Work Text:
Transylvania, 1888
Natasha was sitting in the bath tub, soaping her arms in melted snow warmed over fire. Her beautiful red hair was pinned up. The Russian spy and assassin, the infamous Black Widow, was used to different hotel rooms than this cramped attic, lit dimly by candles, but after that incident in Budapest... well, the snow-bound tavern in the remote Carpathian mountains was much better place than jail.
Something white floated in front of Natasha.
Feather?
Natasha´s hands stopped.
Snow. Snow rained to the water, and cold, cold draught chilled her bare shoulders. Natasha looked up.
"Bozhe moi!"
A roof window was open.
A tall, thin man, wearing black clothes and a green velvet cape, landed to his feet - covered by the black leather boots - like a cat. His even blacker hair was slicked back; he seemed to be in thirties, like Natasha, and a trick of light made his eyes look red. His face was red, too - no wonder, after climbing over the icy roofs - but he was indeed pretty as the devil.
"Good evening!" Beautiful voice and beautiful accent of Queen´s English. Someone was farther away from home than Natasha. "I´ll invite you to my castle, to the midnight ball!"