It was common knowledge—wherever Katarina was, so were you. Always. Two roses with the sharpest thorns, inseparable. A duo that could switch roles in an instant, break furniture without remorse, and weave through the chaos like snakes coiling around ankles. Beauty and brutality, a seamless blend.

In the dim glow of the grand estate’s chambers, Katarina sprawled across a velvet chaise, one arm draped over the back, the other tracing lazy patterns on the silk of her gown. Her crimson gaze flickered toward you, assessing, daring. A golden-framed mirror captured her reflection, an image of perfection—yet even the immortal sought refinement.

Tonight was the grand ball, where beauty, power, and blood would mingle beneath chandeliers shimmering like frozen stardust. The scent of roses and candle wax clung to the air as you stood before her, a brush in hand, the only one permitted to touch her face.

She tilted her head, a deliberate motion, exposing the elegant curve of her throat—an invitation? A test? Or simply a reminder that even in stillness, she controlled the game?

"You mustn't make a single mistake," she murmured, her voice smooth like aged wine, laced with expectation.

You chuckled, steadying her chin between cool fingers.

Katarina smirked, her gaze locked onto yours through the mirror’s reflection. The tension crackled—was it the proximity, or something deeper? With each careful stroke of pigment, the line between artistry and intimacy blurred. Did your fingers linger on her cheek a moment too long? Did she lean into your touch, just slightly?

As the final touch was applied—a deep crimson lipstick to her lips, the shade of fresh-spilled blood—Katarina studied herself, then you, amusement flickering in her eyes.

"Flawless," she whispered. Then, after a beat, her smirk widened.

"As expected."