Sociopaths are opportunistic and use their keen ability to read people to take advantage of a person's weakness.
Mystic Falls was quiet today, reminiscent of the calm before a mighty storm.
The sky was draped in grey, heavy clouds and the temperature had been steadily dropping for hours now.
The sun couldn't be seen, it was lingering behind said clouds and it was raining lightly- dribbling and sprinkling on passerby's brightly colored coats and umbrellas which had been dug out of the depths of closets in a hurry.
The inhabitants of Mystic Falls were drawn to The Mystic Grill and relied on it to bring heat and warmth to their day and to draw away the cold wetness.
People were in a hurry to avoid the now strengthening rain and ducked into doorways or into their respective houses.
It was raining fifty kilometers away too.
A lone, empty road, which ran through the forest was covered in wet leaves, which clung to it as if it was a lifeline for them.
The low grumble of a diesel engine announced the Matte Black Range Rover long before it came into view.
The sleek, black lines would make any petrol head drool and anyone else stare.
The windows were blacked out and they gleamed as the raindrops got pushed to the side with the force of the wind.
The inside was quiet; all that could be heard was the slow breathing of the car's only occupant.
The occupant was female, strikingly so.
She possessed light brown hair, which seemed to surround her feminine face like a halo and a slender, lithe body with a physique every model would kill for.
The woman's skin was pale and as soft as the softest silk, it almost seemed to shine.
Her hands, which rested on the steering wheel, were small and decidedly graceful, reminiscent of those of a talented piano player.
Her nails were short but manicured and even they seemed elegant.
No rings graced the fingers, and they would not unless for formal occasions.
Her face was simply, a masterpiece.
Deep, intelligent blue eyes peeked out under long black lashes and took in everything around, not missing a thing.
She had a straight nose and a pouty, naturally pink mouth.
Possessing high cheekbones, Colette Archer simply was the face of European aristocracy.
Colette was twenty; her birthday had passed over a month ago.
She had consulted for Scotland Yard in the United Kingdom for two years and solved more cases in those short years than many senior officers did in their whole lives.
But soon she had become sick of doing the right thing.
Colette wanted to be how she really was- manipulative, sly, cunning and well versed in the words of politics and persuasion.
Relocating to America had been Colette's idea, she had to see something new and the family manor that still resided in the town of Mystic Falls had been the perfect escape.
The Archers were at the top of the high society in England and they prided themselves on their money and influence which no other family could ever dream to match, lest overcome.
In all honesty, Colette had been intrigued by the recent and unsolved murders, which had happened in this quaint little town.
Even the thought made her positively giddy with anticipation.
The victim's had their throats torn out and completly lacking in blood.
The brunette had many a theories, but the none of them had added.
This never happened before- Colette usually only looked at a casefile and then had the identity of the perpetrator in her mind.
That this didn't happen with this particular case was almost like a treat for her- it was addictive not knowing vital information.
That is also why she was magnificent at her job- she simply had to know.
Captain Jameson of Scotland Yard had also offered to send her cold cases to solve and Colette had gladly agreed. If anyone could solve them, it would be her.
Most of her stuff was arriving tomorrow in a moving van and Colette only had two suitcases filled with clothes and some weapons she used for training in the boot of her car.
A small dagger was strapped to her ankle and partically slipped into her black leather boots, hidden by her mouth-wateringly form-fitting also black Diesel jeans.
Colette Archer was exceptional at singlestick, swordsmanship and boxing and had an aptitude for hand-to-hand combat, which had aided her many times during her term at her chosen profession.
She wasn't a policewoman as such- Colette was a consulting detective who chose her own work and did not get ordered around by any people who thought they were above her.
Especially since she was above them.
Colette didn't just look like the face of the European aristocracy- she was the head of the European aristocracy.
She had grown up in the high society and been surrounded by the world of social and literal politics from her birth.
Colette had always watched how the women with their jewel encrusted hands acted around each other and she had made a game out of deducting their secrets and using them to her own advantage.
Manipulation and deception- her favourite pastimes.
Now she was moving to Mystic Falls and Colette was sick of acting like some pathetic do-gooder little girl.
The twenty-year old was going to do what she had planned- she was going to be herself, her sociopathic self.
Colette Archer would rock this little town to it's foundations and when she was done, it would rain blood. Literally.
How deliciously dark.