Lacrimosa

Author's Note: I blame this urgency to rewrite fanfiction that I haven't completed yet entirely on Grizz. For those who have already read my fanfiction Lacrimosa, this is basically a retelling of it just with major differences. It has recently bothered me that Legacy of Kain has little to no elements of diversity in regards to both race and gender. For that reason, I've decided to rewrite the story and to rewrite Holly as a character, making her gender and her ethnicity an enormous part of who she is. Hopefully this will also inspire me to finish Andronicus. I hope my readers will enjoy this interpretation just as much as they enjoyed the first version.

CHAPTER ONE

It had been thirty-four years ago exactly when she arrived in this country, and still she could never truly adjust to just how cold it was here. The sun had always been clouded by the smog and smoke even in the tropical, warmer country of Aryarai, but somehow the land of Nosgoth seemed colder, just as frozen and unyielding as the people who lived here.

That's not fair, I suppose... Ha'li thought to herself as she adjusted her red scarves and around her head and shoulders. You weren't that way. I could've done much worse.

She couldn't help but crack a smile as she lowered to his grave. Her tattooed hands moved across the cold marble headstone, slowly tracing the letters of his name. Had he been alive today, they would have been together for thirty years. Her marriage had been arranged before she came to Nosgoth in order to maintain a peace treaty between the two countries. Because her father was the commander of the Aryarain armies, Ha'li was expected to marry a high ranking official of the Sarafan. Her father had married her mother, a noblewoman and firstborn daughter of the second in command officer. It was one of the most controversial events in the history of her country: interracial marriages were often frowned upon even for political and ambassadorial purposes, but marrying beneath one's rank was appalling to say the least. Nosgoth did not share the same cultural ideals of caste, marriage and family, and therefore the leader of the Sarafan Brotherhood refused to make alliances by marrying anyone.

But the need for alliances during these years were prioritized over the honors of marrying higher in rank, and like her mother before her, Ha'li was also married to the second in command, Sir Vladmir Anjelene.

Sometimes she wondered what would have been in store for them had he lived longer. He always made an effort to make their anniversary special and usually went out of his way to bring some element of her old country back to her. The people of Aryarai loved any reason to celebrate and sadly Nosgoth wasn't accustomed to such festivities. She remembered how surprised he was by her red wedding robes and scarves instead of the virginal white gowns and veils, or by her permenant wedding tattoos. A small red sun marked the center of her forehead and black floral markings trailed along her fingers, hands, wrists, and forearms, as well as the top of her feet and along her ankles. It was her people's sign of commitment and fidelity to their spouses, so there was quite a controversy when Vladmir appeared unmarked on his own wedding day. Still, when they exchanged their vows and promises and spent the rest of the evening dancing by the ceremonial flames, she couldn't imagine he would have worn the markings as well as Aryarain grooms did.

Perhaps on this day, thirty years later, they would have been in some warm, comfortable warm back in their old home, celebrating with their daughters in their bright red robes and scarves. She would play the songs from their wedding, try her best to imitate her mother's secret recipes, and the house would smell of spices and would be overflowing with laughter and love. There would be no work to be done, no inventions to be made, no machines to operate. Just an entire day of family and of love.

But instead, here we are again...

A cold wind passed through the misty graveyard. Ha'li pulled her scarves closer to her body. It was never easy to visit her dead husband on their anniversary. Sir Vladmir Anjelene, killed in battle. She remembered the day she heard the horses approaching her home; saw the banners of the Sarafan from her window and knowing in her heart what had befallen her family. She remembered the young Sarafan soldier approaching her with her husband's helmet in his arms. His body had been mutilated and only pieces of him could be salvaged and brought to her. The vampires had torn him into pieces and drained him of every ounce of blood. Like all things in Nosgoth, her thirty years of marriage ended in bloodshed.

That day had changed everything for Ha'li and her two daughters. Magdalena was fourteen at the time, Lilianna was only eight. With no husband or father to provide for her family and no way back to her homeland, she had to take it upon herself to hold everyone together. Now, some eight years later, her daughters were grown and had families of their own. It was easier for them to marry than it would have been for Ha'li to remarry: their skin was fairer, their hair and eyes lighters and their features more Nosgothian than Aryarain. It was no surprise that the lords of this land preferred their fair skinned ladies over darker foreign beauties, even ones with eyes as bright and as blue as hers. Plus, if Ha'li were to remarry, it would require more tattooing on her body, and that came with a few stigmas of it's own. Thankfully, it didn't take long for her beautiful Magdalena to win the heart of her husband, Mircea. Lilianna took longer to find a suitor but the moment she met her beloved Cassio, her wedding followed close behind.

The moment they left her behind to start their new lives, Ha'li knew she could no longer live in her home. It had become a mausoleum of sad memories too unbearable for her to live in by herself. So instead, she sold the house and found work in Meridian. Her husband's name and the treaties between Nosgoth and Aryarai kept her from a fate that usually befell widowed foreigners. Still, the luxury of living in the Sarafan Keep didn't spare her from the toll her life had taken on her. She was nearing her fiftieth year of life and all the lines and wrinkles were gradually becoming more apparent on her face and hands. Her thick black hair was beginning to gray and while he body was still in good shape, she had gained enough weight to make her self-conscious of it. At the very least, her mind had yet to fail her. And she was already fully aware of all the things she could do with it.

