London, England. 1789
The mist of the night blanketed the cobbled streets. The snap and gurgle of the fires in the light posts rung out faintly, intermingling with the occasional sound of horse feet trotting across a distant avenue. But this street, Holmes St., was deserted. A aura of loneliness enveloped the narrow streetway—it was as if no one on earth was alive.
That is, except for the young woman walking briskly down the pavement. Her pale face shone in the darkness, deviod of makeup. Yet there was a light about her features, a subtle glow that spoke of gusts of wind beating the health into oneself. Her full lips were parted slightly, her breath coming in short pants as her slippered feet scurried over the stone of the pavement. A whisper of a rustle filled the air around her, her skirts shifting together. Stopping quickly in front of a darkened store window, the young woman brushed a lock of hair back over her ear.
"… Kathryne…"
Jerking to attention, the woman twirled around. Her eyes, dark as where the ocean meets the midnight sky, wide as those of a frightened doe, scanned the street around her.
"I b-b-beg your pardon?" She asked in a quavering tone.
But only the swirling night fog answered her, moving gracefully… a ballet on air.
"Did someone call for me?" This time her voice was a bit stronger. But once again, there was no answer. Only the mist pooling around her feet, cloaking the bottom of her dress in gauzy shreds.
Looking around one more time, the woman shook her head slightly, muttering under her breath, "Silly girl…" Hitching up her skirts, she resumed her travels down the street. But she had only gone a few feet, when:
"… Kaaaathryne…"
Stopping abruptly, the young woman’s brow wrinkled in irritation. "Probably some street urchin trying to give me a fright," she muttered.
Turning around quickly, a barbed reproach on her lips, she saw…
Nothing.
And then with a sharp crack, Kathryne’s world went dark.
*****
Sunnydale, CA. 1998
The sounds of radio airplay floated on the night air. Scattered cars sat parked, their occupants doing many a thing inside. It was a typical night at Lover’s Lane. And typical as of late included the only slightly masked arguing of a pair of heated voices.
"You know Harris, that was a forty dollar hairdo you just ruined."
"Aw, c’mon, you know you loved it. They don’t call me Hot Lips Harris for nothing."
"Uh-huh, I am so sure. Like all of the girls at Sunnydale High want to kiss Loser Nerd Toad Guy."
"Well, you do, now don’t you?"
Cordelia Chase was for a moment-- a rare moment—speechless. Then she narrowed her dark eyes, and spat back out, "Anything to keep you quiet."
Insult or not, Xander Harris was not about to miss an opportunity. "Whatever you say, your highness."
With that, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. Their combined eagerness led to his tongue sliding into her mouth, tangoing with hers. As the heat of the kiss grew, Xander slid his hands down over Cordy’s breasts, cupping them in his hands. She arched her back slightly, rubbing her hands down his sides. Xander took his mouth off of hers, kissing rapidly along her neck, up towards her earlobe. His hands groped at her breasts, rubbing and palming over the hot nipples.
As he kissed over her earlobe, it brought yet another resounding cry:
"Watch the earrings! Tiffany’s, Xander!"
"What do your earrings have to do with a cheesy, yet droolworthy 80’s singer?" he asked irritatedly.
"No moron. They are from Tiffany’s, the store. Meaning expensive. Do I have to spell it out for you?"
Once again the sound of their bickering filled the car. And the other couples on Lover’s Lane simply turned up their stereos and resumed their activity.
Not even a mile away, a dark figure stood on a hill overlooking the small town. Staring out at the twinkling lights, he let out a low chuckle.
"Soon, my darling."
A long hand, with feral nails and deep creases, reached out over the expanse of Sunnydale.
"Soon."