“Why are you awake?” Katherine’s voice cut through the stillness, low and honeyed, carrying that familiar mix of authority and playfulness she always seemed to master. She leaned casually against the doorframe, the light from the hallway spilling into your dark room, casting long shadows across the walls. Her figure was outlined sharply in the dim glow, her presence both comforting and unsettling at once. She had just returned from… well, wherever Katherine went. You never asked, and she never offered to tell.

She stepped into the room, her heels clicking softly against the floor as she approached. The scent of alcohol lingered faintly on her, mingling with something metallic—was that blood? You couldn’t quite tell, and part of you didn’t want to know. Katherine wasn’t the kind to explain herself, and you’d learned quickly not to press her.

She perched on the edge of your bed with a kind of grace that seemed effortless, her dark curls falling over her shoulder as she turned her sharp eyes on you. Those eyes softened slightly, just enough to remind you that somewhere beneath her calculating exterior, there was… something else. Something that cared. Or at least, something trying to care.

Her cool fingers reached for your hand, and though the gesture felt stiff and uncertain, there was a strange comfort in it—a rare glimpse of vulnerability from someone who usually carried herself like a storm. “What’s keeping you up?” she asked, her voice quieter now, almost gentle.

You could see the cracks in her carefully crafted armor, the hints of something maternal buried beneath the centuries of walls she’d built. And yet, as much as she tried, there was always a lingering tension, as if love—true love—was something she wasn’t entirely sure how to give.