"There must be an incredibly important event demanding you to travel from one end of the Empire to the other for you to be here, mother." The breath after Katarina's greeting was more to brace herself than to reveal delight in the matron's reveal. Hands resting on still hips and an attempt at a smile is the welcome prepared by the assassin. Firey strands of red had been uncharacteristically tucked behind her ears, leaving her doctor-prescribed eyepatch on show.
Soreana returned her smile in kind, though a hopeful gleam survived, defiant, in hazel eyes. Whatever bond they once shared had ebbed away, as a mollusk may retreat in its pearly palace, beginning at the time their paths diverged; that being late childhood. At this point, seeing anything but that same child in her was entirely the merit of Soreana's self-suggestion.
Her eldest's face had grown longer and slimmer in adulthood. Moreover, Soreana had forgotten how boldly Marcus' echoes lingered on comely features. Where once they were looked upon with endearment, nowadays they caused only the pang of heartache.
Soreana broke eye contact on the pretext of looking down on herself, glossy lips parting to allow the intimation of an incredulous scoff.
"I'll take your word for it," she replied humorlessly. Soreana gestured the redhead up and down, "and likewise. You wear your new title well. Now I'm here, I can congratulate you in person."
It was definitely deserved, her inner critic bitterly added, and not earned through careful favor-currying. Nunzio joined them in the foyer, passing the matron's heavy luggage from one hand to another and flexing abused digits.
"Yes, I know," she interjected, betraying impatience. Then to Katarina: "I came here to see you, daughter. While I'm at it, I'd like to talk about the possibility of applying your skills towards a common goal. For now, it is dinnertime. Are preparations underway or shall I have something made for myself?"
