never leaving her face. There was an intensity in his eyes that made Isolde look away.

"I can see it, Isolde. Behind those beautiful green eyes, there's a sea of emotions and thoughts just waiting to be unleashed." Isolde's heart quickened.

"Rhysand..."