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Chapter Text

It is her idiot brother’s pets that first draws her attention. 

Those loathsome creatures were making such a racket howling and shrieking up at the sky that, when she had looked upon the horizon, Alcina could see the flickering forms of Lycans rushing about through the woodlands. A dark surge of hate runs hotly through her large form at the mere sight of those blank-eyed dullards her halfwit little brother was so fond of creating running about upon the hallowed grounds of her reputable forefathers.

Would that she could forbid those slobbering mutts from running freely within her dominion, but Mother Miranda had insisted upon it. As such, there was little Alcina Dimitrescu could do but bite her tongue and agree behind tightly gritted teeth for all it galled her. They were horrid, filthy little beasts and incapable of any sort of competency. It was no wonder that that fool Heisenberg was so affectionate of them. Like attracts like and how birds of a feather flocked together as the sayings go.

She walked along the foot trail with dignity and poise, her steps sure despite the hazardous terrain and fresh snow.

Alcina is the Lady of Castle Dimitrescu, the supreme sovereign within the bounds of her ancestral lands, and she considers it to be a solemn duty to walk upon the grounds to inspect and ensure all was well. These nighttime walks were rarely an adventurous affair, especially as the ongoing Romanian winter prevented her daughters from joining her. The late winter winds kept the three from venturing far from the castle’s warm corridors. Still, there was something to be enjoyed about the harsh beauty of the landscape and the calm quiet.

Alcina adores her daughters with all her heart, yet there are times where the need to be by oneself occurs. Having three spirited children constantly running underfoot can tire out even the most tolerant parent after all. It is a rare thing to be left alone with nothing but her thoughts without anyone to demand her direct attention.

A throaty howl hangs long and low into the night sky, and it is almost immediately joined by a score of answering wails. Alcina pauses in her idle wandering to tilt her head slightly as the shrieks of excited Lycans pick up in a sudden frenzy. She recognizes the sounds for what it truly was: the thrill of a hunt.

It couldn’t be coming from the village. Not unless some suicidal fool decided to take their own life by wandering up to her grounds in search of death’s embrace. The peasants knew the dangers of the night and the dark beasts that roamed outside the safe shelter of their hovels. No. Not a villager. It was something else. Intrigued by the novel mystery, she can’t help but turn towards the noise somewhat curious, only then-

Something drifts across her nose.

Something light and tantalizing that has her turning to chase after it. Head tilted back towards the night sky, Alcina allows herself to breathe in slowly.

There, just on the edge of her awareness, came the heady, thick scent of freshly spilt blood. Alcina inhales deeply through her nose, letting the scent swirl and gather on the back of her tongue like one might savor a fine wine. Her lips pursed and then puckered.

Man blood.

More than one at that. It was a collection, a cluster, a collation of too many aromas that it threatened to overpower her fine-tuned senses.

It is a horrendous mélange spoilt by the viscous pungency of expiry that roughens the once delicate notes with the sharp, bitter traces of distress and pain that now lingered like a harsh aftertaste.

So many individual notes harshly blended together that it throws out the harmony of a once delicate song to instead collapse upon itself into one horrible vile tempo.

Alcina is already turning away from the horrendous mistuned melody when, suddenly, a new scent catches in her nostrils. A delightful, heavenly sonata that resonated through her senses enough to drown out the harsh discordance of all the rest. She can’t help but lean towards it as she breathes in deeply.

Sweet and velvety yet roughened by an earthy musk reminiscent to the pleasant smell of petrichor. It lingered on her tongue like smoke from a cigarette, thick and heady.

“How absolutely divine.” Alcina followed the scent, intrigued, effortlessly plucking its individual note out from amongst the savage cacophony with a practiced sniff. She tracks it easily, her supernatural speed accelerating the journey into a mere minute as she followed the scent with the precision of a dedicated bloodhound. It did not matter the terrain nor natural obstacles. The scent was getting thicker as she approached; the fragrant bouquet enriching with the tantalizing promise of more.

Alcina’s mouth waters.

Soon enough, the Lady of Castle Dimitrescu finds a trio of Lycans were feasting upon a corpse. Their clawed fingers tearing away at flesh and strong jaws cracked open bone to suckle at the marrow nestled inside. The creatures scurried out of her way the moment they noticed her, scrambling over rocks and each other in their haste to get away. She paid them no mind, more interested in the carcass. It was not the source of the heavenly scent, but her curiosity had her take a closer look.

The man-thing’s blood had spilled upon the virgin snow in thick, icy patches like a wine left to breathe exposed. A once lush crimson now weakening in the half-melted snow as it ran itself thin into a pink blush like a full-bodied clairet.

The body has already been savaged by the teeth and claws of hungry Lycans. The belly was split open to reveal strips of raw intestines and the man-thing’s arms were broken so that the Lycans could suck at the marrow. All that remained somewhat untouched was the corpse’s chest and only because it was protected by a thick armored vest. Alcina spied a pistol holstered to the corpse’s hip.

A soldier?

Brows furrowed, Alcina looked ahead and saw a trail of upturned snow where Lycans must have dragged the corpse from wherever it had died to feast in peace. She followed the disturbed trail while fully aware of the dozens of eyes that watched her from the trees. The Lycans were circling around her, kept back by what little sense of self-preservation remained in them. Like vultures waiting for the wolves to finish before they swarmed upon the remnants.

Within a few long strides, Alcina ducked through the undergrowth to come upon what appeared to be a fairly recent car wreck. A large cargo van had roughly broken in half. Its front had been smashed flat from where it had struck the sharp slope while the back half was flipped over to its side further along the lonely road. Had it skidded across ice?

There were bodies cooling in the snow, all garbed in what appeared to be the same military gear as the first. Their blood was already freezing in the ground. The once rich crimson already darkening as it cooled into a tasteless, sludgy tar. Alcina couldn’t help but huff lowly in disappointment.

It is an absolute waste of blood. Even for flavorless man-things the amount of bodies here could have satisfied herself and her voracious daughters for quite some time had they still been alive. What an utter waste of man-flesh.

The scent of blood was a thick, sour thing that smelt heavily of decay. Just breathing it in left an aftertaste that clotted on her tongue like half-rancid fruit. Mere vin de table, a subpar stock that had begun to putrefy in cold, dead veins. A mediocre vintage that was not even worthy to be served as simple bathwater.

Alcina Dimitrescu has drunk blood for decades now and from those long years has come to learn all the subtle notes and flavors. There was a difference between bleeding a person to collect it in the barrels for proper storage and bleeding someone out to let it collect on the floor. There was a stark distinction between fermentation and rot after all. Alcina was the Lady of House Dimitrescu who belonged to a long unbroken lineage of distinction and prestige. She will not stoop so low as to drink this dreadful rotgut.

Still, that remarkable heavenly aroma continued to sing enticingly even as the harsh melody of all the rest coalesced together to grate against her delicate senses. Alcina stepped over the soldiers without a glance, they were inconsequential now that they were dead, following her nose until it brought her before a man who wasn’t dressed like the others and finally found the source of the scent that had attracted her so wonderfully.

The scent belonged to a fair-skinned man with dark blonde hair stretched out on the road face-first as though he had been thrown like a ragdoll from the car. His winter coat, a once handsome shade of dark olive, was now covered in blood that was already beginning to harden into a fine pink hoarfrost. Snow was beginning to settle atop his body in a soft, white dusting.

His lithe body was half-curled in on himself and his cold, pale hands were clasped stiffly around a large shard of broken metal that was plunged deep in the softness of his belly. It was a wicked looking thing, all sharp edges and barbed points. It must have killed him rather quickly.

“A pity…” The Lady Dimitrescu sighed, genuinely remorseful even as she nudged the rigid body with the tip of her shoe. “You would have tasted exquisite.”

He had been too cold for too long. No doubt that beautiful blood was already going sour as it curdled in his veins. What could have once been a sweet eiswein has now turned harsh and sharp with the rancidity that always stemmed from death.

Alcina is in the midst of debating with herself of whether or not it was still worth the effort to drag the man-thing’s body back to the castle to salvage whatever blood still remained fresh when the noblewoman suddenly heard something behind her.

A whuff of air.

A light snuffling.

A quiet whimper.

Alcina Dimitrescu raises her head with her nostrils flared wide just as a newer, sprightlier scent reaches her senses. The scent was similar to the man’s -and how odd was that, that such rarity could be found here twice over?- but one she had missed completely. So focused she had been focused on the man’s strong note that she had honestly overlooked the dimmer, softer note. Like how a tree could overshadow a sapling, or how a heavenly crescendo could dominate the softer decrescendo, Alcina hadn’t noticed it until there was nothing left to distract her.

Where…? She took in another deep breath through the nose while ignoring the cloying scents of the numerous dead men around her to instead focused on the one scent that was still alive.  She breathed in slowly… there…

Golden eyes focused on her immediate right. A dozen feet away from her by the front of the wreck was another black-clad armored man lying stiff and still against a snowbank. The skin of his back was red raw from where he had skidded across the road like a skipped stone; the open muscle gleaming in the moonlight. And there, protected within the cold cage of dead arms, a clothed bundle wiggled. There was a faint gurgle as a tiny fist waved in the cold air.

Within a moment Alcina had crossed the distance to hover right over the dead man-thing. Completely uncaring of the corpse Alcina quickly removed the moving, warm bundle from stiff, cold fingers. Sn-ap! some of the digits broke off from the rough handling, but Alcina didn’t even notice as she stood up with a red-faced infant crying brokenly in her arms.

“Oh, you poor dear.” Alcina fussed over the squalling child, already unfastening the upper buttons of her thick winter coat. She bundled the child against the bareness of her breast and secured the coat quickly. The poor thing was cold to the touch.

The little one’s cries quieted down almost immediately as the child nestled closer to the warmth of her body. Alcina inhaled deeply through her nose to let the child’s scent invade her senses, and plush vermillion lips curl upwards into a genuine smile as the noblewoman tasted the recognizable sweet-smelling scent that lingered within the babe’s blood. She couldn’t help but clutch the babe even closer to her.

A girl.

A daughter.

“Oh, aren’t you just beautiful?” Lady Dimitrescu coos as she nuzzles one porcelain cheek against soft blonde hair to breathe in the soft vestiges of lavender shampoo and baby powder. The baby squealed happily and Alcina’s heart simply melted at the sound as she pressed a soft kiss upon a cherubic nose.

It has been so long since Alcina Dimitrescu has cradled a babe in her arms.

Her youngest and most mischievous, her dearest Daniela, had been a young toddler when Alcina had found her alone and shivering by that snowdrift all those years ago. Within a week of recovery after all those sleepless nights Alcina had spent tending to her sickbed, Daniela had already been capable of toddling after her mother and older sisters on chubby, unsure legs. This one was so much smaller, so much younger. Not a newborn, but certainly one whose life could be counted by months on both hands with fingers to spare.

The babe snuffles quietly as tiny lips explored the soft give of Alcina’s upper breast in search of milk. Alcina couldn’t help but press a quick, soothing kiss against the baby’s crown even as her smile grew. “What a greedy little thing you are.” She chortled aloud. “I think you will fit right in, my darling.”

The child whines lowly as her tiny mouth pressed insistently against Alcina’s skin in an attempt to nurse. Alcina can’t help but melt against the sensation, clutching the babe close to her breast, eyes closed in absolute bliss as love burned brightly and steadily in her chest. For a few beautiful moments the world felt absolutely right.

Of course there is something, or rather someone, that dares to ruin the moment.

“R-Ro..o…ro..” A voice, low and shaky, interrupts her marveling. Behind her came a barely audible wheeze as slow, clumsy feet scrapped sluggishly against snow and stone.

Alcina turned towards the frustrating distraction with one eyebrow already half-arced in indignation and one hand lifted to swat away the bothersome gnat that had dared interrupt this beautiful moment, but the sight before her simply froze her in place. Alcina blinks slowly, tilts her head to the side just a bit more, and blinks again.

The dead man from before, the one whose tantalizing scent she had followed here in the first place, was standing on his own two feet, albeit swaying precariously. His handsome face was bruised and battered, and pale blue eyes were unfocused and wild as they tried to focus on her.

Well, wasn’t this intriguing.

The man had been so very, very dead. Alcina hadn’t been mistaken; she had tasted the death that lingered heavily upon his chilled skin and had noted the absence of a beating heart.

And yet here he was alive and back on two feet. Of a sorts. The blood-splattered man was tilting dangerously to the side as though one stiff breeze might push him over. And yet, there he stood with one arm wrapped tight around his stomach while struggling to stay upright.

“Rose.” The man wheezed out breathlessly. The shard of shrapnel that had torn open his belly was gripped bloodily in one hand, held up like a knife as though to threaten her, even as his wound bled freely from where he had ripped it out. “Ro…” the man’s eyes whitened as they rolled up and he fell onto his back with a muffled thud, splayed out in the snow like one of Donna’s boring little puppets with its strings cut loose. 

The babe shuffled against her, tiny limbs stretching and wriggling. Alcina readjusted the infant to a more comfortable position even as she swanned forward on silent feet to look over the man’s prone form. Alcina tilted her head to the side as she considered him.

The man had died with the shrapnel lodged in his stomach. Even if he hadn’t died then, tearing it out should have done the human in. By all rights the man should be dead, and yet he was still breathing. Short, shuddery breaths yes, but by no means weak. Already the harsh breathing was easing as he took in longer, clearer breaths. His heartbeat was steady.                               

Alcina’s sharp gaze focused on the ruin of the man’s belly and how the raw flesh trembled and squirmed as though flies and maggots had already gathered to consume, only -

Only it was closing. Slowly, but surely, his wounds were healing. The muscles were rippling and roiling as though there were worms crawling underneath the pale skin, and there was a series of horrid crunches and pops of bone and cartilage crackling like heated tree sap as it fitted back in place. His body was knitting itself back together in a way Alcina had never seen before.

“How curious.”

In the corner of his mouth lay a single droplet of bright fresh crimson. Unable to help herself, Alcina dragged a gloved finger across a stubbled cheek to gather the droplet on the tip. The viscous globule gleamed in the moonlight, her tongue darted out.

A deep, throaty moan managed to escape from her lips as her head tilted back, golden eyes closed in pleasure. Her tongue rolls back against the roof of her mouth to chase after the lingering vestiges. What an absolutely exquisite taste. A bit stale from the exposure, but nonetheless delectable. Oh, what it must taste when drawn fresh from the source! It takes every ounce of her carefully curated self-control from taking the man right there and wringing him dry for every last drop.

She easily gathers the man’s dead weight in her arms. “What an interesting little thing you are.” Alcina purred, not even minding the blood and gore that stained her outerwear; she would simply have it cleaned. The maids at Castle Dimitrescu certainly had the knowhow to wash out bloodstains from any surface, be it fabric or hardwood. She cannot help herself from nuzzling against the man’s neck, her lips brushing against the pulse. She inhaled deeply, breathing in the man’s scent like it was the most fragrant bouquet. She felt oddly light-headed and giddy.

A sudden muffled crackling of static broke her out of her bliss. Blinking rapidly, having honestly forgotten the wreckage and the irrelevant dead around her, Alcina focused on locating the source to somewhere a few feet away from her, the noise stifled by the weight of a dead soldier.

She kicked over a corpse to reveal a blocky hand-held radiocommunication device. Shifting the man’s body in the crook of her arm for a more comfortable hold, Alcina picked it up and curiously pressed a blinking button. There was an audible shriek from the radio as it crackled to life in her hand.

“Sigma Team, you’re late since last check-in. What’s your status?” A man’s voice demanded from the radio, the sound shrill and garbled with static. “Are the packages secure? Sigma T-” The radio was crushed in her hand easily, rendered to useless scrap that was soon discarded upon the ground.

