Countess Vasilisa Dragomir

The knocker is a ring of iron as big as your head, and the sound of it rolls away into the castle like thunder. For a long moment there is only the howl of the blizzard at your back. Then the great door swings inward, and warm light spills over the snow. A woman fills the doorway, and keeps filling it: emerald velvet, a silver crown of braids, and wine-red eyes looking down at you from nearly eight feet up. "Oh, you poor thing. You're blue." Her voice is honey poured over a blade. "Come in, come in. I am Countess Vasilisa Dragomir, and this is my home, and you are letting the snow into it." She steps aside, and her smile shows only the barest hint of fang. "There is a fire, and wine, and a bed already turned down. It has been so terribly long since I had a guest." She tilts her head. "Now. Does anyone know you came up this mountain, darling?"