Marceline The Vampire Queen Outfits Novels & Stories

We were invincible, formidable. When Mari emerged from her room, to the stairs and into the Great Room, it was almost like she was a completely different person. She always dressed to kill that I personally find it pleasing watching her play dress up. Personally, I think she's presentable even with just a loose shirt on. Black, I noticed, and white were her power colors. It made her look confident, powerful, like she could conquer the world with pantsuits and heels. She could if she tried. But her clothes today were different. Bright. Like a doll.

The sunlight poured through the penthouse windows in warm gold, catching dust motes that spun lazily in the air. Chloe stretched on the couch, her phone balanced on her stomach, while Zoe sat cross-legged on the floor surrounded by a chaotic pile of clothes. Melinda leaned against the armchair, sipping coffee from a giant mug, watching Zoe with mild amusement. “Okay, hear me out,” Zoe said, holding up a black lace dress that looked like it belonged more at a gothic funeral than a theme park. “Vampire queen. It’s sexy, it’s dramatic, it’s spooky. All eyes on you.”

Marcelo’s wardrobe comprised two full cabinets of suits, predominantly similar in style and color, luxurious and refined. “Today is different." Marcelo leaned in and brushed a kiss against the corner of her lips. “Today, I am there as your husband," he declared, emphasizing the need to coordinate with her attire. Renee glanced at Marcelo, her eyes twinkling with a smile she could barely hide. She nodded. "Alright then!" Rising to her feet, she gathered her dress and ventured into the walk-in closet, selecting a charcoal grey haute couture suit for Marcelo.

"You. Stop right there." I paused. I did not turn my head. Marcella stepped into the dim light of the backstage corridor. She was wearing a crimson silk dress that screamed new money. Her cousin, Hazel, dragged behind her, looking miserable. "I need to know who designed that silver cloak immediately," Marcella demanded. She did not look at my face. She was staring at the empty wardrobe rack behind me. "Tell the designer I am buying it. Name the price. I want it delivered to my dressing room before the festival ends."

​"Malphas is leaving. Escort them out. The treaty is signed and bound by blood." "Gladly," I mutter, standing up to my full height, letting my massive frame cast a shadow over the room. Cillian pushes off the pool table, sharply straightening the lapels of his designer jacket. "A pleasure as always, Prince," he sneers softly. "Enjoy your victory. And your human. I hope she's worth the price of admission." Little does he know she is no mere human, she is the Lycan Queen of Legend, one day she will lead us all.

That night I can barely sleep, tomorrow is Friday so I just have to wait one more day till I find out what Carlos has in store for me. The next day drags on, my thoughts are too preoccupied to sketch and Marcels babbling rampage of thoughts and historical facts seem to be in full action all day long make the day feel even more long. When 8pm hits Marcel claps his hands together "I know, let's go get you something nice to wear for tomorrow" I cross my arms and frown at his words "I don't even know where I'm going or what I'm doing, how will I know what to wear?!" I proclaim "well there's no harm in showing up looking your best" he says and quickens his pace ahead towards a bundle of clothing

“Let’s head to the Selene Hall.” As both ladies turned into a corner going towards Selene Hall, April Rose, having such sharp instincts, noticed something rapidly approaching from behind. In a quick motion, she managed to catch a ball that was just about to hit Marceline before a slim-built guy with all sorts of tattoos and piercings showed up. "Oh, my Dracula!” Marceline glowered before eventually giving out an intense death glare towards the guy who was quickly approaching them. “Are you really trying to hit me with a ball?”

My chest tightens slightly. A gathering. A public one. “There is also a particular way you must dress,” the Queen Mother says. Before I can respond, she holds something out to me. A gown. Black. Elegant. Simple, yet striking. The fabric catches the light as it moves, smooth and refined. “Here,” she says. “Wear this.” I take it carefully. “Thank you,” I say softly. Viola smiles then, stepping closer. “I also brought you something,” she says.

Vaelira's POV My knees trembled violently beneath the heavy folds of my butter cream dress as we reached the top of the grand staircase. High King Malakor walked beside me, his long, dark fur cape pinned across his broad chest by a heavy golden wolf medallion. His broad shoulder occasionally brushed against mine, sending a steady wave of heat down my arm. Through the new bond thrumming in my chest, I could feel his calm, unyielding presence—a solid rock in the middle of my rising panic.

All these vampires are Roy warriors. I looked at each of them, and I spotted seven new faces. I told Uncle who they were, and he called them by the name of the person they copied the appearance. They came forward, and Freya quickly tied them with an orange orb. They struggled, asking why they were treated like this, and the other warrior wondered as well?" I snatch a knife at Uncle Raul's waist and quickly cut a small cut on my palm. Uncle Raul glares at me and promptly snatches the blade away from me. I just pursed my lips and rubbed my blood to the six vampires, and their appearance suddenly changed.