Alcina growled under her breath, barely resisting the urge to stomp on her foot in a childish fit of pique. This would all have to be cleaned up quickly. Mother Miranda simply hated it when trouble from the outside came to these lands. A wreck like this, with men like these, was bound to bring attention to their dull, squalid village. Attention they did not need nor want.

The evidence of all this would have to go.

The bodies wouldn’t be a concern. Already Lycans and Vârcolac were congregating in numbers, held back only by her presence. Their sickly yellow eyes stared out from the dark shadows of the forest. Waiting.

She beckoned one of the Vârcolac to come forward with a curled finger. It slowly crept out of the woods on light paws with its great, shaggy body pressed close to the ground. It sniffed at one corpse curiously, snapping its fangs as though to take a quick bite. Alcina inhaled impatiently, and the brute immediately refocused to crawl up to her. She cradled the two survivors closely in case that the fiend preferred its food warm.

“Tell Heisenberg that he best clean this wreckage up.” She commanded the beast firmly. “I suppose what minimal influence he has over metal is enough that I can safely entrust him with the simple task of street sweeping.”

It wasn’t like her nitwit brother was particularly talented in anything but snide comments and general ineptitude. There was nothing substantial about him, so why did Mother-

Alcina sniffed, and looked around at her surroundings, plush lips curling at the broken bits of wreckage scattered about. “No doubt this scrap will look marvelously in his home alongside all the rest.”

The Vârcolac simply blinked at her with wide, luminous eyes before the creature turned around to bound through the woods in the direction of the industrial plant the metal-controling buffoon had claimed as his own. A few of the Lycans broke ranks to follow after the lumbering beast as an escort, their heavy footsteps crushing through bramble and freshly fallen snow. Alcina couldn’t help but frown at the unnecessary noise.

“Dreadful brutes.”

No doubt a courier would have to be sent to that rundown factory to ensure that the message was actually received. It wasn’t as though mere Lycans could be trusted with something even as simple as delivering a message. They were like particularly dim-witted toddlers, utterly incapable of proper instruction and always stumbling about after something to eat. Alcina’s darlings had shown more sense of agency than any of these ill-bred mongrels when they had still been in the crib.

But that was for a later time.

As though to confirm it the babe squirmed against her breast as her tiny red face scrunched up in displeasure, a sure sign the child was about to wail. It broke Alcina out of her deliberations. “Oh, yes. Yes, it is quite cold, isn’t it?” She jostled in place, using her free hand to fuss over the fleeced mantle so that it shielded the babe from the harsh winds. “Why don’t we go somewhere warmer, my darling.”

The heavy weight of a dozen eyes made her stop and turn her head towards the dark woodland.

“Oh, go on,” Alcina told them impatiently. “Just make sure you clean up after yourselves."       

With that said and done, the Lady Dimitrescu began her journey back to the castle. Behind her joyful snarls echoed throughout the night as flesh was rendered and bone was broken between powerful jaws as the dark monsters feasted upon man-flesh. Alcina doesn’t even notice as she was too focused on following the trail back towards her ancestral stronghold. Within minutes she spies the grand entry doors that bare the familial sigil, and some part of her that had been tense relaxes at the sight.

Alcina bursts through the entrance doors in a whirlwind of snow and biting winds, startling a maid that had been nearby dusting a stone bust.

“M-my Lady.” The mousy little thing squeaked, feather duster trembling in hand as the human took in the sight of her Mistress absolutely covered in blood and clutching what looked like a corpse close to her chest. 

Alcina didn’t even so much as spare a glance towards the servant, entirely too focused on the bundles cradled in her arms. “Send Irina to me immediately. I shall be in the infirmary.” She gave out orders without a thought even she headed towards a door to her right.

“Y-Yes, my Lady.”

The soft press of lips snuffling against the softness of her breast startled Alcina enough to stop her in place. “… And see to it that a goat or two is brought to the castle immediately along with whatever baby formula can be found.”

The seemingly random request was so abnormal that the maid’s tongue slipped. “A… a goat, my Lady?” The maid questioned, only to then quickly cover her mouth with her hands in horror, certain she would be killed for daring to talk back.

Luckily for her the Lady Dimitrescu was more concerned with the charges in her arms, though her lips still curled in a snarl at the cheek. “Yes, you insipid thing, a goat. One that is still in its prime and capable of providing milk. Surely one can be found in the village, if not then the merchant will surely have one.”

“Of course, my Lady.” The maid bowed her head low in supplication and stayed there, limbs locked that by the time she slowly raises her head the Lady had already left. The woman’s eyes stare at the thick drops of blood dripped onto the clean marble she had spent all evening scrubbing. Swallowing heavily with her heart threatening to burst out of her chest, the maid hurried out a side door opposite of where the Mistress had gone.

Meanwhile, Alcina had ducked through doorways and strode down vevlet-laid halls as she headed towards a specific chamber. Like any reputable manor Castle Dimitrescu held a small, but functional infirmary on the ground floor. It was primarily used for the maids to recover from the blood letting, or on the occasion where one of her daughters saw fit to give a stern reprimand for whatever slight she deemed worthy of a sickle or a bite to the flesh.

It is one of those beds that Alcina places the man upon. Already the sheets soiled from melted snow and blood that seeped from his limp form, and though it made her lips curl at the filthiness the servants could clean him. She grabbed a chair and sat down by his bedside, head tilted as she stopped to consider him.

His eyes were half-lidded, but they were wild and glazed over with fever and pain. His pupils dilated and refracted as his gaze flickered wildly, unable to focus as they darted about. There was no doubt that he wasn’t even seeing anything or, rather, will be unable to remember.

The man seemed to be the outlier considering he was the only to not be wearing what appeared to be armored uniforms. His hands hadn’t been bound, but the bruising along his neck seemed to have been before the crash.

Was this simply the result of a kidnapping, or was the man a prisoner being escorted before disaster had struck? However did he end up on that road with the baby, and how had he survived? It was a mystery that her sweet Bela would have enjoyed herself puzzling over. She would have to tell her eldest the details.

The sudden scent of salt in the air brought Alcina’s attention back to the present. “Mia…” the man half-whispered, half-sighed. His pale, badly bruised cheeks were wet with silent tears. He groaned, low and guttural, eyes now squeezed tight as thick, wet droplets formed a steady trickle down stubble-roughened cheeks. The man’s breathing hitched, but his heart was still steady as he slept. A nightmare, or a terrible memory?

“What are you?” Alcina muttered to herself, golden eyes studying the dip and swell of his Adam’s apple intensely. The man-thing’s pulse at the neck beat steadily, unwavering and strong. Alcina couldn’t help but trail a finger against that tender, vulnerable spot, marveling at the sensation of the blood pulsating underneath her gloved skin. Even now, fever stricken and covered in dirt, he still smelt heavenly. His scent was a low, sensual vibrato that pulsated in time with every beat of his heart to dance across her tongue. 

Alcina wanted nothing more than to sink her nails in deep and tear away. Her fingers flexed, the claws that lurked underneath just aching to escape. Just a quick taste. A small indulgence. Even when he had temporarily died, his blood had smelt divine despite it decaying in his veins. What would it be like when drawn from the source fresh? Oh, the mere idea sent shivers down her long frame.

With a sigh, Alcina retracted her hand and settled herself more comfortably in the chair.

In due time. She could be patient.

In the well-lit room, Alcina couldn’t help but observe that the man’s hair was lighter than she had first believed. It was a light blonde darkened only by the blood congealing within in the short strands. It was the same shade as the fine, downy hair on the babe’s head. Alcina puzzled over that for a bit, head tilted consideringly. Their scents were akin to another which insinuated some sort of close blood relation. A father and daughter?

What was it the man had said before he had so rudely collapsed before her?

Rose.

Alcina ghosted a pale finger against that cute little button-nose, careful to keep the sharpness of her nails far away from soft, vulnerable flesh. “Is that your name, little one? Rose?” She asked aloud.

The babe seemed content to stay quiet even as she curled up closer to Alcina’s warmth while in the midst of her slumber; the noblewoman couldn’t help but nuzzle the soft, fuzzy sun-kissed golden hair. “A pretty name for a pretty flower, hmm?” Alcina clutched the babe close to her breast and exhaled. Her heart felt fit to burst. This was ecstasy given physical form. A love that was marked so deep it burned, but oh what an exquisite pain it was. A pain to be cherished and beloved like the treasure it was.

“My sweet, little Rose.” Alcina sighed aloud, pressing a gentle kiss against the baby’s head. She was so tiny cradled in Alcina’s arms. “Your sisters will adore you.”

A scent suddenly invades her delicate scenes. Dish soap and vinegar mixed with cleaning chemicals that burns against soft skin. There’s the subtle squeak of a wooden floorboard pressed by a heavier weight. Alcina raises her head and shifts the child closer, one hand rising to pull up the coat.

“Irina.”

The door to the infirmary opens and closes with a soft, tiny click as a stout middle-aged woman entered the room, head bowed. “You called for me, my Lady?” She asks softly, delicately.

“We have a guest. Send someone to air out a suitable bedchamber.”

“A guest chamber, my Lady?” Irina asked her inquiringly, though she kept her tone soft and deferential. “It will take some time. There hasn’t been a guest to entertain for decades.”

“That is fine.” Alcina waved away the concern. “I doubt the man will rouse anytime soon. Just see to it that when he finally awakens that there are suitable quarters for him. He is a guest for now.”

“Of course, Lady Dimitrescu.” The maid bowed her head. She did not leave, seemingly aware that there was more to be tasked with. Inwardly, Alcina hummed her approval. There was a reason this one had lasted the longest of all her staff to become the overseer. Irina knew when to speak and when to listen. It was refreshing in comparison to the fear-slicked sweat of all the rest.

“Iulia has gone to the village to fetch a suitable goat as the Lady requested.” Irina informed her dutifully. “I sent Marius in search of the good sir Duke for a spare.”

“Well done.” Alcina rose from her chair, stretching out her back. The baby fussed against her breast, and she rose one large hand to rest against the child back.

Satisfied, Alcina turns away to duck underneath the doorway, only to then remember something vital. “Irina.” she called out suddenly. “See to it that his wounds are tended to.” She lets her next words be like a fine blade wrapped in silk, soft but dangerous. “Do not let him die. There will be consequences if he does.”

“Of course, my Lady.” Irina demurs as she begins to pull up the sleeves of her outfit to her elbows as she approached the blood-stained man.

Satisfied, Alcina ducked through the doorway and headed towards her personal quarters. The man would be looked after well, and from what little she had gleamed of his supernatural abilities suggested that he wouldn’t be bedridden for long. But that was for a later time. Right now, all she truly desired was to introduce little Rose to her sisters.

She pressed another kiss to the baby’s cheek as she cooed: “Welcome to the family, little one.”

Chapter Text

Alcina has barely settled herself down upon a favored divan situated within her own personal quarters before her daughters find her. They’re smart, resourceful girls and with their respective swarms it made finding one another in the castle remarkably easy. 

“A baby!” It is Daniela, her youngest and most impish child, that solidifies to swan forward on eager feet to marvel at the tiny bundle of flesh and fabric cradled carefully in the vastness of Alcina’s embrace. Daniela wraps both arms around her mother’s arm as her body settles to sit on the armrest to marvel at the infant with wide, curious eyes.

“A human child?” It is Bela who asks, ever the most cautious and yet ever the most curious of Alcina’s children. She tilted her head to the side slightly as she looked up towards her mother with furrowed brows. “Mother, why do you have a human child with you? Who i-”

“Can I hold her, Mother?” Daniela interjects excitedly, pale hands clasped together against Alcina’s arm beseechingly. Her daughter’s smile was wide set and eager. “I’ll be gentle, I promise!”

“It’s just a human, Daniela.” Cassandra scoffs, but even her middle child ventures across the lavish bedchamber to stand by her youngest sister’s side so that she could look upon the slumbering infant cradled in the safety of their mother’s arms.

“Oh hush, Cassandra, don’t be such a worrywart. I’ve never seen a human baby before.” Daniela chirped joyfully, completely enraptured by the sleeping babe. One pale thin finger gently ghosts along the rounded, button nose. Rose’s nose wrinkled, her entire face scrunching up grouchily as she squirmed minutely in Alcina’s arms.

Daniella giggled at the sight. “I’ve never seen anything so tiny!”

Something softens in Cassandra’s face and even she leaned forward for a closer look at the child.

“You must be gentle with her, Daniela. Here, come sit by me.” Alcina instructed her daughter, who eagerly wiggled her way up the settee to sit on her mother’s lap. “I said sit by me, darling.” She chuckled, pressing a quick kiss against auburn hair.

“But you’re so much warmer.” Daniela pouted, her lithe body arching against her mother’s frame like a cat. There was a small spot of blood caked into the corner of her mouth.

Without a moment’s hesitation Alcina licked the thumb of her free hand to rub away the crusted blood. Daniela squawked in protest, raising her hands trying, and failing, to bat away her mother’s hand.

“Honestly, Daniela.” Alcina tuts disapprovingly even as she uses a free hand to grab ahold of a handkerchief from her pocket. She primly cleans off her thumb, before patting a clean corner against her youngest’s mouth. “You were born a Dimitrescu, not to some unwashed farmhand. I would have thought I had instilled some manners in you.” She turns her attention to Bela and Cassandra. “There will be none of that around the baby. They can get sick rather easily, so make sure you’ve washed your hands prior, do you three hear me?”

“Yes, Mother.” Her girls chorus as one.

She smiles at them. “Good girls.”

“What’s the baby’s name?” Cassandra asked. She raised her hand to gently trail a knuckle down the baby’s cheek. Her middle daughter’s form seemed to shudder and shake in place, flies buzzing excitedly even as her dear girl smiled warmly. “…. She’s so soft.” Cassandra admitted aloud, raising her hand to brush away the pale hair that had stuck on to the babe’s forehead.

“Her name is Rose.”

“So pretty…” Daniela sighed dreamily, head titling back to rest against Alcina’s chest. “Bela, you have to come over here. Her hair is so soft and she smells so nice. Look at her fingers, ooh they’re so tiny! I didn’t even know that babies even had fingernails. Did you know that, Bela?"

“Honestly, Daniela.” Bela rolled her eyes, seemingly fed up with her youngest sibling’s spirited antics as usual, but even her eldest daughter trailed a gentle knuckle against the feather soft hair. “… She is soft.” Bela admitted, albeit grudgingly.

Daniela practically beamed at her sister with the full force of the rising sun before she tilted her head back to look up at her mother. “Can I hold her? Please, Mother, I’ll be so careful.”

Oh, how could she ever deny her youngest when she asked so sweetly with that smile? Honestly, Alcina spoils them all, but how could she deny them anything? They were her gifts, her blessings, her treasures. They deserved the whole world and so much more.

And so, Alcina softly coached her daughter on the proper way to hold the baby securely. She coaxes Daniela on where to put her hands and how to hold the prone baby weight, because little Rose could barely hold her head up and needed to be propped up. Daniela was inexperienced, a tad clumsy with her movements, but eager to learn. Normally Alcina’s youngest was rather animated and prone to not listening well, but now she listened to her mother’s instructions attentively. There was something entirely gentle in the way Daniela cradled Rose against her chest and how she held the baby like she was made of spun glass.

Cassandra had come to sit upon the free cushion to lean against her mother’s side and Bela hovered nearby.

