Chapter Text
All morning Katherine had thought that something felt different. Something certainly smelled different. But it wasn't just a new scent. It was a presence in her forest, a presence that hadn't been there yesterday. Who dared to wander around her forest? Well, technically it wasn’t her forest, but none of the people from town dared to enter it for fear of getting too close to the Manor that stood just at the outskirts of the land covered by hundreds of trees.
Everyone knew the Manor, even if they had never seen it with their own eyes, they had heard enough stories to imagine it vividly and never want to visit it. A long drive way led through the woods and up to it. A black metal gate locked prying eyes out, at least from the front – no one had bothered pulling a fence all around the property hundreds of years ago. The Manor itself had the potential to be one of the most beautiful buildings in the area, had it not been covered in thick green vines and the stone hadn’t broken in various parts, giving it an air of negligence and vacancy.
The main building wasn’t all that big, but it had various smaller parts all around it that slowly built the Manor up to be a big stately home. There was a tower to the left of the entrance and a smaller hall that dragged multiple metres along the front yard on the right. Out back there was another Tower and a big Conservatory. The garden alone was bigger than most properties in town. The windows all over hinted at the time in which the Manor had been built, gothic windows and pointed arches made the building look almost holy.
The woman living inside the house was anything but holy.
Katherine Lethbridge-Stewart was a woman of elegance and intellect. She prided herself on the rooms filled with books inside her home and the ease with which she articulated herself. She was also a woman of the night. More specifically, she was a vampire.
She was not a vampire like the ones in the fantasy books in the back of every teenager’s bookshelf. She wasn’t bloodthirsty or violent and she certainly wasn’t wild. Most of the time at least. She had to admit that even she had weak moments. But that was all they were, weak moments and besides, they hadn’t made an appearance in more than a century. She was, to say it in few words, classy and always perfectly put together. That did include the presentation of her vampirism as well as her general looks. From her blood red nails, over her immaculately done make up to the expensive clothes she carried on her body; everything looked perfect. All the time.
One thing though, she was not and that was arrogant. So, when she said that her hearing and smelling was perfect, she did not brag but simply told the truth. Which is why one can easily believe her observation that something was different than it had been merely a few hours ago.
She had understood it right before going to bed. Some things were exactly as told in fantasy books; vampires could, under no circumstances, walk in the sunlight. The only and very risky exception was a witches spell, and Katherine did not trust those. Never had, never would. So she settled on going to bed as soon as the first ray of sun split the darkness over the Manor in two and spilled light onto the plants and flowers in her beloved and very secret garden. She sometimes grieved never seeing them awake and open under the sun and blue sky.
Just as her slender fingers had carefully taken the remnants of her make up off of her pale face she had suddenly felt the hair in her neck stand up from a sensation she hadn’t felt near her in centuries. Suddenly the smell and the feeling of another presence around her made perfect sense.
How had she managed to ever forget the smell of a witch?
Witches' blood smelled different than human blood and she had always thought that it flowed quicker through their veins too. Like it was always trying to flee from the darkness their magic stemmed from, like it didn’t actually want to be a part of their evil deal at all.
Katherine would be the first to admit that if vampires weren’t creatures of the darkness then who was and so it might sound hypocritical to talk so derogatorily about the darkness within witches. But she, and many of her kind, believed that witches were of a different evil. While, yes you had to be born with the potential to perform magic it was a choice to study it. It was a choice to draw power from the darkness, to harm and use it against others. Witches were evil by choice. Vampires were evil by nature, without any choice and many wished they weren’t. Many even wished to rather be dead than live an endless life craving the blood of innocent humans and never see daylight again. As always, exceptions existed. But while Katherine had seen exceptions to those vampires she had yet to meet a witch that wasn’t selfish or evil or enjoyed the darkness inside herself. The witches she had seeked out when she was younger and naive still and with hopes of seeing daylight again had always wanted something in return, had never offered their services freely, had never thought it simply kind to give a vampire something only they and no other could provide. Freedom. Freedom from the darkness. Never the darkness inside, but at least the darkness outside of her endless halls.
Katherine wished to know more, but mostly wished to chase that lone witch away and make sure she never set foot into that forest ever again. But she could already see the sun peak through the thick black curtains of the room that bordered her bedroom and she knew she had to sleep. Nothing could be done before this evening. And so, albeit with great reluctance, Katherine lay down and slept.
“Go on, Pickle. This is your new home now.” The little hedgehog at your feet squeaked and refused to cross the threshold of the cottage, no matter what you told him. Salem, your orange cat had long entered and explored the cottage. You took her lying down by the fire as approval.
“I promise you, I’ve used multiple protection spells and I cleansed the cottage. It’s perfectly safe.” Nothing. He simply refused. You supposed that if he was a human, he would be huffing and crossing his arms right about now. But, luckily he was a hedgehog and not a human, which allowed you to easily pick him up and carry him inside.
“Don’t wiggle around, this is your own fault. You chose not to cooperate.” You chided gently and set him down on a bed of leaves, grass and twigs you had spent all morning collecting outside. Honestly, you took such good care of them and how did they reward you? With being stubborn.
As soon as Pickle touched the soft and earthy smelling bed, he settled and rolled himself into a little ball. You smiled fondly and made your way to the last few things that needed unpacking. With a flick of your wrist the last couple of your truly concerning amount of books floated into the oak shelf across the main room.
Generally the cottage wasn’t very big. It wasn’t even medium sized. There were three rooms. A small, slightly wet bathroom. A minimally bigger bedroom that you had already filled with candles and more plants than the room should hold and a decent sized main room. The southern wall was split open by the thick trunk of an oak tree but as if by magic hands the stone wall around it hadn’t collapsed but simply molded itself to the form of the tree. Around said trunk were multiple bookshelves that were filled entirely, a few books even needing to lay on top of others so they would fit. The far corner occupied a small but cozy kitchen with a wooden shelf that held various cook books as well as spell books. You’d figured sorting them into the cooking area made more sense than putting them next to Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment or the utterly cheesy romance book you had read last week, the cover all pale pastels and flowers.
You placed the object from the last box on the little mantlepiece above the fireplace – by hand, no magic used this time. It was a picture frame with a panoramic view of an estate somewhere in the English countryside. The picture was hand drawn and coloured with pale watercolours. The golden frame perfectly complimented the rest of the room.
Sinking back into the plush, yellow cushions of your sofa, you studied the painting with a gentle smile on your face. There we go. Even mum’s art made it.
“Now, who wants some apple pie? I’ll bake some.”