Sebastian's wealth was never immediately exposed to viewers. His appearance made him a shapeshifter, an amorphous being of class that belonged in neither the realm of the rich nor the poor and yet he freely crossed on either side, wrenching both dimensions into his grasp to play with. Nikolai was better equipped, better exposed, to witness a taste of what details shaded Sebastian's background. The private plane at the airport, secluded for only his use, was one. The trip to Romania was another.
The landing was seamless, car waiting, Sebastian taking the wheel with no debate. By the time they stopped, cigarette smoke had permanently embedded itself into the seats and the tires had lost a veneer of rubber that they would never be able to recover, lost to the unkempt road of the country. All sacrifices were traded for the looming cemetery, the one that was held in the dark by the night, perfect for the imagination to run wild with ideas of specters from the past.
"Will you be treating this as a reunion, Ciora?" he asked as the door opened, eyes washing over him. "You should adjust your expectations for what you'll find. Unfortunate that you missed the decomposition stages that would have fed your sense of revenge the most. Perhaps the mites have left enough traces of him for you to imagine them."