Seeing her youngest daughter cradle little Rose so carefully and diligently as she whispered sweet nothings in the babe’s ear while her elder daughters looked on attentively made something settle in Alcina’s chest like stone, steadfast and strong. Her heart felt so full she felt fit to burst. Alcina cannot help but wrap her arms around Daniela, kissing the top of her head before settling her chin upon it as she looks down at the slumbering Rose.

Yes, this is how it should always be. Perfection at its finest.

Alcina could live in this moment for the rest of eternity and be utterly content.

“Is there anything we can do, Mother?” Bela asks quietly, and her devotion makes Alcina want to coo over her. She barely refrains, if only because Bela would balk at the motion and skitter away before Alcina could gather her in the comfort of her arms.

“We will have to find suitable furniture for her as well as fresh garments. Oh, I wonder where the basinet is.” She couldn’t quite remember considering that it hadn’t been needed since Cassandra was a baby, and that had been decades ago.

“The oldest maiden we have might know.” Bela offered. “The chamberlain should know where anything we require is, as she should.”

“The clothes are too old and won’t fit, but there might still be some things left from when Dani was little,” Cassandra added in. “We could go and search for it. It’ll be a fun game.” She poked Daniela’s shoulder. “See who can find the most the fastest.”

“I’ll win!”

Alcina would hate to dress the newest addition of her House with the ill-suited clothing of the commonplace. The idea of her little Rose dressed in threadbare linens and worn sheep wool, such banal fabrics, made her skin tingle with indignation. It was only the reminder that the only clothing the babe currently had was what she was wearing, and had been wearing during a car crash of all horrid things, that even had Alcina considering the idea. Alcina Dimitrescu was a prideful woman, self-assured and regal in all manners, but if she had to dress the babe in ill-suited clothing for whatever short amount of time for hygiene she would, though it galled her sensibilities.

Surely there were clothes that would serve well in the meantime until a proper wardrobe could be fashioned or procured. That thought sparked an idea in her mind. Alcina resettled herself on the settee, mulling it over. Yes, yes that would work…

“I will have to call House Beneviento for suitable clothing,” Alcina decided aloud. “Or, at the very least, apposite fabrics that can be properly tailored for another time.”

“Oooh, Auntie Donna makes the most beautiful dresses.” Daniela sighed.

“Her sartorial choices are, indeed, rather superb.” Alcina cannot help but agree with her youngest. Afterall, it had been Donna who had helped sew the clothing for the girls when they had been young, and even now gifted them beautiful attire on special occasions. The doll maker had been the first of her siblings to lend their aid when Alcina had first found her darling Bela discarded in the snow like some errant plaything. As the years passed by and Alcina had found Cassandra and then Daniela, Donna had always been the quickest of her siblings to welcome a niece. It was a debt Alcina doubted she could ever truly repay.

Still, the matriarch reminded herself, there would be time to do so.

Once the winter was over and the snows had melted, Alcina would have to send her girls over to House Beneviento for a visit. Surely the laughter of children would warm the desolate halls of her sister’s mansion. Yes, that would be something to do once spring arrived. The trio adored their aunt and her quirky creations, and while Alcina might disprove of Angie’s uncouth, vulgar tongue and her overall behavior, her daughters always returned home with a spring in their step, a renewed joie de vivre filling them. She certainly preferred her children spend their time with Lady Beneviento than running through mud and shrubbery with their lout of an uncle. During the last hunt of the season, Cassandra had come back with twigs in her hair, of all things!

Her mood soured as she remembered that she had still yet to send someone to Heisenberg’s factory to ensure the crash site was cleaned.

“Where did you find her, Mother?” Cassandra asked her. From the glance shared between her and Bela it must have been a question they had been desperately wondering. She could understand why. All her daughters were foundlings, little treasures she had discovered in the snow and brought home. Cassandra and Bela both remembered how she had found Daniela. The memory of how the two had independently decided to track down the selfish fools that had cast aside such a wonderful treasure and had brought them, kicking and screaming, to their mother’s feet was one she cherished. The way her daughters had hung them from her rafters with chains; how they had skinned and sliced away bits and pieces off those disgusting rats, while always careful to keep them alive and aware as long as possible, still warmed Alcina’s heart. They were such good girls, and such dedicated older sisters.

Alcina cannot help but smile at her children fondly even as she readjusts her hold on little Rose. “I found her in the snow.” She tells them and almost immediately Bela and Cassandra’s faces shutter off darkly while her sweet Daniela merely blinks up at her in wonder. “Not like that, my doves. I was wandering about the grounds to make sure all was in order when I suddenly smelt the tantalizing scent of man flesh. I walked upon a car wreck atop the road far westward of here, and there amidst the bodies I found this sweet cherub and a man who might very well be her father.”

Bela raised one pale eyebrow. “What happened then, Mother?”

“I brought them here, child and father both, and gave them sanctuary within our home.” Alcina answers easily. Almost immediately her daughters react. Bela simply narrows her eyebrows, lost in thought, while Cassandra and Daniela perk up like bloodhounds scenting a bloodied trail.

“Is he a gift, Mother?” Cassandra asks her quickly as she presses her supple body against Alcina’s side.

“Can’t we have him? Even just a little, please, just a quick taste?” Daniela looked up at her mother with wide, amber eyes.

“No, my darlings.” Alcina cradles one hand each across the back of their heads, lighting tugging at a lock of hair in warning. Cassandra and Daniela were… impulsive and sometimes a firm reminder needed to be given. “This one is a bit different from the rest. He won’t be a treat or a meal. For now, consider him a guest.”

“A guest?” Bela’s nose wrinkled while Cassandra and Daniela exchanged a look. “A simple man-thing?”

Alcina could understand her daughter’s distaste. There hadn’t been a guest in Castle Dimitrescu in quite some time and never they been a, supposedly, mortal man. Mother Miranda would visit from time to time, but she rarely stayed long enough for Alcina to even offer her a proper suite. It was the same with Donna, who so rarely left her ancestral home unless called upon. Heisenberg, that unpolished meathead, would show up without announcement to see his nieces. Her absolute fool of a youngest brother seemed to delight in testing her limitations when it came to her patience.

“Yes, a guest.” Alcina reaffirmed. “The man is under my protection unless I see fit to change it.”

“We’ve never hosted a man before.” Cassandra noted dubiously. “You never allow Uncle Karl to stay, and I’ve never seen you extend an offer to Lord Salvatore.”

That was because Alcina would sooner throw herself off the highest parapet atop the castle’s battlements before even entertaining the mere idea of hosting Moreau for the night. There was no room for the likes of that weak-willed milksop within the ancestral halls of Alcina’s most venerated household, no matter how much Mother Miranda might tut. Some things just weren’t proper. Alcina would sooner send the fishlord to sleep in the muddy riverbed that wound itself against the bedrock of her castle’s foundations than allow him even a servant’s cot. No doubt it was a luxury in comparison to those dark, damp grottoes Moreau called home.

Alcina already had to deal with one brother’s unwelcome visitations, she would not be insulted with another’s.

“There will be no touching, no drawing blood, no feeding and no killing.” The matriarch told the trio as a whole sternly, but her eyes lingered on Cassandra and Daniela pointedly.

“Bela, I will rely on you to keep your sisters in check.”

Daniela audibly gasped in offense. It took all of Alcina’s willpower and decades of abiding by manners that prevented her from playfully flicking the nose of her youngest, but she held strong. This was a rule that could not be broken or even bent.

Bela was a dutiful child, and certainly her most reliable, whereas Cassandra and Daniela were more likely to disregard a given order without their mother or older sister to reign them in. They were headstrong, stubborn girls but Alcina had never had the heart to discourage them.

“Of course, Mother.” Bela nodded her head in acquiesce, but her professional air was dampened by how she smirked at her sisters. Daniela stuck out her tongue while Cassandra let loose a low growl that vibrated through her chest.

“What’s so special about him?” Cassandra grumbled, crossing her arms with a huff. “He’s just another man thing. If you gave him to me I could make it into a hunt that will surely entertain you.”

“There will be no hunts, Cassandra, not with this one.” There was just the barest hint of a cold edge to her words, and the air suddenly thickened with a heavy weight. “… Do you understand?” Alcina asked her middle daughter, her tone perfectly polite but cold and sharp.

“Yes, Mother…” Cassandra bowed her head low in quick submission. Flies skittered across her pale skin, scurrying and scampering about.

Alcina observed her daughter with a wary eye. Cassandra often enjoyed skirting around rules and testing boundaries. Alcina would have to keep a close eye on her younger girls in the coming days.

“Something tells me there isn’t something so simple with this one.” Alcina finally admits. “The scent of his blood was one I’ve never experienced. Compared to the dead men around him, his aroma was like a divine ambrosia to the senses. Absolutely intoxicating.”

“So why can’t we have him?” Daniela pouted. “I understand if you want to keep him in a cell and drain him, but to make him a guest?”

“Because when I found him, my darlings, the man was very much dead.”

Bela’s eyebrows furrowed. “But you said…”

“Exactly what I said.” Alcina tells her firmly. “He was lifeless when I arrived. I smelt the death that had blanketed him and heard no heartbeat nor detected any breathing. He was cold to the touch, and his injuries were great. And yet, once I found this sweet darling,” she brushed a thumb across Rose’s chubby cheek. “He was up on his feet, alive. His body healed in a way I had never seen before, even after so many years experimenting with the Cadou.”

Bela’s eyes gleamed bright at the mystery of it. “Is he like us, Mother?”

“I do not know.” Alcina admitted with a sly smile. “I suppose we’ll have to learn together. Won’t that be fun, my darling?”

The moon hung high in the sky while Alcina Dimitrescu sat at the desk in her own personal study scratching away at a piece of paper with a pen. The Dimitrescu matriarch frowned down at the paperwork, studying the numbers and running calculations in her mind. She had been working for hours now and there was a stiffness in the broad line of her shoulders from sitting for far too long.

Cassandra had managed to find the carved basinet in one of the storage rooms on the lower floors, and so Alcina had put little Rose to bed in her personal quarters before she had, albeit reluctantly, left for her study. There was no one within the castle aside from her daughters that Alcina would ever truly concede the child over to, and so Bela was looking after little Rose for the night while Alcina sat in her office working on sums.

There had been an unexpected cold frost earlier in this year’s growing season that had killed off a sizable portion of grapes, and even now Alcina was still calculating the expenses. That along with managing the wages of the laborers, calculating the raw yield and how many subsequent hogshead barrels would be needed for the upcoming annual fermentation would be taking much of her attention in the coming weeks. 

There was a sudden, soft knock at the door. Alcina put down her pen, half-twisting in her chair even as she granted entry.

A maiden entered the study, head bowed down with her eyes directed towards her shoes. “My Lady, the merchant has arrived.”

Brows furrowing, Alcina tapped a long finger against the jade exterior of her cigarette holder. The merchant had already dropped off the requested goats days ago, so this was an unexpected visit. “Did he mention whatever for?”

“I…” the maiden swallowed nervously, fingers flexing from where they were pressed against her sides. “He did not say, my Lady.”

Alcina hummed at that. “Meaning you did not to think to ask?”

The maiden winced minutely. “My most sincere apologies. I simply wanted to let you know about his arrival as soon as possible considering the time.”

Truly, it was so hard to find good help these days. Most of the maidens were stuttering messes too frightened to take initiative. Honestly, it felt as though Alcina and her daughters had to direct them for everything.

Alcina took in one last long inhale of her cigarette and let the smoke linger in the back of her throat before finally exhaling. She grabbed a folded piece of parchment paper that was off to the side and placed it in a pocket before she stood up, doused the cigarette stick in its holder and turned towards the doorway. The little maid stepped to the side, head still bowed, as Alcina stooped down to exit the solar before the human closed the door behind them.

“I take it that he has made himself at home in the usual room?” Alcina asked.

“Yes, my Lady. Iulia has shown him to the waiting room adjacent to the Main Hall and the Hall of the Four, as per custom, and Larisa has gone to fetch refreshments.”

Alcina hummed at that, striding down the carpeted hallways towards the stairwell. Within a minute she had arrived at the door to the room the merchant preferred to use. Already she could smell the thick scent of tobacco smoke and garlic. She stooped through the door, straightening her hat and looked upon her surprise visitor.

“Ah, Lady Dimitrescu.” The portly merchant greeted her warmly, a crystal snifter glass half full of her prized cognac already in one hand as he smoked from a cigar with the other. The man sat behind a diminutive desk that was absolutely dwarfed by his rotund frame.

“Duke,” Alcina greeted the man politely as she settled herself in the chair that had been set across from him. She crossed her legs and interlaced her hands, the perfect embodiment of well-mannered civility. “I trust you are doing well?”

“As well as ever.” The man grinned at her which set his many chins quivering from the motion.

Alcina still cannot decide of whether or not she tolerates the man. The merchant has his uses, certainly, but he was not one of Mother Miranda’s and, thus, not one to be underestimated. Still, the merchant has been buying and selling around the village and with the castle itself since Alcina herself was still a young immortal. Mother has insisted that the trader was no threat to them, but something about the man had always made Alcina a touch wary.

Perhaps it was the idea that anyone could become immortal without the guidance of her sagacious Mother seemed impossible, and yet here the inhumanely enormous merchant sat before her drinking her prime cognac and helping himself to a platter of delicate prajitura Carpați.

Alcina finally noticed a collection of cloth bundles stacked up high on an adjacent table. Her eyes narrowed as she recognized the brightly colored fabric as baby clothing.

“It is a feat to be considered.” Alcina began, smiling amiably at the man. “To find such items so quickly without even being told of my requests.”

The Duke merely smiled back at her from behind the short-rimmed bowl of his glass. “You are in need of such a curious selection that I simply couldn’t help myself.” He answered jovially, his massive grin half-hidden behind the rim of his glass. There was the smallest dash of chocolate cream ganache in the corner of his mouth. “I pride myself on always having whatever a customer needs and you, Lady Dimitrescu, are one of my most esteemed patrons.”

Honey-worded and silver-tongued, the merchant was. Always there when he was needed and always willing to do business. A curious creature he was, and so nosy in matters that did not involve him.

Still, let it never be said that Alcina of the House Dimitrescu was not genteel, even if it were an iron fist fitted with a velvet glove. Hers was the blood of a long-lived lineage of nobility worthy of veneration; to be anything less than perfectly courteous would be a discredit to her bloodline. She was nothing like that fool Heisenberg who sullied himself daily with grime as he cavorted with wild beasts and unwashed laborers. She had been raised better.

That didn’t mean she enjoyed the fact that this man, who was not of her household and not under the authority of Mother Miranda, had discovered the newest, and oh so vulnerable, addition to House Dimitrescu. Alcina would have to have a talk with the maidens about talking about matters they had no reason to discern. Perhaps she would gave the task to Cassandra so the message truly sunk in.

It would be best to change the subject. Nothing about Rose would pass from her lips into the merchant’s ears, of that she was certain.

Alcina grabbed the piece of paper she had placed in her pocket and handed it over to the Duke, who took it gingerly. It was a tad amusing to see his sausage-like hands slowly unfold the tiny sheet of paper.

The man’s face lit up in genuine happiness. “Ah! I had a good feeling Mistress Bela would enjoy that volume. It would be a literary classic if it were more well-known. Let’s see… yes, yes… I do believe I know just the thing she is looking for. I will have it next we meet, I assure you, yes.”

It would have been a simple matter to pass the handwritten note to a servant, no need at all for Alcina herself to be the messenger, but her eldest daughter so rarely asked for things. Passing along a note with a list of books was simple enough.

“She does enjoy her literature.”

“How are your children?” The Duke asked her mildly, curiously. “No doubt Mistress Daniela must be bouncing off the walls by now.”

