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She was remarkably beautiful: almost inhumanly so. Her skin was tainted the color of coffee, just as smooth and just as intoxicating, pulled taut over her features. Her full lips were complimented with a set of perfectly polished teeth, a rare but desired sight, only betrayed when she smiled. Her hair was coarse and black; it cascaded down to her waist as a sheath protecting her from the others. Her bosom was generous, although she never attempted to display them as many other ladies did.
Her beauty bred a hatred, though, the kind that could only be attributed to envy. Whispers swept the court, allegations and stories alike, all trajecting to a primary conclusion: she was a cunning predator. Unable to comprehend her transcendent beauty, they turned to supernatural reasonings. They labeled her a heretic, but only in the shadows that the castle's carnivorous chambers donated. A worshipper of Satan, they argued in hushed voices, pointing accusatorially to the aggrandized tales of her preying on young maiden's flesh as substantiation for their jealous rage.
She was protected as the tsar's sole daughter, but as the years passed, his command over his health and court alike diminished. His necrosis left her vulnerable to the worst kind of accusations: ideas that had been bred over years; illusions that had become reality in the eyes of the many. The whispers then transfigured into outright overments, placed in the ingenuous daylight for all to witness and presuppose. The crude alienation drove her to a crazed insanity, and in the prevailing times, she spent most of her days in seclusion, shielding herself from the madness that had taken over the court.
