#katherineconvo

[queenoriginal]

"If you learned to express some form of kindness, no matter how weak, then perhaps I would find our encounters splendid."

[queenoriginal]

                                { She does not bend her head to hear

                       unworthy tales from foe. }

  { But sonnets from her kinsmen --

                          she inherits as her woe. }

  The silliest notion threading the rarest drops of her humanity; the one flaw perhaps, that restrained her in a gaol -- Tatia was drawn to each of her doppelgangers, and had there been more than two, she would have been drawn to all.

          She wasn't needed now -- yet here she was, and daren't the ground question it.

"Katherine -- or Katerina. Does it not afflict you, that the definitions of truth and false to your name have adjusted?"

[queenoriginal]

Dropping the empty cup into a nearby bin, Tatia pulled on her scarf, tucking its ends neatly into the collar of her dark coat. She wandered the street, avoiding the Grill and turning down a row of florists. Her eyes were constantly observing. People, faces, colours, labels, details. An untamed habit, and often a useful one. Her attention fell on a figure who had her back turned towards her. Slender. Sultry. "Katherine," she spoke quietly, her voice, bantum in the dissonance of the street. But no noise of cars, wind and scuttling feet were a hindrance to any vampire's hearing. Tatia sank her hands into her pockets, eyes fixed on the younger vampire.

[queenoriginal]

Old Fiends | Katherine & Tatia

Crossing an old bridge in York, Tatia hopped quickly – at the most harmless speed – towards the shade of the trees and out of the sudden rain. Boots almost sinking through the tiny pebbles, she darted along the line of trunks hastily, ignoring the droplets of moisture that ran off the ends of her messy bun, until she came across the first building. Ducking into the honey shop, she readjusted her drenched coat, shutting the door just before a flurry hit her soaked coffee cup.

Tatia sighed, moving aside to gaze longingly out the glass window, watching the emptying street, its shimmering surface, and the line of trees she had just passed under. She took a sip out of her cup, another, and then another, and realising it was the last, she ventured into the shop on the hunt for a bin.