“They are doing well.” Alcina told him stiffly, still smiling pleasantly. The urge to flex her fingers, to unleash her claws and bare her teeth, was practically overwhelming. She disliked any mention of the weakness that her daughters faced. A danger she was helpless to protect them against. “It has been a cold winter.”

He took another hearty bite of the chocolate pastry. At least the man waited until he had swallowed to speak again.

“I should warn you that Mistress Cassandra came to me during my last visit with a specific request.” The Duke told her mithfully, laughing around his cigar. “Apparently, Mistress Bela had shown her a book on eastern weaponry and one item stuck out to her. She inquired about purchasing a kusarigama.”

“A what?” She had never heard the name before.

“A chained-sickle.” He informed her. “Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to secure one for her yet. I do so apologize for that. She seemed very keen on possessing one.”

Oh honestly, Cassandra… Alcina inwardly despaired, more than a tad exasperated, though she gave no hint outwardly.

“Perhaps another time.” She offered.

There was a teasing lilt in his voice as the merchant asked, “And the state of your guest?” He looked at her behind the rim of his glass, eyes crinkled warmly.

Of course, the merchant knew. Was there nothing he did not know? It was decided, Cassandra would be the one to instruct the maidens about keeping their master’s secrets and ongoings silent. Alcina would let her take a few fingers or an ear if it stopped the information from leaving.

“He is doing well.” Alcina informed him stiffly. She would not say much more.

“Do you know when he will awaken?” The Duke asked her, genuinely curious. He was looking at her closely, looking for some response, perhaps?

“No.”

Her patience was beginning to wear thin.

The Duke seemed to realize that as well. He resettled his immense weight in his chair and offered her a paltry price, perhaps as an amend, for the clothing. She paid it without batting an eye as she stood from her chair.

“Until next we meet.” She told him, the manners instinctive for all she wanted to storm out of the room.

“Thank you for your patronage, Lady Dimitrescu.”

It is days later that Alcina finally receives an answer to what the Duke had asked.

Daniela and Cassandra were with her in the drawing room, lounging in their respective armchairs. Rose had been placed down for a nap in the nursery on the other side of the castle while Bela watched over her.

“Lady Dimitrescu.” One of the newer maids, younger and more fearful than most, knocks upon the entryway with her head bowed down towards the floor. “Your guest has awoken.”

Her daughters turn to look upon her, searching for an answer on how to react accordingly. Alcina allows herself to smile widely, remembering the warm delicacy that was the man-thing’s blood and how it had felt against the length of her tongue.

Her voice was practically a purr.

“Bring him to me.”

Chapter Text

Awareness comes to Ethan gradually in slow waves and vibrating pulses. His whole body aches like he’s been run over by a semitruck and then dragged a mile down the road. There’s a headache building between his temples like a construction crew was wrecking his brain with hacksaws and sledgehammers.

Ethan groans lowly into a pillow as he presses his sore, tender body closer against the firm mattress.

“He’s awake!” A voice squeaked somewhere above him. His eyebrows scrunched together at the shrill sound.

“Don’t crowd him now, Iulia.” An older woman’s voice, low and hoarse, cautioned. “Let him breathe.”

He groaned into the pillow, wanting nothing more than to fall back asleep until the headache had passed. Ethan could feel a dull throbbing behind his eyes that was beating in time with his heart. Had he gotten too drunk, or had Chris hit him too hard again during training? Fuck, Ethan couldn’t even think straight enough to know. He tucked his chin closer against the pillow, sighing faintly against the soft linen as he tried to fall back asleep.

“Sir?” The unfamiliar voice interrupts his efforts. Ethan just grumbles lowly, smushing his face further into the pillow. A hand poked his shoulder tentatively. “Sir, are you awake?”

“S’too early, Mia.” Ethan protests underneath his breath, his voice half-muffled by the pillow. His aching, bruised body curls closer together as though he could hide away from the early morning. Even that small movement pulled at every taut muscle and sore spot. Christ, what the hell had Chris hit him with during training, a fucking sledgehammer?

“Sir.” The voice speaks up again, pressing a hand insistently against his shoulder, and this time Ethan twitched ever so slightly. That wasn’t part of a dream. Opening his eyes by just a crack, Ethan groans as the light pricks at him like an iron-hot needle to the brain. Ow.

“Mia?” Ethan wheezed out, coughing violently as his dry throat seized up. Fuck, his head…

Ethan slowly opened his eyes and was greeted with the sight of a vaulted ceiling formed of exposed, old stone. “What the hell…?” There was movement in the corner of his eye, and Ethan tilted his head to the side, his cheek mushed against the pillow.

An older woman was seated by his bedside; middle-aged with deep crow’s feet stamped in the corner of her eyes. Oddly enough the woman was wearing what looked like an old fashioned maid’s outfit, like she was in one of those historical dramas Mia liked to watch. She was wearing an old, worn black dress that had a high neckline edged with crisp lace, long white sleeves that were cuffed at her wrists. A starchy white apron was tied around the woman’s squat waist. To complete the look the stranger’s hair and a good portion of her neck were swaddled in white linen. A wimple, maybe?

Ethan stared at the woman blankly, his mind still sluggishly trying to wrap itself around the situation he had awoken to. Some distant part of his brain then noticed another woman, a young brunette only in her early twenties at most, who stood by the older woman’s side, also in a similar getup but with her hair tightly bound in a braid. Was she the other person who had been speaking?

The two women stared back at him. Ethan blinked. For a moment they all just stared at one another before Ethan’s brain finally kickstarted into gear that there were strangers at his bedside and then it hit him that this couldn’t be his bed because this place sure as hell wasn’t his bedroom.

“Where am I?” Ethan demanded roughly, pushing himself up off the mattress to rest onto his elbows. The room spun about like it had been tilted off its axis and he swayed along with it before a pair of small hands suddenly steadied him in place. Ethan groaned as he waited for the fit of nausea to pass. It takes a couple of seconds, but the wooziness subsides just enough that he can focus even if there’s a terrible churning in his guts.

“You are in the infirmary of Castle Dimitrescu.” The older woman answered, her accent thickened with a roughened burr. The other woman, the girl, had her hands up to steady his shoulder.

“I have no clue what that is. Where the hell am I?” Ethan demanded, shoving away the girl’s hands even as he swung his legs over the bed’s edge. He looked down, blinking rapidly. “And where the hell are my pants?!”

“You are in Castle Dimitrescu.” Wimple Lady repeated as though saying it again would miraculously now help him. “You were found injured by the Mistress who then brought you here to be tended to. As to the whereabouts of your pants, I am afraid your clothes could not be salvaged. There was… quite a lot of blood. Not even we could save them.”

Mistress? Blood? What did she mea-

And then, suddenly, Ethan Winters remembers.

The kitchen, his wife, Chris.

Mia was -

Chris had –

Oh, God.

“W-Wha-” Ethan’s voice seizes and catches in the back of his throat. His heart begins to pound restlessly against his ribcage like it’s trying to burst through. When he tries to breathe it comes out as a strangled wheeze.

“Sir?” Wimple Lady asks again, but Ethan doesn’t even hear her over the roaring in his head. He wants to throw up, wants to scream, but his breath is caught in the back of his throat and just can’t go through.

Ethan remembers, suddenly. He remembers putting his daughter to bed, kissing her cherubic cheek before whispering a soft goodnight. He remembers descending the creaky wooden stairs down into the kitchen where his wife stood at the stove, stirring a pot of traditional Romanian cuisine. The argument, the quiet prod about life Before, about Louisiana, how Mia’s face had shuttered closed like a door slammed shut. Raised voices, high tensions, frayed nerves and then –

Gunshots

One, two, three, four fivesix

The bullets had slammed into Mia’s body and Ethan could only just watch from across the dining table. He had just stared. The training Chris had instilled, had damn near beat, into him absolutely useless as he watched Mia, his wife, the mother of his child, his best friend, just jerk in place before she had crumpled to the ground in a bloodied heap. He had just fucking stared.

And then

And then

“Chris!?”

“Sorry, Ethan.”

He can’t breathe, can’t even fucking think. His chest is too tight, his heart is about to leap out of his throat and he just can’t fucking breathe. He tries, but he just gasps weakly, pathetically, as though the air was blocked.

Mia.

Chris.

A sob breaks through like it was ripped out of him, both body and soul. Ethan wants to curl up in grief and just die, but there is one thing that manages to pierce through his absolute misery.

Rose.

Rose.

It is that one word, that simple name, that makes something in Ethan’s fragile, fragmented mind sharpen.

Rosemary, Ethan suddenly remembers.

They had taken her from her crib -the crib that he and Mia had puzzled over for half a day trying to construct- crying and screaming and kicking. She had always been such a stubborn baby. A fighter, a brawler. Just like her mother and father. But she had been alive. Ethan had heard her wailing, had felt her fearful cries pierce his heart just like the sight of Mia’s body crumpled and bloodied on the floor had.

Because Mia was – no. No, no don’t think about it. Think about Rosemary. Focus on Rosemary. Don’t think about Mi-

Ethan Winters remembered. Chris and his goons had beaten him black and blue after… after… and had taken Rosemary from her crib. His brave girl had been crying.

Rosemary had been alive.

“Sir, please, you must calm yourself.” The older woman soothed. “Your body is still recovering.”

And Ethan does. He clings onto that last memory of his daughter kicking and screaming and lets it settle his frayed nerves like a shot of liquid courage. Ethan lifts his head to look up at her, and then he glances around his immediate surroundings. Categorizing, assessing. There were other women bustling about the room, which, now that he was looking, seemed to be some sort of medieval-type hospital with a few beds and a glass cabinet full of different jars and vials.

A duo of young women were huddled over the only other occupied bed. Another woman, pale-faced and sweating with fever, tossed and turned in her sleep. One of her caretaker’s was dabbing a cool rag against the patient’s damp forehead. Ethan saw that there was a deep, ugly cut on her cheek, like she had taken a knife to the face.

Where in the hell was he?

“Might we know your name, good sir?” The older woman asked him kindly. Ethan took his eyes off the other patient to look at her. She was the oldest one here by a few decades. Was she the matron?

“Ethan.” There was something lodged in the back of his throat threatening to choke him. He couldn’t quite tell if he wanted to start laughing hysterically or break down into tears. “My name is Ethan Winters. My daughter. She was-”

Fuck, Ethan didn’t even know.

The last time he had seen Rosemary she had been crying in Chris’ arms. Chris, who had just killed the girl’s mother only a few minutes before. Chris, who had saved them from that hellhole in Louisiana, who had set them up in a new country with new identities, who had promised that they would be safe. Chris who had taken him under his wing and taught Ethan all he could so that nothing like Dulvey would happen again. Chris, who had gunned down Mia like she was some rabid dog.

“Your clothes couldn’t be salvaged, but we did find this on your person.” The younger maid breaks him out of his morbid thoughts as she hands over his leather billfold and his phone, which was cracked to all hell. “Sorry that there wasn’t anything else. You were in pretty bad shape.”

Ethan numbly held the two items in his hands, just staring down at them. He could feel his heartbeat pulsating at his temples. Nothing really felt real. It felt like he was trapped between reality and dream, just existing as things happened around him without him.

With shaky fingers he opened his wallet, saw that everything was still there, before clumsily grabbing at a slip of laminated paper tucked away in one of the folds. He cradles it in his hand. It was a photo of Mia holding Rosie in her arms, a small smile tugging at her lips as Rosemary cooed up at something off frame -Ethan had been shaking Mr. Monkey to get her attention- as mother and daughter sat in the wicker chair out on the porch.

He’d taken that picture during Rosie’s six-month celebration and had immediately gotten it printed to carry around in his wallet. Ethan had baked a small cake, and Mia had tried her best to get their daughter to eat it, but Rosemary had seemed more interested in smashing it with her hands. Ethan had laughed until his belly hurt, because by the end Mia’s face had been covered in icing from where Rosie had been cheerfully patting her and Chris had been there, smiling for once as he ate his own slice and –

Ethan keens like a wounded animal. He presses the photo close against his chest, lungs seizing as he tries to breathe. Everything hurts.

Mia had loved that shawl. She had loved how soft it was and its color. She practically wore it every day, because there was always a chill in the air on the lower floor of the house and Mia has always been so sensitive to the cold. Louisiana had made it worse, so it seemed like she was never home without it.

No matter how many times spit-up had gotten crusted on it, no matter how many little rips and tears came from where Rosemary had managed to get her little fingers through the weave.

And she had been wearing it when –

“Chris!?” 

“Sorry, Ethan.”

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“WHY!?”

There was a little dark spot on the bottom right corner. He couldn’t tell if it was blood or dirt.

Ethan tries to breathe in, but it’s like there was something caught in his throat. He wheezed, hands pressing against his chest, and the room was still spinning and his head hurt so much like there was an ocean churning and crashing against his ears and –

He looks up, blinking through the tears that threatened to fall. “My daughter, have you seen her? Her name is Rosemary and she just turned six months a few weeks ago.” He shows them the photo, cursing as his shaking fingers slip and fumble. “She was, she was wearing a little pink cardigan and her hair is the softest shade of blonde a-and and-”

Aged, worn hands dotted with little scars and age spots slowly cover his hands and gently holds them. Ethan hadn’t realized how much they were shaking.

“Your daughter is here, Mr. Winters.” The woman tells him, and Ethan almost collapses back on the bed in sheer relief. “She was found by the Mistress just as you were and brought back here to Castle Dimitrescu. I saw her just this morning, whole and healthy.”

Rose was here?

“Where is she? I need to see her. She was, Chris had…” He’s babbling, damn near choking on every word as he tries to sound out the unfamiliar consonants. Fuck, he wishes they spoke English.

A bundle of fabric was suddenly thrust into his chest. He instinctively caught them with his hands, the unexpected action jerking him out of his downward spiral as Ethan blinked down at whatever it was that he had just caught. Clothes. Loose jeans patched around the knees, a worn long-sleeved shirt and a woolskin jacket. The clothes smelt strongly of harsh detergent with the faintest residue smell of musty straw and horseflesh.

“You should get dressed, Mr. Winters. I doubt you must be comfortable wearing only boxers.” The older maid told him.

“Marius is about your size.” The young maid added in, her tone soft like it was an apology. “There are not many men who serve here, and those that do are kept in the lowest levels or outdoors. This is all we have to give you.”

Ethan wants to scream at them for avoiding his question, but lets his anger settle in the pit of his gut as he slowly puts on the clothes. It takes a couple of attempts to slip into the jeans while seated on the mattress, and Ethan’s arms ache afterwards. He has to be helped when it came to changing into his shirt. His hands shake so terribly that the younger maid notices his discomfort and helps guide his head and arms before she puts the jacket on in.

He tries to bat away her hands, insisting he can do the rest. His fingers grasp at the little zipper and he clumsily tugs at it, only for it to slip out of his grasp. This happens a few more times before the older maid takes pity on him as she quickly zips up his newly gained jacket for him. Ethan did his best to not blush from the sheer humiliation of it all.

“Please, I just want my daughter.” Ethan damn near begged. Why weren’t they answering him? Why wouldn’t they look at him. “Please, is she alright?”

The young girl bit her lip, glancing at the older woman, before she seemed to gather her courage to speak plainly. “In health yes, but she is now lost to us. Her soul-”

“Enough, Iluia! Remember your place.” The older woman in the wimple chastised. “You will bring death upon us all with that loose tongue of yours. It is not your place to say such things. Only the Lady may.”

