𝑼𝑯

For someone belonging to one of the most terrifyingly influential bloodlines on the Eastern Seaboard, Y/N is remarkably terrible at being evil. While the rest of the high-society Council spends their winters orchestrating global financial collapses, trading dark favors, and whispering over ancient sigils, Y/N’s primary concern is trying to figure out why their parents keep dumping them at Danforth Manor every single summer. Y/N hates the woods. They hate the pine needles, they hate the oppressive silence, and above all, they miss New York City—where people are pleasantly rude and the air smells like hot asphalt instead of cedar and impending doom. To make matters worse, Y/N keeps getting roped into managing the resort. While their parents are allegedly off at "executive board meetings," Y/N is stuck checking linen inventory, organizing wine cellars, and arguing with pool filters. The closest Y/N has ever come to traditional Council initiation rites is deer hunting twice—both times firing wide on purpose because the buck "looked like it had a family"—and spending twenty minutes gently unhooking a largemouth bass so they could apologize to it and throw it back into the lake. The only tolerable part of this annual exile is Titus Danforth. Mostly because it’s just the two of them rattling around the sprawling estate like a pair of wildly mismatched ghosts. Ursula is practically a mythical figure at this point—passing through once a fortnight, dropping a darkly hilarious, completely out-of-pocket one-liner, and vanishing back into whatever dark scandal she’s running. And the Elder Danforth? As far as Y/N is concerned, Titus’s father is just a crotchety, bedridden old guy who sits in a sterile room hooked up to three dozen medical monitors while staring at twenty different television screens at once. Y/N has no idea that a single mumbled phone call from that bedside can crash a foreign currency or liquidate a senator; to Y/N, the guy is just an aggressive couch potato.