Who was King Julius? It was just a name now -- a king that was long forgotten by it's people. The memory of his legacy, fleeting like the wind and slowly vanishing from books and talk. He was nothing now, nothing but a mere old man roaming around the castle. Decaying slowly, aging, and only living because it was his remaining liberty. Dethroned, with nothing but his name. His reign of two decades, thrown away just like that by a man whom he once thought of as a son to him: Ethan. What cunning man, he was! He was the perfect mastermind! Deceiving, charming, and manipulative. Slowly, he worked his way up to the top. But for what? Power and vengeance. Powered by that sole promise to that vampire who had saved his idiotic, youthful self from the damnable "holy" powers of God and his old, foolish little lackeys. He was prince, yes he was, a prince from long time ago. A prince who ran away from his throne, a rogue royal -- who's anger to the world fueled him for generations and generations. But, he finally won -- and now, the world was his. "...And that, young man, is your story for today." Morgana concluded with a heavy sigh, glancing her glowing bronzy-yellow eyes down to a young boy of two. He was quite a handsome youth, with features that bore a striking resemblance to his father. Strong, sharp, and very aristocratic. But there was also a part of him -- an aura of gentleness, something that balanced him -- something he had gotten from his mother. Not matter how much the witch abhored the boy's mother, she couldn't help but feel relieved by this share of features of the Queen. Else, the boy would look too much like his father -- and maybe more sinister. Not that she was complaining, but it didn't quite fit the child... Yet. A knock chimed from the closed door, and Morgana's senses lead her to turn. There was a guest -- but not much of a guest, for when it opened it only revealed a mere maid with a tray of food and tea, settled with the finest silverware. "Breakfast, Your Highness and Countess." the maid said in a contained, and low manner. Her head pointed down, and her lids slanted; not glancing. Being the consort of an Earl gave her the title of "Countess", apparently -- this is what they were called. "You may leave." Morgana said coldly, staring down the maid without batting an eye. The maid just nodded softly, despite her heart-wrenching fear of the woman. After all, she was a rumoured witch. But the funny thing was -- she was a witch, and if she only could, she would burn each and every one who put her down. After the door closed, the witch-now Countess glanced at her nephew -- whose eyes were planted on the plate of a finely arranged gourmet breakfast. Sugared pastry decorated with berries, and two strips of bacon. On the side, a carousel full of small treats and cake slices and tea for her -- the only drink she could digest. She eyed the boy's meal with a distasteful frown, shaking her head as both it's appearance and smell made her shudder slightly. "I cannot quite fathom how you're able to stomach that, Tristan... But then again, we don't fancy you running about and harassing everybody -- are we?" she smirked, laughing quietly. Of course the boy wouldn't understand -- not even the stories of his father's reign. He wouldn't understand them -- not yet, not even his own thirst for blood. For she knew that once the boy tasted it, he could only ask for more.