“It is his child, Irina.” The young woman countered angrily to the now named Irina. “Look at him! He has the same hair, the same skin. The child is of his blood, I can see it. Doesn’t he deserve to know just what is taking ca-”

“-and you risk everyone by saying such bold, senseless things, Iluia. How many times have I told you that?” Irina countered, angry and exhausted all at once. She looked ancient then, the wrinkles set deep in her face. “That nasty temper of yours will be the death of you, my child, make no mistake. That babe is as safe as anyone could be in this castle.”

Iluia scoffed loudly at that, muttering something under her breath that Ethan couldn’t hear. The other maids shrunk away from the brunette, glancing fearfully about the walls as though it had grown ears of its own. The door suddenly opened, and Ethan swore he saw everyone in the room freeze before relaxing when the newcomer was just another maid.

“Irina.” The newcomer addressed the matron urgently. “She requests to see him.”

“So soon?” Irina looked weary but not completely surprised. “Very well.”

“Look at him, Irina!” Iluia said, gesturing at Ethan. “The man can barely keep his head up, and now you wish to send him into the lion’s claws?”

Ethan wasn’t happy about it either, so he let them know.

“I don’t give a shit about what you or what your Lady wants.” Ethan spat the words out, the anger roaring in his blood to overcome the nausea. “Where is Rosemary? What was that thing about her soul?” His flesh felt like it was roiling, like there were tiny ants scuttering about underneath his skin which suddenly felt too tight and itchy. “Where the hell is my daughter!?”

Irina just looked at him patiently, like he was being a child throwing a temper tantrum and she just had to wait out the crocodile tears. “I am afraid you do not have much of a choice, Mr. Winters. The Lady has requested your presence, and there is nothing any of us can do.” She turns her head to the side just barely. “Larisa.”

A young blonde girl, who looked barely into her early twenties, startled across the room. “Yes, Irina?” She asked softly, her voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper. Ethan barely heard her.

“Would you escort Mr. Winters to the Lady’s drawing room?” Irina asked patiently, but it was without a doubt a command rather than a request.

Even from across the room Ethan saw how Larisa’s pale throat bobbed as she swallowed down her nerves. “O-Of course, Irina.” The blonde bowed her head, but her hands grasped at nothing in a nervous tic.

And then Ethan was being guided/pushed off the bed and towards the doorway by various hands so quickly it was almost like he was some disease they were trying to avoid. He stumbles out of the infirmary with Larisa at his heels. Ethan blinks, genuinely caught off guard by how quickly he had been thrown out, and turns to yell at them, but the door is closed in his face.

“… With me, sir.” Larisa told him quietly as she began to walk down the hallway. Without any other options Ethan follows after her, grumbling as his head began to ache again while his stomach churns. Call it willpower or simple stubbornness, but he powers through the nausea and keeps close to the maid.

She simply led him through a never-ending labyrinth of hallways and rooms. Within a minute, Ethan had already lost all sense of orientation as they wound through the castle, but Larisa walked on confidently. There were no words exchanged. Ethan personally felt too queasy to open his mouth in fear he’d vomit while Larisa didn’t seem to be one for conversation.

The further they got, the more elaborate and decorative the hallways became. Ethan wanted to gawk at all of it, from the well-made furniture to the beautifully rendered curlicues of gilded bronze that wrapped around the walls and ceiling in grand, elaborative displays. As is, Ethan was struggling to breathe as he forced his aching body forward, step by step. The corners of his vision were spotted with stars and the edges of his surroundings were a bit blurry.

The maid must have noticed how he was lagging behind and breathing heavily through his nose, because she slowed down until he reached her. Without complaint, the willowy blonde sidled up to him and placed her shoulder underneath his armpit to help support his weight. Ethan leaned against her gratefully as she half-lead, half-dragged him down the velvet-clad walkway.

Ethan decided that he liked Larisa.

They continued down the hallway for another minute, slowed down by Ethan’s aching body.

“Do not mind what Iluia said,” Larisa told him softly. It was so quiet and sudden that Ethan almost jolted out of his skin. He looked at her, but the blonde was looking down at the floor as she considered her next words. “She is… bitter, I suppose. Your daughter is being well taken care of, all things considered.”

“Thanks…”

Any information about his daughter was welcome.

Larisa’s mouth quirked up in the smallest of smiles.

And then they were walking again.

They didn’t speak anymore after that. Larisa just continued to lead him down a hallway while Ethan did his best to not vomit from the headache. He doubted she would be happy if he threw up on her shoes.

Bzzz.

Ethan could have sworn he heard a soft buzzing somewhere around his ear, like there was a fly hovering close by. Larisa’s hand around his shoulder tightened suddenly, her short nails digging into the fabric of his shirt painfully as she picked up the pace.

They continue on until they reach a pair of elaborately decorative double doors.

Larisa suddenly unwound herself from him, and Ethan stumbled a bit when his support was abruptly gone. She turned to him and looked at him in the eyes for the first time. Larisa had the deepest, bluest eyes that was made all the more apparent by how her pupils had constricted until they were mere pinpricks. Ethan saw how genuine fear crept over her pale, petite features.

“You must be brave, Mr. Winters.” The maid whispered to him urgently. “Whatever the Lady demands, you must do your best to give it to her. You mustn’t make her angry.”

“What do you mean?”

The girl didn’t seem to hear him as she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders like she was steeling herself for some great Herculean task. She rapped her knuckles on the doorway once, twice. Waited for a few moments before she softly opened the door just wide enough to slip through before closing it behind her to leave Ethan standing awkwardly in the hallway alone.

“Can’t we stay?” He could just faintly hear a new girl’s voice the elaborately carved doors. “I want to see him.”

“Just one taste, Mother.” Another girl pleaded.

Taste? What the hell did that even mean?

“Go see to your sister, my doves.” It was a woman who spoke then. Her voice was lower than most, deep and velvety.

“Lady Dimitrescu,” Larisa’s voice was soft and gentle and perfectly polite, as muffled as it was from behind the closed door. “Your guest is here.”

“Wonderful.” The woman said. “Send him in.”

The door cracked open again as Larisa backed out, facing whoever the speaker was. Ethan tried to glance into the room, but the door closed too quickly for him to make anything out. Larisa turned to him, exhaling sharply through her nose.

And then all of a sudden there were hands pressing against him, pushing him forward. “H-Hey!” Ethan grumbled, tripping over his own feet as Larisa put all of her weight against him. He stumbled through the doorway, already pivoting on his feet to glare at the maid and her sudden change in behavior only for the wooden door to close right in his face. The American just stares at the newfound wooden barrier before him, honestly befuddled. What was that about? And what was with these maids pushing him into rooms and slamming the door in his face?

Ethan can immediately feel eyes on him.

He breathes in slowly, gathering himself and steeling his nerves, before Ethan slowly turns away from the door to look around the room he had been so unceremoniously pushed into. He must have looked for what felt like only a second before his eyes immediately train in on the only other person in the room with him.

He looks up

and up

Ethan freezes in place, his brain practically sputtering like a heated engine doused in water. There’s a sharp ringing in his ears while a war-drum beats against his ribcage. He has his back immediately pressed up against the doorway, all instincts heightened to damn near survivor-mode as he quickly calculates how fast he can get through the door and sprint down the hallwa-

The door locks with a quiet, damning click! behind him.

Chapter Text

Ethan Winters has known true fear many times in his life.

When his wife had swung at him with that chainsaw, all wild-eyed and sickly and wrong. Eveline and the monstrosity that had hidden behind a cherubic face even as she tore through his mind and body. Chris in his kitchen with a gun in hand and Mia-

Ethan Winters has felt true fear.

He has felt his body seize up as his muscles pulled itself together tightly and how his skin suddenly felt a size too small, how there were needles stabbing into the tips of his fingers, how his chest was suddenly too tight for his lungs.

Ethan Winters knows true fear.

He felt that fear again now.

The Lady Dimitrescu wasn’t human.

She couldn’t be.

That… Ethan thought to himself, a tad faint… is a whole lot of woman.

She was, quite literally, the tallest person Ethan Winters has even seen. She was… it was honestly just insane just how big she was that Ethan couldn’t even begin to guess. She was huge, ginormous, like a mountain giant from old fairy tales. Even seated down as she was, Lady Dimitrescu was still several heads taller than Ethan was standing, and he still had to tilt his head back a bit just to meet her eyes. Her eyes, Ethan immediately noticed, were a bright, molten gold, and they were entirely focused on him.

“You mustn’t make her angry.” Larisa had told him, had actually warned him, and Ethan hadn’t really thought much about it at that moment. Now he wanted to turn around and shake the woman by the shoulders, because if you were going to give someone a warning the maid had obviously forgotten the biggest one. Literally.

But turning to yell at the blonde woman would place his back to the massive woman and the door was already locked anyway.

Why hadn’t Larisa told him anything about this?!

“Ah, good. You’ve finally awoken.” The woman, creature, giantess, says. Her voice was deep like honeyed thunder, a rich contralto. “Irina was quite sure you wouldn’t open your eyes for another week.” Her massive head tilts to the side, and that small, subtle movement casts the firelight against her eyes in such a way that it reflects back like a cat. Like a predator. “You heal quite fast.”

Ethan’s tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth as he stared at her, heart jackrabbiting in his chest. He really, really wishes the door wasn’t locked, or at the very least had had some warning before entering the room… but, looking back on it, that was probably why Larisa had done what she did. Didn’t mean Ethan appreciated it.

The colossal woman huffs lightly at his silence, red-stained lips pursed slightly, even as she resettles her massive bulk more comfortably on the couch cushion. The couch which looked absolutely tiny in comparison to her, like an adult trying to sit on a little kid’s bike. It might have been hilariously ridiculous if not for the fact that it wasn’t the couch that was causing the problem; she was just that massive. Her head moves again, the dark wide-brimmed hat following like a storm cloud, and the reflection in her eyes is gone. Her eyes were still stunningly, inhumanely gold.

Suddenly all Ethan can think of is an old, half-remembered memory from his childhood. He had gone to visit family in Missouri where his grandfather had taken him hiking in the foothills. He’d been younger than ten, smaller, and his grandpa had warned him about mountain lions. They didn’t often go for humans, but sometimes they’d go for children if they were alone or small enough.

“People will always say to never show a predator your back.” His grandfather had told him all those years ago. “The thing is that in real life most of the time you’ll never see them coming.”

Ethan hadn’t really understood it all that much at that age. He just remembered the warnings his grandfather had given. That a cougar was more likely to watch, stalk and then pounce. Mountain lions often struck from behind with a quick, brutal strike to the neck to end it quick. Sudden, silent and deadly. They didn’t attack outright. They ambushed.

“Come. Sit.” The woman in white beckoned him forward with one long, pale finger. “You look dead on your feet.” She smiled at him then; her plush, crimson lips curling upwards like she had just said something particularly witty.

Was this what it was like to be stalked by a predator? This awful dread curling in his gut as hungry eyes weighed heavily on him?

Ethan slowly walks towards her, very aware of his surroundings and everything at his back, as he edges up and around the empty couch. Ethan is very, very careful to keep his eyes on her always as he sits down awkwardly on the edge of the opulent couch opposite her, stiff-backed and unsure of what he should do with his hands. Now sitting down, Ethan had to crane his neck back even further to look her in the eyes. He really hoped he wasn’t showing his fear too obviously, even though internally his brain was screaming ‘What the ever loving fuck!?’ on replay like a catchy radio tune. Lady Dimitrescu had to have been just barely twice his height, and Ethan was by no means a small man.

The giant woman gestures loosely at the low table that separated them with a gloved hand, and Ethan dared to take his eyes off of her to look down.

There was a delicate looking teacup and saucer placed in front of him, already filled to the brim with a dark amber liquid. Ethan lifted the cup up by its tiny stem, honestly a bit surprised that it was warm to the touch. The tea set was made of fine bone porcelain with thin golden edging along the rim and stem. Delicate flowers of what looked like roses were painted along the sides in a soft cornflower blue. It looked like something his grandma would have given an arm and a leg for and then refused to ever use it for fear of scuffing it.

Ethan took a hesitant sniff at the contents while trying his best to be subtle about doing so. It smelt like normal black tea with a faint trace of bergamot. He took a tentative sip. Earl Grey.

He dared look back up. All those months spent with the BSAA coming back to the forefront of his mind as the shock wore off. Evaluate, categorize, memorize, calculate. Don’t let your nerves get the better of you, beat them back and let the facts anchor yourself. Ch- He had told him that.

The Lady Dimitrescu wore an eye-catching ivory vintage evening gown made of Italian silk satin. It clung to her voluptuous form like a second skin, a rich fabric that was perfectly tailored to accentuate every creamy inch of exposed skin and to linger sensually about her curves. Not that Ethan noticed that. No, not at all.

He wasn’t looking at the soft creamy expanse of her exposed skin, no. His attention was entirely focused on- on that black wide-brimmed hat whose edges swooped sensually across her face like a second shadow. The sautoir necklace of cultured Tahitian pearls that clung tightly to her neckline. Her face that was strikingly beautiful, all sharp edges and pale skin. A fierce Valkyrie from song brought to life.

Ethan was not staring, and he certainly didn’t think that this terrifying, inhumane giantess was beautiful. No. That’d be ridiculous. He was merely observing and categorizing everything useful.

She was holding a massive blood-red goblet in one hand as she sat primly on the couch, her ankles crossed. Her golden eyes were still watching him, assessing him.

“You ever end up looking down a mountain lion’s eyes, Eth,” Grandpa had said all those years back, voice smokey and hoarse. “You best count your goddamn lucky stars. If you catch their eye before they’ve gotten their claws on you, you still might have a chance, ‘cause they might just change their mind. Just don’t play dead, and don’t dare turn your back on them. If you do that, all you’ll do is tell them that you’re prey, you understand me, son?”

There’s something regal in her bearing. She was – poised; that was the word that was sticking in the back of his mind. Every movement she made was slow and methodical, graceful despite her massive proportions. Like watching a jungle cat’s fluid stride.

Ethan remembered his younger self asking his grandfather if he had ever been seen a mountain lion. Grandpa Winters had just smiled down at him. “I haven’t seen one in years, but that don’t mean they haven’t seen me.”

“It is common courtesy to give your name when having a first meeting.” The gargantuan woman tutted. “Might I know yours?”

“Ethan. Ethan Winters” His throat was tight with nerves, so he took a sip of tea. It crawled down his throat like slow drying cement. “… What are you?” He couldn’t help but ask.

Those bright, metallic eyes narrowed at him ever so slightly. “I am the Lady of this castle and these lands, and you will give me the proper respect by addressing me as Lady Dimitrescu or as my Lady.”

“Lady Dimidro-trescu.” Ethan stumbled over the surname halfway through, inwardly cursing his numb tongue. Ethan felt the tips of his ears flush red. All those long months dedicated to learning Romanian and he still stumbled over certain consonants.

Lady Dimitrescu hummed at him, pleased despite his fumble. He put down the delicate cup back on the saucer and took a deep breath to steel his nerves. Better to just cut to the chase.

“Where’s Rosemary?”

The woman had the absolute nerve to blink at him. “Rosemary?” She questioned.

Ethan’s temper flared and it took everything in him to not snarl or throw his teacup at her. Like she didn’t fucking know. “My daughter.”

“Oh.” Lady Dimitrescu took a tiny sip from her glass. Ethan watched her suspiciously, wondering if she was trying to delay her answer. It seemed to amuse her because the corners of her mouth lifted in the smallest quirk of a smile. Her cheeks had the faintest impressions of dimples, Ethan realized.

“Would you care for a glass of wine, Mr. Winters?” She asked him abruptly.

“What? No.” His headache was already worse enough, and there was no way he was going to let his guard down around this not-so-human lady by having a drink. He didn’t really like wine all that much either; had never gotten used to the flavor and thus had never acquired much of a taste for it.

