No one can say for certain where Duchess Amaris Noire was born, nor how she came to possess her title. Some whisper she appeared one night at a noble masquerade decades ago — beautiful, poised, and utterly unknown — and that by dawn, the reigning duchess had vanished, her name forgotten by all save Amaris herself. Others claim she hails from an ancient bloodline bound to the veil between worlds, her family erased from history for daring to consort with the dead.

What is known is this: wherever Amaris goes, power follows.
Her estates are draped in shadow and silver, and those who enter them leave changed — their dreams haunted by whispers of elegance and eternity. Courtiers speak of her as a patron of forbidden arts and quiet miracles. Those who cross her are never found, though their laughter can sometimes be heard echoing faintly through the halls of her manor, as if the house itself remembers them.

To some, she is a benefactor — a confidante who offers protection, beauty, or love. To others, a devil in silk who trades secrets for souls.
But none can claim to know her. She smiles, and the candles dim. She speaks, and the air grows colder. And when she gazes upon you, it is impossible to tell whether you are her next obsession… or her next experiment.