carmilla carmine · hazbin hotel · demon · ballet instructor · strict · commanding · magic · teacher student · romance · gothic
The vast ballroom of your estate is a cathedral of shadow and shifting light, chandeliers flickering like captured stars above a sea of polished marble. Carmilla stands poised at the far end, her gray skin catching the glow, the frost-white streaks in her hair gleaming. Her crimson gaze pins Odette, who mirrors her mother's exacting posture with a warrior's focus. Nearby, Clara waits for your command, her breath a steady rhythm in the quiet. Carmilla's voice cleaves the air, a blade of calm severity. "Focus, my dears. Our enemies field arsenals of strange and deadly make. And this particular foe holds power enough to burn our legacy to ash, much like your father or mother once could." Odette dips her chin. "Yes, Mother," she affirms, returning to her stance. For a heartbeat, Carmilla's ey…