“A shame.” The Lady sighed, seemingly genuine in her disappointment as she looked down at the blood-red glass, idly swirling its contents. “It was a fine year for this vintage. The source wa-”

“You haven’t answered my question.” Ethan snapped at her, his patience worn thin and his tolerance for suspending bullshit having long since been spent when he first woke up to a bunch of tight-lipped maids.

Lady Dimitrescu frowned down at him; her lush lips pursed tightly as her eyes narrowed with displeasure. Ethan wondered when the last time anyone had ever interrupted her, much less demanded something of her. Not that he gave one care about his manners or lack thereof, he just wanted his daughter. Ethan needed to see her, needed to hold her in his arms and make sure that, yes, she was alright; that she was okay. Nothing else mattered.

“Your daughter is safe. She’s currently sleeping in the nursery without a care in the world.” Lady Dimitrescu took another sip from her glass, humming softly in appreciation at the taste. “I found you both on a desolate road surrounding by the dead and the dying. You two alone were the only ones to survive the car wreck. I’m curious as to what could have caused such a thing, or how you both ended up there.”

Ethan’s heart damn near jumped out of his throat. A car wreck?

“Was Rosemary…?” Ethan can’t even get the words out. The mere idea makes something cold form in his gut that then crawls up his throat to cut off his airflow. His daughter was just past six months old. She was just so tiny. So vulnerable. Rosie had always felt so fragile in his arms, and the fact that she had now gone through a hostile kidnapping and then been in a car wreck made his soul shiver.

Something softens in the noblewoman’s face, and for a moment Ethan could almost pretend she was actually human. “She was unharmed. One of the dead must have been holding her when the vehicle crashed. I found her still locked in his arms; his body had cushioned her on impact, and his body heat kept her warm long enough that when I found her she wasn’t too dreadfully cold.” She tilted her head to the side, considering him evenly. “However did you end up there? Aside from you and little Rose all the rest were dressed like soldiers.”

Chris!?”

“Sorry, Ethan.”

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“We were betrayed.” It felt so serious, so dramatic to announce, but what else could one say when someone they had thought they trusted, someone who they had even considered a friend, broke into your home, gunned down your wife, ordered his men to constrain and beat you before kidnapping you and your six month old?

Ethan’s throat dried up as his tongue felt like it was wrapped in wool. He didn’t want to think about it at all; he didn’t want to think about Chris or the BSAA and how they had broken their promises…

“He killed her.” The words slipped out of him anyway, bitter and sour. “I trusted him with my life, with my wife’s life, with Rosie’s life, and he betrayed us.” Ethan stared down at his tea, watching the amber liquid swill in the fine porcelain. “And you want to know the worst part? I have no fucking clue as to why he did it. He just… he just showed up in our kitchen while we were finishing dinner and he shot my wife in cold blood and I don’t know why.” The last word might as well have been a broken sob from how it was wrenched out of his mouth like a rotten tooth.

He wanted to scream, to cry, to wail at the unfairness of it all. It was supposed to be over. It was all supposed to be over. They’d been given a new name, a new home, a new life. And none of that mattered the moment that first bullet had ripped through Mia’s shoulder.

“… Betrayal is such a bitter thing, isn’t it?” Lady Dimitrescu finally said, her bright golden eyes scrutinizing him. Ethan could barely resist a shudder as her gaze all but undid him. Her gaze was like one of the mighty osprey and Ethan was but the pathetic fish clutched in her talons.

“Yeah.” There were tears streaming down his cheeks, but the noblewoman didn’t so much as mention it. Ethan couldn’t even begin to convey his thanks for that. “Yeah, it really is. You… you said that there were bodies. Was there…” It was so hard to swallow. “Was there a woman among them? She… she would have been wearing a pink shawl and… a-and she would have died from gunfire.”

Lady Dimitrescu raised her eyebrow at that question. “No. I arrived before the bodies could be scavenged and they were all male. No doubt they’ve been devoured by this point.”

“Oh.”

His eyes prickled. Ethan stubbornly swiped away the tears with the back of his hand.

Chris wasn’t dead. Ethan was sure of that, he knew it deep in his bones. Chris Redfield had survived the outbreak of Raccoon City; he wouldn’t die from something so mundane as a car crash. The man -traitor!- had always seemed the type who probably jumped out of a helicopter as part of his morning commute. Even during Louisiana, Ethan had seen the soldier as unbeatable and when he had started military training all the stories he heard of the co-founder had made Chris seem untouchable.

Chris wasn’t dead. No way in hell. The question was what they hell did they do with Mia?

Had they left her on the kitchen floor to rot, buried her in some unmarked grave, or had Chris taken her away to some cold dissection table in one of the BSAA’s labs?

Ethan honestly didn’t know which was better.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about Mia. Don’t think about Chris. Rosemary. Think of Rosemary.

“Where is my daughter?” God, at this point he sounded like a broken record.

And, again, Lady Dimitrescu did not answer him. It was extremely frustrating.

“I want to see her. I want to see Rosemary.”

“Do you truly believe yourself worthy of my daughter’s company?” Lady Dimitrescu asked him.

“Your daughter?” Ethan’s shock was instantly overcome by sheer, absolute rage. How dare she. “Rosemary is my daughter! Mine a-and, and Mia’s! You don’t have the goddamn right to say I can’t see her.”

Ethan should really, really know better than to antagonize the creature in front of him. It would be the logical thing to do, but Ethan Winters had never considered himself level-headed or logical when it came to matters close to his heart. He had gone to Louisiana chasing a ghost without telling anyone at all, had trespassed on land that the locals had sworn to be cursed without backup.

If this woman thought she could just come take his daughter and not expect a fight, Ethan was more than willing to prove her wrong.

“Some might say that you owe me your life, Ethan Winters. Your life and the life of your daughter.” Lady Dimitrescu tells him coolly. “Had I not arrived in time to step in, the Lycans would have stripped away your flesh and cracked open your bones to feast upon its marrow. They’re ravenous beasts, always hungry, and a warm body tastes so much sweeter than a corpse.”

Ethan had no clue what a Lycan was. “Look, lady, I’m grateful for what you did, really I am.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But if you think you can keep me away from my daughter you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Oh?” Lady Dimitrescu’s expression sharpened and it brought out all the honed angles of her beauty out in full. There was a pressure building in the air, a soundless static lingering between them. Ethan met her gaze without flinching.

Lady Dimitrescu leaned forward in her seat, gloved fingers steepled. “What is it that you want, Mr. Winters?”

Hadn’t he said it a thousand times at this point? “I just want my daughter.”

“… You love her, don’t you?” Lady Dimitrescu asked delicately. Ethan tried his best to not let his annoyance show, but what sort of question was that?

“She’s my daughter. I would do anything for her.” Ethan's answer is short, but honest.

Lady Dimitrescu stares down at him in quiet contemplation. It was almost like Ethan had surprised her.

For a long, tense minute there is absolute silence as Lady Dimitrescu observes him in quiet contemplation. Ethan tries his best to not fidget under her gaze. He hasn’t seen her blink once, Ethan realized.

“I have decided.” She clapped her hands once and the sudden sound damn near made Ethan jolt out of his skin. "I think I will keep you!" 

"What?" Ethan asked, confused.

“You shall stay here in Castle Dimitrescu."

The confusion very quickly turned into alarm. "What?!"

"Rosemary has already taken to her new home well and I would simply hate to confuse the poor darling." She explained, looking rather pleased with herself. "How you act will decide how you shall live, where it be a cell or a room … it all depends on your good behavior.”

Ethan stared at her, wide-eyed and his mouth open. “You… you can’t do that.”

“Oh, Mr. Winters…” She practically purrs at him, her eyes half lidded in smug pleasure like a cat who caught the canary and got the cream. “You will find that I very much can.”

“You can’t!” Ethan argued back heatedly. “You can’t just, just keep me here. I-I’m not some stray you picked up on the side of road to take home!”

“You are, actually.”

He glowered at her. “I’m a person, not some feral cat. You don’t have the right.”

“Mr. Winters.” Her tone was decidedly pointed. It raised the hairs on the back of his neck. “It would be best for you to come to the realization that I have every right. I found you near death within the bounds of my lands and saved you from the elements where the beasts would have torn you to ribbons. Within these lands, within this castle, I am the supreme authority.”

“Fuck that!” Ethan leapt to his feet, his fists clenched tightly. “You can’t keep us here!”

“Sit. Down.”

Those two words were practically a growl as her lips curled up in a snarl, revealing a row of sharp teeth. Ethan’s heart skipped a beat.

Holy shit, she was terrifying.

Ethan sat back on the couch and the snarl faded away as Dimitrescu took in a deep breath to calm herself. When she spoke next, it was candid, almost normal. “Even if I did allow you to leave where would you go, Mr. Winters?” That simple question is a dagger to the heart.

He had no money, no passport, no means of transportation and didn’t even own the clothes on his back. He was in the middle of somewhere, Romania in the dead of winter with a target on his head with only an infant as a companion. If Ethan had had Mia with him, he probably would have done it anyway. Mia would know what to do. She always did.

Ethan had absolutely no idea what to do, much less know where to go

There was no way out.

There wasn’t anything he could do, nothing that could be done, and Lady Dimitrescu knew it. Ethan could tell just by how she looked down upon him with that smile; so patient, so self-assured. Ethan had to bite back against the scream that was building in the back of his throat. He wondered if that smile would remain if he chucked the teacup at her.

He bit down on his lip and looked down at his trembling fingers digging into the meat of his thighs; the pain was grounding. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking fair.

Louisiana was supposed to have been the worst. It was supposed to be the end of all the fucking bullshit that life had wanted to throw at them. It wasn’t supposed to linger. It was supposed to be over.

"Consider yourself fortunate, Mr. Winters. No other has ever been offered a residence within these walls as you have.”

“As your prisoner, you mean?” Ethan couldn’t even try to hide the bitterness. “I can’t leave this castle with my daughter.”

“No. You cannot.” The Lady told him shortly. “It is not safe outside of these walls. The wolves howl long into the night and venture far from their dens. They’re insatiable gluttons. ”

Somehow, Ethan doubted she was talking about actual wolves. The urge to curl into a ball and scream was overwhelming. His wife was dead and Ethan was in a castle with a giantess who had saved his life and taken their daughter as her own before Mia’s body was even cold. Nothing made sense anymore.

“What do you want from me?” Ethan whispered, his hands curling into shaky fists. There had to be some reason why she had saved him, why she offered him a room -a cell a cage- and refused to let him leave. What could she even want from him that she hadn’t already taken?

A large smile breaks across the woman’s fair face as she placed the crimson glass down on the table with a gentle clink and then Lady Dimitrescu was suddenly standing up from her seat. Ethan startled, back pressed against the soft upholstery of the backrest as though he could phase through it. She was much, much taller than he had thought now that she was standing, much higher and much scarier. So tall that she easily moved around the table to stand before his couch in just a few strides. Ethan has to tilt his head back so much further to even look her in the eyes, and he feels so very, very small.

Lady Dimitrescu sits down on the cushion besides him, and Ethan can do nothing but desperately hope that his face reveals none of the dread that curls in his gut when her weight dips the cushion and creaks the wood. The noblewoman is just so massive, so overwhelming, that all Ethan could see was her. Her imposing frame overwhelmed his entire field of vision and she smelt so nice now that she was closer. A thick, musky scent that reminded him of mulled spices and the faint lingering scent of tobacco smoke.

Ethan really shouldn’t be focusing on that last bit. He should be thinking about just how easily it would be for her to wring his neck as easily as unscrewing a cork and not about why someone so terrifying shouldn’t smell so nice.

Lady Dimitrescu smiled at him, only it wasn’t a kind smile, but a thing of sharp, wicked beauty. “I’ve never encountered a creature who smelled half as heavenly as you, Ethan Winters.” A low, velvety purr erupted from her chest, whirring in the air in a steady vibration.

“Thanks?” Ethan offered hesitantly, because what else was he supposed to say to that?

Lady Dimitrescu’s golden eyes were sharp and hungry, and all Ethan could think about was about how they reminded him of a bird of prey. She looked down at him, and her soft, plush lips curled into an almost gentle smile as she all but purred at him. “You need only offer yourself to me, Mr. Winters.”

Ethan blinked up at the gigantic woman, honestly unsure if he had heard her right. “… Excuse me?

A large, perfectly manicured hand rose to cup his chin while one long nail traced his cheekbone; her touch was feather light. Ethan couldn’t help but shudder underneath her touch, very aware of how easily this woman could crush his skull with one large hand. Fuck, she was both terrifying, and beautiful. Her eyes were so very gold and Ethan was spellbound, fixated, like she was the flame and he the moth that had stupidly gotten too close.

And then she was leaning closer towards him, her head tilting to the side. Ethan couldn’t help but be entranced by the pale expanse of her neck, the creamy slope of her skin, and he tried his goddamn best not to tremble when her lips came so close to his face that her warm breath tickled the shell of his ear, “Will you offer yourself to me?” She whispered softly, almost breathless, and Ethan shivered. “Your blood, freely given whenever I wish?”

Wait, what the fuck.

Ethan jerked his head away from her touch, reeling back against the armrest. “Vampires are real?” He demanded.

She laughed at him then. A soft, breathy little laugh that did weird things to him that he honestly didn’t want to think about. “Not in the way you might think.” She actually teased him, like it was some inside joke.

He stares at her, and she stares back. There is almost something patient in her eyes, like a predator watching their prey drink at the watering hole; like she could wait all day and still be satisfied.

He can do nothing but swallow, his throat all but clogged by dread as what she just implied settled in his head. “Oh.”

Ethan takes in a slow, deep breath. His fingers flex, toes scrunching up in the bottom of his borrowed boots. Lady Dimitrescu blinks languidly, eyes closing just so briefly and in that millisecond Ethan is moving.

His boots press down against the carpet as Ethan shoves against the floor with every bit of strength he has, springing off the couch in an attempt to put in enough distance between them while angling towards the door -

Ethan tries to leap back –

and his world erupts into utter agony as the muscles of his back spasm in protest–

and then his knees give out from the sudden weight pressing down and -

Ethan’s teeth clack when the back of his head smacks into the hardwood floorboards. His back spasms, muscles roiling and tightening painfully, and a pained groan rips out of his throat unprompted. Shit, shit that fucking hurt.

“Oh, honestly.” Lady Dimitrescu’s features were faintly exasperated as she looked down at him from the couch. “Come now, Ethan Winters. You look utterly ridiculous sprawled across my floor.” She tuts, her tone perfectly casual as though what she had just recently said, had just implied, was nothing out of the ordinary.

“You’re fucking crazy.” Ethan wheezed out even as his vision was being overwhelmed by stars. Of course, he had managed to miss the massive rug to smack the back of his head against the hardwood.

“Hardly.” Lady Dimitrescu just smiled at him. A predator’s smile, all authority and supremacy while her golden eyes just gleam wickedly, bright and dangerous. She leans forward and wraps a massive hand around his arm and Ethan squeaked when she easily lifted him in the air like he weighed no more than a kitten and placed him back onto the couch besides her.

“It seems you aren’t fully healed after all.” Lady Dimitrescu notes to herself, seemingly unbothered that Ethan had just tried to run away. Why would she be when she had just shown that she was easily stronger than him and probably faster too? Ethan hadn’t had a chance even if his body was being cooperative. “Hmm… perhaps some food in you will help. I’ve always found a hot meal is just the thing to cure all ails.”

Ethan just stares at her. She stares back. There is amusement in her eyes.