After whispering a farewell and a bittersweet "happy anniversary" to her husband, Ha'li turned away from the headstone. Her time here was limited, and she was also becoming very aware of the whispering of the other visitors. While Ha'li didn't look their way, she could certainly sense the hostilities and feel the gazes upon her. Wearing red clothes to a cemetery was considered disrespectful, but she wasn't about to apologize for wearing traditional wedding colors tonight. She approached the large steel gates of the cemetery's entrance and watched as two Sarafan soldiers opened it for her.

"Be safe tonight, Madame." one whispered to her.

"Are you sure you do not wish for us to escort you home?" the second guard asked, but lowered his voice for the sake of the other visitors. "There are rumors of vampires in these areas."

Ha'li responded by bowing her head in his direction. "You are very kind, but I prefer my own company on this particular night. And God help the vampires should they run into me."

She bid the two a goodnight and proceeded down the street. The Upper City was a much safer place in comparison to the Lower City or the Slums. Fewer vampires lurked about in such well-lit and largely populated places, and those who did had it on a very good authority to leave her be. As the only dark skinned woman in these parts, people had come to recognize her and know who she was and where her allegiences laid. As such, they knew very well of whom they would upset should any harm befall her.

That, of course, was bad news for the vampire lurking nearby. Ha'li had made it to the cornor of the street before she caught movement in her peripheral vision. She shifted her head slightly to the left, seeing nothing but the dancing flames of the streetlamps, but knew better than to relax just yet. Just because the vampire wouldn't hurt her didn't mean he wouldn't try his best to look for alternatives to pain. By the time she made it to the next corner, her eyes detected another hint of movement. With a sigh, Ha'li stopped in her tracks and crossed her arms.

"Marcus." Her tone was firm and bordered on irritation. "If I wanted an escort, I would have asked the two gentlemen to follow me home. You can spy on me on another night but not on my anniversary."

There was no point in lying to him. She knew of the vampire's Dark Gifts and his abilities to read her thoughts. She also knew it annoyed him terribly that she was so accepting of this intrusion of her mind than resistant to it. When she felt someone standing behind her a little too close for comfort, she rolled her eyes and took a single step forward.

"I trust that it is very bad manners for men in Nosgoth to sniff a woman's hair, even if they are immortal men. There are more polite ways to ask me to let you borrow my bath oils."

She heard his hiss and within moments, Marcus manifested before her very eyes, his mouth open wide and his fangs extended. He was taller than she was, perhaps a few inches over six feet, a very slim body, pale skin that had a slight tint of green to it, and a perfectly bald head. His dark eye sockets and black lips gave off a very glamorous look to him that Ha'li had always found quite amusing. Judging by the annoyed expression on his face, he seemed to have known what she was thinking of now. For her own benefit, Ha'li refrained from laughing at the bald vampire. She never struck him for one who was self conscious about his lack of hair but that stab to his pride was still amusing. She also noticed that this claws were flexed, prepared to rip her into pieces should she give him the right reasons to. Oddly enough, she also noticed that he wore gloves over his claws, and that the fingertips were dramatically tipped and very sharp. She couldn't help but wonder if Marcus, despite his bloodthirsty nature, didn't want to get his nails dirty in the process. It wasn't like he could just go and wash his hands, after all.

"Does that thought amuse you?" Marcus hissed. When Ha'li used her thumb and forefinger to indicate a tiny amount of amusement, he glared harder at her. "You would have thought the men of your country would teach their women the way to properly respect their superiors."

"You mean, by not stalking them in the streets on their journey home from a cemetary?" she would have been set on fire if Marcus's gaze had the ability to kill her on the spot. "I know you are desperate to see me killed and I know you will look for any reason to accuse me of some falsehood that is punishable by death. But I am not in the mood tonight. Go serve your master in some other way."

Marcus's eyes hardened as he rose to his full height. The look on his face was nothing of pure disgust. "Do not forget, my lady," the sheer contempt of those words looked almost painful for him to say aloud, "that your mind shall always be open for me, relentlessly, at all times. Should I detect even the slightest thought of betrayal, any sort of conspiracy to commit treason, I will personally kill you myself."

It was not an empty threat, but it didn't mean that Ha'li suddenly was interested in hearing information she was already fully aware of. "If you are done trying to prove your masculinity to married women, may I please be on my way?"

"Widowed." Marcus's response was quick. For a moment, Ha'li felt that familiar sting in her chest and couldn't help but notice the smirk on his face. "Widowed, and unmarried. I am told that such a status is unflattering for women, to say the least."

"You wear those gloves in public and dare to speak to me about unflattery?" under any other circumstances, her response would have set him into a frenzy. Unfortunately his words already struck a nerve that even she did not like to admit.

So without another word, she passed him by and continued on her way. To her relief, she could no longer sense him lingering around her for the rest of her journey home. Even so, she forced herself to think of nothing but old memories of the past, happy or tragic, to keep from fantasizing about all the ways she wish she could have killed him then and there. It wouldn't do to give him any kind of ammunition to bring back to the Sarafan Lord.

Just pick your battles, old girl. At least in regards to fashion, you've already won.