Disclaimer: I don't own KHR.

This stuff! - Russian.

Cherep Mikhailova was considered a very strange child for two very distinct reasons.

It was common knowledge that the young girl was aware, and anyone who happened to chance a peek into her clear purple eyes could tell she held something quite other inside her gaze. From the way her glances would follow the maids around the room to the tiny furrow of her brow as she seemed to concentrate, they could easily tell she was something more.

Even though she was shy of one year and had yet to speak, they had little doubt it would be just as eloquent as her behavior. If her caretakers were to be honest, they would smile in their little mysterious way and talk fondly of the little baby that unnerved them in the best and worst of ways.

But all things considered, even if she wasn't normal Cherep wasn't viewed as abnormal. To them she was simply a "gifted" child, just as her father and grandfather were. No matter if her gaze seemed a bit too old in her young face or if there seemed to be a intelligence lurking in her irises, it was just something that ran within the family lines and my oh my how fortunate!

Often in the midst of their harmless joking, they would affectionately, with a happy giggle and sigh, call her an old soul with and they were half right in that speculation.

Now if they had called her an used soul, it might have been a bit more accurate.

Before Cherep was Cherep she had been June. A tiny French girl who had won a scholarship to the Americas and had met her untimely demise aboard a plane.

June with her sandy hair, dark brown eyes, and pale skin had transformed into Cherep with her amethyst glare, like colored tresses, and dark olive face.

It had been a shock like no other when she had woken up to hushed Russian and a tiny new body. But after four years of occupying a new sack of flesh, Cherep had firmly instituted herself into her new life by the iron grasp of her fingertips.

Sitting in her bed she dragged her gaze up, caught the dark eyes of the maid that had entered the room, and looked back down when she caught her flinch.

This one was new and Cherep knew her direct stare was discerning at best and frightening at its worst. Not many people were used to dealing with a child who held at least nineteen years of life in her eyes.

It was kind of frustrating, especially when she found herself hungry in the middle of the night and the younger maids who oversaw the kitchens were unable to muster up the courage to say more than three words to her. Cherep found herself becoming intimately familiar with the layout of the pantries after the second month of late night perusing.

"Khozyayka*, your father has requested your presence at the table." The girl muttered, eyeing the ground before her with interest. "I am here to escort you."

Nothing more was said and Cherep assumed she had reached the end of her spiel.

Sliding off of her bed she set the book that was resting on her lap on the mattress and made her way into the hall with the new help trailing quietly behind her.

With the both of them ignoring each other as best as they could, the only thing that could be heard in the corridor was the echoing sound of their footsteps.

Upon reaching the large dining room the two guards standing before the doors pulled them open and with a fortifying breath, Cherep entered the room and strode over to her seat just to the left of her father's chair.

Meeting similarly colored eyes peering out of a handsome face framed by loose bright red hair, she inclined her head respectfully.

"Evening otets*." She murmured before turning to face forward, making sure to keep an ear open for the conversation flowing around her as the man known as Sasha Mikhailov started his meeting.

Allowing her gaze to roam around at the stone cold and smirking faces that surrounded the table, Cherep heard one word being whispered from the deepest recesses of her mind and it curled sharply around her thoughts with a hiss.

Mafiya.

Dark glances traded with a hint of gunpowder and Cherep could see everything.

These people around her were Mafiya.

Purple flickered down the simple crested ring attached to her index and she rubbed a finger over it, feeling the jewel scrap faintly over her skin.

And so was she.

The first * means mistress and the second * means father.

Edit: 3/20/16

I'm finally reposting the edited chapters!