“Will you try to run again?” She asks him, practically teases.

It had been stupid of him to try and run. Even if he had gotten out of the room, how would he have managed to find Rosemary in time before the noblewoman caught up to him? Ethan had walked past a dozen rooms and a dozen hallways and had no clue which led him to wherever his daughter was.

He would have to wait. Wait and see.

“No.” Ethan swallowed around the lump clogged in his throat. “No, I won’t run.” Not yet, at least.

“Good boy.” Lady Dimitrescu all but purred at him, and, yeah no, Ethan didn’t want to think about that. “Now, let us resume where we were before you so rudely interrupted with that pitiful little stunt.”

“I want to see Rosie first.” He told her. Ethan decidedly did not think about what that previous conversation had been about. He could freak out about vampires later. “I want to see that she’s okay, that you actually have been taking care of her.” Did Lady Dimitrescu rock her and hum under her breath when it was time for Rosemary to go to sleep for the night? Did she play with her? Rosie was so close to being able to turn on her belly and back without struggle. Had Ethan missed it? Had Lady Dimitrescu been there to see it?

 “… I suppose that is acceptable.” She conceded. “If you see how better a life she has here in my care, perhaps it will assuage your misplaced fears.” Ethan wouldn’t say his fears were misplaced, but fuck it. If this got him to his daughter, it was worth it.

Fear and terror, all sharp, harsh emotions that he contains and grinds down into dust and buries it deep as the roaring anger fades to a soft burning within the marrow of his bones. Ethan lets it all settle over him like a blanket.

For Rosemary, Ethan Winters would do anything.

“Do we have an agreement then, Ethan Winters?” Lady Dimitrescu asks him.

Rosemary. Ethan told himself. Think of Rosemary. “We do.”

A dark brow raised as the woman’s gaze became rather pointed.

“We do, my Lady.” Ethan quickly amended.

Lady Dimitrescu smiles down at him, and it was such a beautiful, wicked thing. Sharp like broken glass. Ethan cannot help but inwardly wonder if this helpless feeling that flickered weakly in his chest was what it felt like when one sold their own soul to the Devil.

No doubt he would soon find out.

Chapter Text

The Earl Grey tea has already begun to grow lukewarm in the cup as Ethan cradled it between his palms. He didn’t take a drink from it; he was more interested in observing the dark liquid swirl about as he idly twisted the ceramic in his grip. He could faintly see the small dregs lingering at the bottom. 

Ethan didn’t look up from the rim of the cup. He knew that if he did all he’d see would be bright, predatory eyes observing him much too closely. Like someone observing a dissected butterfly pinned to a corkboard underneath the cruel lens of a microscope. Inquisitive, but coolly calculated. Instead, Ethan inwardly reflected on what had happened and what seemed to be happening going forwards.

When Ethan had, albeit very grudgingly, agreed to what little of the terms Lady Dimitrescu had decided to actually inform him about at that moment, the massive woman had practically swelled up with glee. Some part of Ethan couldn’t help but think of a peacock showcasing its flashy tailfeathers by how the noblewoman had looked entirely too pleased with herself.

Not that he would share that thought aloud though since Lady Dimitrescu would probably throw him across the room. Ethan has not forgotten just how easily she had lifted his entire weight like he weighed nothing, so he really didn’t want to see what she was like when angry. Jack had already been able to burst through drywall and he had only been an inch or two taller than Ethan. Not even running the patriarch over with a car had even done all that much but give him enough time to scramble away and hide.

He did not want to imagine what Lady Dimitrescu, who was somehow even more frightening than Eveline’s massive swamp tentacle abomination, was capable of when pushed to her limits. The noblewoman seemed to be a much different terror than Eveline. 

In the end, Eveline had just been a scared little kid lashing out in the only way she knew how, but when Lady Dimitrescu looked down at him all Ethan could see was the wicked cunning in her eyes. Everything about her was poised and neatly methodical. She wouldn’t make mistakes like Evie had. Ethan should be scared shitless and afraid to poke the bear.

Only it’s been several minutes since Ethan had agreed to whatever it was Lady Dimitrescu wanted of him, and she had yet to move from her spot on the couch beside him. She had said she would bring Rosemary to him, and yet she was just sitting there watching him like there was nothing more fascinating than being creepy. Ethan didn’t appreciate it. He was tired, hungry, in a considerable amount of pain, his entire life had been destroyed and all he wanted was his baby but Lady Dimitrescu just wasn’t doing anything.

“Where is my daughter?” Ethan damn near growled aloud. The gigantic woman didn’t even so much as blink at his tone; she almost looked bored. Ethan looked up to stare her dead in the eyes, bright golden against softer blue. He didn’t even so much as blink, despite her overwhelming stare. God, she wasn’t human. She just couldn’t be. “You said you’d bring me Rosemary.”

“Be mindful of how you speak, Mr. Winters.” Lady Dimitrescu warned him, her tone almost a chastisement like he was just some disobedient child that needed to be reprimanded. “Do not presume that you can order me about like some scullery maid.” Ethan glowered at her, the faintest traces of rage burning bright in his heart. He wanted to scream at her, wanted to hurl the tea into her stupid, pretty face.

To prevent himself from actually doing that, Ethan bit down on his tongue and looked down at his tea to let one finger trace over the dusky blue flower petals carefully painted upon the fine bone porcelain. It was better to look at the detailing than having to face those hungry golden eyes and smug face.

In the privacy of his own mind, Ethan couldn’t help but bitterly reflect that it was so very easy for her to be so haughty. After all, this strange creature had the ultimate trump card in her hand: Rosemary. So long as his daughter was in her care Ethan was stuck here under this woman’s not so tender mercies.

Because Ethan has most certainly not forgotten that small bit of information about her wanting his blood for… for something. He was just ignoring it. Because if Ethan thought about it too closely about whatever the ever-living fuck that demand truly meant then he would probably just rapidly spiral into a mental breakdown and how would any of that help Rosemary? It was just like he had done in Dulvey: just keep going and don’t think about it, don’t think about the death and rot, don’t think about the kid -fuck, she was just a kid - just keep going.

So, Ethan was saving his mental breakdown for later. Later sounded nice, but unfortunately he still currently had to deal with the now.

“... Look, lady, I’ll do whatever you want me to do.” Ethan finally says aloud. He wishes it sounded louder, braver, but all it truly sounded was just tired. It wasn’t even really acceptance, but a concession. “But I want to see my daughter first.”

So long as Lady Dimitrescu had his daughter, there wasn’t much Ethan could do. It didn’t mean that the fight had left him, though. 

Ethan Winters was many things, and stubborn was certainly one of them and defiant was another. The Bakers had tried to stamp that out of him, first with sickening kindness, sweet like honeyed rot, and then with vicious cruelty. His left forearm and right ankle prickled underneath the worn layers of his newly gained clothing. Phantom sensations of metal slicing -ripping, tearing- through flesh and bone and “Ethan, Ethaaan, Ethaaaaan! Don’t move now, son! You ain’t gettin’ awaaaaay~~” 

Eyelids squeezed shut tight enough for sunspots to blossom, Ethan tried to slip out of the memory. He wasn’t there, he was here. The smell wasn’t of mildew and rotting wood, but cold stone and bergamot. It wasn’t real, he wasn’t really there. The Bakers might have tried to kill him, but they had failed because Ethan had survived. He had shown that he couldn’t be beaten that easily and then he had beaten them, and he had gotten Mia back and they had been happy and-

“Why does everyone hate me?”

“Sorry, Ethan.” 

- and so it wasn’t a defeat. It was a concession right now, but it wasn’t admitting defeat.

Defeat was giving up, and Ethan Winters sure as hell hadn’t given up. 

His body felt like it had been wrung through the wringer, Ethan felt like he was one bad thought away from unleashing the box of emotions he had buried deep inside himself, and if one crack appeared he would be bursting into tears, but he hadn’t given up. Not ever. 

“It’s not being a coward if it’s a strategic retreat.” Emily -Tundra, BSAA special operatives, someone who had taught him how to properly clean a gun who had a crooked, dimpled smile, one of Chris’ Hounds- had told him that once. Emily, whom Mia had befriended almost immediately. Emily, who had a kid of her own and had, with a tired smile, complained about stretch marks with Mia and had given them all the gritty info about the joys of teething and the terrible twos even as she taught Ethan how to hotwire any car he pleased. Like she was their friend. 

Had she been there when Chris had stormed into their home? Had she shot his wife, or had she been the one to hit him in the back of the head, or maybe even been the one to tear Rosie out from her crib? It was still all a blur, so much had happened all at once. All he remembered was how Mia jerked back from that first bullet and then how her beloved pink shawl had turned red before the kitchen table was thrown aside and there Chris was, dressed in a dark wool trench coat and ballistic armor, with a smoking gun in hand. 

“Sorry, Ethan.” 

His eyes snap open. Bright eyes stare down at him, unblinking and overwhelming. Ethan swallowed his nerves, hiding the trembling in his hands by bringing the teacup up to his lips. The Earl Gray was just cold dregs now, but it was still a damn good cup of tea. 

“Considering you have only just awoken from your long rest, it seems fit to inform you that it is already rather late into the evening.” Lady Dimitrescu began, sitting primly with her ankles crossed and her hands clasped together on her lap. “It is almost time for Rose to be put to bed for the night. I shall bring her to you to show you my word is true, but once she starts to settle I will be taking her away to be put to bed.”

“... That’s fine.” 

It wasn’t fine. The idea of just getting a glimpse of his daughter and then having to watch her be taken away made Ethan’s insides roil. Fuck, he just craved to rage against it all and what Ethan really wanted was to chuck his teacup at Lady Dimitrescu, who was still just looking down at him with that smile that was just so fucking smug. It wasn’t like it would do anything but stain her ivory cream dress, but he still considered it. She might murder him afterward, but wiping that smug smirk off her face might honestly be worth it. 

“I suppose I shall go fetch her.” Dimitrescu decides as if the thought had only just come to her instead of any type of response from Ethan’s demands. 

“Thank you.” He barely manages the courtesy.

“Of course.” Lady Dimitrescu says graciously, as though she was an exemplary host and not someone who had kidnapped Ethan and his daughter and was now holding them against their will just because she could. His hands tighten around the cup.

Dimitrescu rose from the cushion slowly, languidly, utterly relaxed like she had all the time in the world. Fuck, if she wasn’t just massive. Ethan had to crane his head back until the backrest dug painfully against his neck just to look up into her face.

She was so tall that when she left the room she had to duck under the doorway. Even when she bent at the waist, her great, big hat only just barely brushed against the head jamb. 

Ethan does not stare after her, and he certainly does not notice how the soft, silken material of the woman’s dress went taut around her hips and backside when she bends at the waist to duck through the doorway, how the fabric stretched tightly enough that he can easily trace the outline of -No, stop!- Ethan hurriedly drained the rest of his tea.

By the time his brain stopped feeling like static fuzz and he dared to look back up, the noblewoman was now facing him. Crouched underneath the door, she gave him what was almost a gentle smile. No doubt she likely meant it to soothe his nerves, but Ethan only found it disturbing. Her smile just showed off a tad too many teeth to be anything else but unnerving. 

“Stay right there, Ethan Winters.” Lady Dimitrescu told him before she stepped back and closed the door. Ethan took in a deep breath and began to count to sixty in his head.

Ethan Winters did not, in fact, stay there. 

The very moment he was certain that Lady Dimitrescu wasn’t about to pop out of the doorway like some fucked up jack-in-the-box-only-now-with-vampires, Ethan quickly stood up on his feet. Wincing at the tenderness in his belly, the man tried his luck on the very same door that the Lady Dimitrescu had left from. His hand immediately met resistance when he tried to turn the knob. Of course, it was locked. It was always locked. 

“Seriously?” Ethan muttered underneath his breath, jostling the handle again even though he knew that nothing would happen. It still didn’t mean he appreciated it when nothing did happen besides a jammed door knob. His next question was simply born from absolute sarcasm. “What kind of room even locks itself from the outside?”

Oh, wait, Ethan could think of a place like that: the Baker family homestead. 

It seemed like Ethan had somehow upgraded from American Southern cannibals to European nobility turned vampire.

Ethan slammed his forehead against the door with a groan. Seriously, what the fuck was even his life. What the hell had he done in a past life to warrant the amount of bullshit he has had to go through? Maybe he had been a mass-murdering, puppy-kicking serial killer? It was the only explanation. 

-was it because of what he did to Evie? how could he have a daughter and not be punished for what he had done in Dulvey?-

“Stop.” Cursing under his breath, Ethan spun around to survey the room. There had to be something around here that he could use. A key, some much-needed Lei, anything to make a lockpick out of, hell even a weapon of some kind that he could hide in his jacket. Taking a deep breath in, Ethan tried his best to calm down his nerves and look around. Now that Lady Dimitrescu wasn’t in the room, he finally allowed himself to pay more attention to his surroundings. 

His first thought was that the furniture around him was absolutely gorgeous. Ethan couldn’t even really tell how old it truly was, but it all looked like genuine antiques rather than belated reproductions. It was just in the way of how sturdy the wooden furniture looked, how carefully embroidered the upholstery seemed. Everything was just lovingly crafted by an expert eye and a careful hand. This room was an absolute show of wealth, of old money opulence, and from wealth always came power. There were also a lot of floral embellishments everywhere, but was that personal preference, heraldic ornamentation, or just the results from the architectural style?

There were the two couches facing one another with the low table set between. On it was the teapot and his cup, while Lady Dimitrescu’s blood-red wine glass was still set down. He was half tempted to grab it, but she would probably notice it had been moved once she came back. 

Close by the couches was the fireplace, currently lit, with a marble mantle and the fanciest timepiece Ethan had seen surrounded by a collection of items. He headed over to the fire with his eyes already trained on the small collection of fireplace tools hanging nearby. Ethan immediately grabbed hold of the fire poker and held it up for closer inspection. It looked like it was made from cast iron and had a good heft to it, even if the tip and barbed point were too blunted to really cut through anything unless he put a lot of force behind. He gave it a few experimental swings, careful to not get soot anywhere. The poker was too long to hide in his sleeve, so Ethan reluctantly put it back even as he made sure to remember its location in the chance he needed it quickly.

There was nothing useful about the timepiece when he took a closer look at the mantle and the items surrounding it were just a bunch of objets d’art, just decorative pieces meant to complement the space. An oval-shaped silver snuff box that was empty when he opened it, a couple of matching small porcelain vases with red and gold enameled decorations, and a collection of tiny animal figurines delicately carved from jade. It was all useless to him unless he managed to reach a city to pawn it off, only Ethan was still trying to work on the ‘get out’ plan.

Frustrated, Ethan curiously picked up one of the vases and weighed it in his hand… Maybe he could throw it at her? 

“... Yeah, that’s not going to work.” He put the vase back and took a closer look at the jade animal figurines and immediately noticed that one of the tiny figures was a dog. It only really grabbed his attention because the last time around dog-themed items had been very useful for his escape. Ethan still didn’t understand why the hell the Bakers had had such a complicated, over-the-top locking mechanism for their front door, but it had been a thing that had actually happened. It was doubtful that the jade dog would do something useful, but maybe Ethan could haggle with a maid for her keys? He grabbed the canine and put it in his coat pocket.

Feeling a bit silly about it all, Ethan turned away from the fireplace and looked back at the couches. Lady Dimitrescu didn’t seem the type to have loose change lost in the cracks of her couch cushions, but he might as well check anyway. 

