o. HER ARRIVAL
{ prologue. }

.·. *.˚. ◦ ◦ .∘ *.·. ◦ .

     Katerina had been travelling for days before she arrived at the french court. It was overwhelming, slightly, as she hadn't been around so many humans for quite some time. And with their scents bombarding her all at once, it made the grip around her maroon dress tighten.

    The vampire stepped outside of her carriage, with the assistance of coachman, dressed in her prettiest gown and paired with her loveliest smile. She planned on staying at court for a fair while; until Klaus discovered her whereabouts and came demanding her head. He truly was a monster and she had no doubt he would scour the ends of the earth to find her in seek of vengeance, as he had with her family.

     It brought a tear to her eye. Her mama, her papa, her little brothers and sisters; dead, all of them, slaughtered in their very home with no warning but the face of a demon with serrated teeth. She could never erase the memory of her mother with blood dripping down her neck, face morphed into one of silent horror and pain. There was never a time she felt more vulnerable, more weak than in that moment. And she wished she'd given herself to Klaus, let him spill her blood on that silly little rock. But she didn't, and now she's paying the price for her treachery.

     Paranoia and constant wariness.

     As she curtseyed in front of the highborn ladies and men of the fence court, her gaze rose from the stone floor and met the smiling blue eyes of a women. She was lovely in her own right, with dark tendrils that fell down her back in a waterfall of curls and soft features; high cheekbones and an upturned nose. Her figure was slim, graceful, with well-proportioned curves and long legs. Katerina felt a hunger, far deeper than bloodlust, settle in her stomach. It made her throat dry as a desert and gut flutter in nervousness.

     Who is this woman, the thought played across her mind, truly wanting to know the identity of the pretty - no, that is to plain a word for her beauty, and yet, she cannot think of one fit to describe her loveliness - stranger with smiling blues eyes.

     "May I present, the lady Katerina of Marseille, envoy of his lord Tristam," a baritone voice announced, and she blinked away the red of her vision before standing and smiling at all those attending court that day.

     They were all dressed in they finest clothing, silken dresses and expensive jewellery that glittered in the sun, much like her. But still, her eyes persisted to wander in the direction of the pretty stranger, someone she has not even formally met, without fail.

     "Hello, my lords and ladies of the court."

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