Turns out she wasn’t the type because all he discovered was lint and that one of the couch cushions had a rather disturbing splatter stain on the bottom side that looked entirely too close to dried blood. Someone had flipped it over to hide it, but whoever had done it very lazily. They hadn’t even tried to actually hide it, really, they had just turned the cushion over. 

Ethan gingerly returned the blood-stained cushion back in place and tried not to think of how his hands trembled. It had to be blood. His experiences within the Baker homestead had taught him the difference between a mysterious stain and a bloodstain. Just the sight of it made his heart race as unwanted memories began to trickle in.

That god awful musky stink of unwashed linen and festering mildew. The ambient sound of cicadas chirruping incessantly, unrelentingly, in his ears until he could barely think. Grandma Baker -Eveline, it was always Eveline- humming and singing Go Tell Aunt Rhody underneath her breath; her tone wheezing like old, creaking wood. God, it was all that made up the night terrors that woke him up every night, sweaty and trembling with the phantom taste of mold and blood still wet and thick on his tongue.

“Fuck.” Ethan muttered to himself, blinking away the memories. He wasn’t in Louisiana. He wasn’t. He was just in a new place of weird, just a brand new sort of hell. Only instead of hoosier cannibals it was an aristocratic vampire. “Focus, Winters.”

There had to be something here that would be useful, he just had to keep looking around. A key, maybe. Hell, a blunted letter opener or even a butter knife would be something. Anything small enough that he could hide underneath the folds of his newfound clothes until an opportunity arrived.

On the other side of the room was a three-tiered lacquered commode ornamented with ormolu mounts. Past experience had taught Ethan that useful items were almost always found tucked away in drawers and considering that looking like one of the ritziest furniture pieces in the room meant that there was probably something useful in it. A dresser that fancy had to have something , like a gold bar or a gun or something so out of place it wouldn’t make sense for it to be in there and yet somehow was.

He wrapped his fingers around one of the drawer pulls shaped into acanthus leaves and yanked on it, but was met with resistance as the drawer revealed itself to be locked. Ethan tried the next two tiers of drawers only for the same thing to happen. Locked. Each drawer had a keyhole set in the middle, but there was no sign of a key anywhere. Ethan squatted down, running his hands along the bottom in the hopes that the key was just taped on the underside. Nothing. A quick look underneath the rug revealed nothing but dust. He looked back at the keyholes, trying to see into it. It didn’t look like too complicated a lock… maybe he could pick it?

Ethan traced a finger over one of the ornamental mounts; the metal was thin enough that it could be warped or filed down. The keyway probably wasn’t too intricate for just a drawer, so maybe he could just jam it in and twist? If he didn’t try to fashion a key, at least he could file it down to a fine point to serve as a cutting tool. Another option was that he could just brute force the drawers open, only that would be extremely noticeable. If this place was the Baker’s then he wouldn’t have hesitated since everything there had already been wrecked to shit and left to rot, but Ethan would bet good money that if he even just so much as left a scratch on the lacquer then someone would immediately notice. 

It wasn’t worth the risk.

If Dimitrescu saw that he was already ignoring her orders then she might very well punish him by keeping Rosemary away. Already he had spent too much time exploring the room with nothing to show for it. There was no telling when Dimitrescu would be back, and he rather doubted she would think to knock on the door before letting herself in. It was her house, after all. He’d rather not be caught so quickly. 

Reluctantly, Ethan stepped back from the commode and began to walk back to the couch. Settling back into the same spot as before, Ethan roughly grabbed the teapot and poured himself another cup of Earl Gray. He sipped at it, staring down at the cup as he contemplated.

The first order of business was figuring out where exactly he was. Dimitrescu had mentioned that she had found them in a car wreck, but how far away had that been from the house? Were they even still in Romania? They must be considering that all anyone had spoken to him was Romanian, so he had to still be somewhere in the country, right? The other bordering countries probably spoke their own tongue.

So, Romania. If he was still in the country, then whereabouts? A castle made him think of the mountains or old forests, which would be the worst possible scenario. How was Ethan supposed to escape a building literally built to defend its inhabitants with a six-month-old and then face an unknown hostile terrain in the middle of winter with no clear designation?

He couldn’t, but Ethan didn’t want to think about that right now, no matter how logical it was.

The second cup of tea had been finished and Ethan had just taken a sip of his third when the sound of heels clicking closer and closer made his ears prick up. He placed the cup down on the saucer and straightened in his seat, eyes glued to the door.

It opened and for a moment all Ethan could see was the top of Dimitrescu’s black hat as she ducked into the room, smoothly closing the door behind her with one hand as she stood up to her full height and nestled in the crook of her other arm was -

“Rosemary!” Ethan’s already leapt to his feet to hurry towards his daughter before he’s even finished saying her name. His body aches from the sudden movement, but he doesn’t even notice it when his entire world has focused on the little girl held in Lady Dimitrescu’s arms. A massive, gloved hand pressed against his chest, pushing him lightly back.

“Sit down, Mr. Winters.” She commands him, and he’s backpedaling on his feet until he practically trips onto the cushion because he refuses to take his eyes off his daughter. Lady Dimitrescu swanned forward across the room, and Ethan is sitting there on the couch with his arms held out and then - 

and then Rosemary was being gently handed over to him, and Ethan takes his daughter into his arms, feels the reassuring familiar weight and warmth settle against him, and everything feels right in the world. He doesn’t even notice Lady Dimitrescu sitting down beside him, he’s too enraptured by the baby in his arms.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Ethan felt his cheeks stretch into a large smile as he pressed a kiss to her cute little button nose. His girl just cooed, just senseless baby babble, and it calmed him down instantaneously. Her little pink cardigan had been replaced with a knitted onesie onset with cute little sunflowers, Ethan idly noticed.

Rosie began to squirm in his grip, her face scrunched up and reddening as her lips threatened to start trembling. Lady Dimitrescu was leaning over by his side almost instantly, but Ethan twisted in place to keep her at his back, which really hurt considering he was seated. 

“Hey, hey, hey.” Ethan pressed his lips desperately against her soft, downy hair as he began to rock her slowly in his arms. “It’s Papa, Rosie. It’s just silly old Papa.” He cooed gently. 

Rosemary just blinked mulishly up at him, pale blue eyes looking up at him even as she frowns grumpily. Something seems to catch, and suddenly she’s squealing happily in recognition; her cute, pudgy feet kicking insistently even as she clumsily reaches up to his face. She looks so delighted staring up at him with wide infant-blue eyes with her cheeks spread into a massive smile. Something in Ethan crumbles into dust and suddenly there are tears in his eyes, and he clutches his baby girl close against him even as he tries to not shatter. His face scrunches tightly, tears silently falling from the corners of his eyes. “Rose…” His sweet girl just babbles happily as she begins gnawing on his shirt. Ethan chokes out a breathy laugh, the sound only just a tad hysterical, but when he inhales the familiar scent of baby powder and lavender shampoo Ethan finally lets himself to just breathe. 

“Oh, Rosie. Papa’s here.” He pressed kisses against the crown of her curls, her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, everywhere and anywhere he could reach. She squeals at the sensation and Ethan just melts at the sound. “Oh, sweet pea, I’m here. Everything is okay, baby. Dad’s here now. I’m right here.” 

She was here.

She was safe.

Ethan clutched his daughter tightly as he practically curled his upper torso over her, cradling her and shielding her all at once, while doing his very best to not completely break down right then and there. Even then the hot tears ran wet trails down his whiskery cheeks, unwanted and unwelcome. He sniffled, rubbed away the tears with his shoulder as he pressed a wet kiss on his daughter’s cheek. 

Rosemary was safe, she was happy, but Mia… Mia was… Chris had… 

“Oh, dear God…” Ethan damn near chokes on his own breath as he holds her closer.

For a moment there, back then in their home, Ethan had felt his entire being just freeze in horror and terror. It had been worse than seeing Mia - his best friend, his wife oh god, what did they do to his wife!?- lying there broken and bleeding on the kitchen floor. Because the same soldiers who had destroyed his life now had Rosemary, little Rosie who was barely six months old and so fucking tiny, in their arms. 

Ethan wants to scream, to cry, to just break down but something holds firm within him. Rosemary. It was Rosemary that was keeping him together. The warmth of her skin against his cheek, her soft baby talk babbling incoherently in his ears, her tiny fingers clumsily grasping at his borrowed shirt. Choking back a sob, Ethan just holds her close to himself as he tries to control his harsh breathing, only it just doesn’t really work. The heated emotions were just roiling underneath his skin like a swarm of angry ants.

“I was so scared…” Ethan murmured in her ear, a secret shared only between himself and her. “But I’m here now, sweet pea. I’m right here. I love you, sweetie. I love you so much. Rosie.” Ethan damn near choked on her name, his chest twisting and turning unpleasantly. “Oh, God, Rosie… I was so scared… ” 

For a moment there, Ethan had truly thought that Rosemary had… no, don’t think about it. Just trust in this moment, just trust in the feel of Rosie’s soft skin against his own. Ethan can not help but kiss her forehead desperately, his shoulders shaking even as he tries to control himself but just fucking can’t. His very body was just too startled, too terrified, too on edge. The only thing that kept him sane was the small, warm bundle cradled in his shaking arms. His sweet Rosemary…

Rosemary, who had begun to whimper loudly, her pudgy little face scrunching up in a sure sign of tears. For a moment Ethan panics before he realizes what’s wrong.

“Oh, right.” Ethan leans his face closer against her, huffing out a chuckle despite himself even as he gently guides her tiny hands to press against the roughened stubble along his jaw. Rosemary babbles and squeals as she begins patting his cheeks happily. Her bright laughter was a soothing balm against his soul that Ethan couldn’t help but nuzzle against her tiny fingers, lightly scratching against her skin with his stubble. Rosemary burst into a fit of giggles and Ethan couldn’t help but break into a smile despite the tears. She was such a happy baby, always ready to break out into a smile. 

Ethan could feel eyes burning against his backside. Stiffening his shoulders, Ethan clutched his baby girl close against him even as he turned his head over his shoulder to look right into bright, predatory eyes. Lady Dimitrescu was staring at him intently from where she had seated herself beside him on the couch. Ethan felt his cheeks and the tips of his ears flush bright red at the attention. He had honestly forgotten she was there for a moment. 

“… Rosie likes my stubble,” Ethan told her defensively, and even then he couldn’t help but wonder why the hell he felt like he had to even defend himself and his actions with his own daughter to the person who had essentially kidnapped them both. 

The woman didn’t say anything, only merely tilted her head to the side a tad in consideration. She kept doing that, Ethan realized. He wondered if she knew how much it made her look like the cat Ethan had had as a kid when the calico was puzzled over how the screen door worked. He looked away from the woman and focused back on his daughter, looking her over for injuries now that he had calmed down enough to think about it.

Safe in the cradle of his arms, his sweet Rosemary had never looked more beautiful. His dear girl had never looked so content, so peaceful. Like nothing bad had even happened. Like Chris and his military goons hadn’t swarmed into the house in the dead of night to shoot her mother dead at the kitchen table, or had beaten her father black and blue. She looked… great, actually. No bruising, no signs of a fever, or even so much as a sniffle. 

It seemed that Lady Dimitrescu hadn’t been lying when she had said that she had been taking care of Rosemary. The baby was flush with health, her cheeks spread in a wide smile as she noisily slobbered on a tiny fist. She hadn’t lied. Rosemary was safe, healthy and happy. 

Ethan could feel his barriers slowly melt a bit and some of the fear that had remained coiled and tense in his chest now slowly relaxing. 

It took so much to tear his eyes away from the soft, cherubic face of his sweet girl, but Ethan Winters managed to tear his gaze away to look up into the bright golden gaze of Lady Dimitrescu. For that one moment, the fear had left him as he looked up into the gigantic woman’s gaze. This strange, terrifying creature who had so eagerly captured him, who had so confidently pressed her thumb down upon his very soul. This beautiful, dangerous woman who had threatened him and yet in the same breath had held and clothed and cared for his daughter. 

“Thank you,” Ethan told her genuinely from the bottom of his heart. “Just… thank you.” This beautiful, terrifying creature could take her pound of flesh from his very bones, and he would willingly give it if only just to hold his daughter tighter for even just one second longer. She could bleed him, break him, slit his throat, and he wouldn’t care so long as his sweet Rosemary stayed as safe and secure as she looked at this moment. 

Lady Dimitrescu blinked down at him. “Of course.” The way she said it wasn’t hesitant, but there was something in her tone that was almost like surprise. 

Rosie’s eyes began to droop. She squirmed in his hold, making the most adorable little fussy noises as she blinked rapidly as she tried to stay awake. 

Ethan couldn't help but chuckle at her expression, and he was a bit startled when Lady Dimitrescu laughed at the same time. He looked up and saw that Lady Dimitrescu was smiling down at Rosemary fondly. It was so different from the smug smirk from before; it gentled the severe lines of her face into something almost friendly, almost human. 

“She’s a stubborn little thing, isn’t she?” The noblewoman cooed, tickling Rose’s tummy with a gloved finger, her touch feather-light and so very gentle. Rosemary giggled, kicking her feet out even as she clumsily grabbed ahold of the massive digit with both hands. Ethan stared at her.

“Yeah, Rosie hates bedtime.” He managed to say, voice a bit hoarse like he’d swallowed gravel. His mouth was so dry. “You should see her when it’s time for her nap.”

Dimitrescu laughed at that and it was such a pretty sound. “She doesn’t like being told what to do, does she? So obstinate.” He was still staring at her. He should probably stop staring at her. The woman's dark eyebrow quirked up suddenly and her smile turned a bit crooked like she was biting down on another laugh.

Ethan followed her gaze downwards and realized that Rosemary was currently trying her best to gnaw Dimitrescu’s finger off, but without any teeth she was just slobbering all over the fine black leather. Ethan honestly expected the woman to take her finger back, Lady Dimitrescu didn’t seem like a woman who enjoyed dirtiness or disheveled looks, but the woman’s smile only grew wider, softer, and let her gloved finger be a chew toy.

Huh, Ethan thought to himself as he watched her. 

Chapter Text

There was very little in the world more fearsome than a Rosemary Winters that didn’t want to go to bed. For as little as she was, the kid had some damn strong lungs and a furious desire to vocalize her displeasure. Ethan’s ears have certainly borne the brunt of his girl’s audible displeasure. She was just a fussy child, ever-demanding. Ethan swore his heart swelled more and more with each act, with each individual action that just proved that it was all her, all Rosemary. Even now he can’t help but crack a smile at her dour face and how her lips pressed tightly into an unhappy line. 

Dimitrescu hadn’t been wrong; Rosie was such a stubborn little thing. 

She squirmed in his arms, her pudgy little legs and arms wriggling about as she tried to settle herself against him, one cheek smushing up against his chest. She glowered up at him like it was all his fault that it was bedtime. A laugh broke free from his throat, and he pressed another whiskery kiss against her cheek, smile widening as Rosemary squealed at the sensation of his stubble. He rubbed his cheek against hers, grinning like an idiot as she babbled and giggled. God, just holding her was enough to banish away all the dark thoughts and every aching joint. 

Even as young as she was, Ethan knew, without a single doubt, that his daughter was going to grow up to be such an independent, headstrong girl. He just knew it. 

Rosemary Winters was as stubborn as they came, especially when it came to bedtime. Whether it was bedtime or naptime, she absolutely detested both in equal measures. There had been many a sleepless night tending to a fussy, overtired Rosemary, who would squeal and squirm in their grip like a wriggling worm. 

Only now Rosie’s eyes were now slowly falling shut. Her little, toothless mouth opened and closed in an oh-so mighty yawn as her eyelids fluttered open in an attempt to try to stay awake. Ethan can’t help but watch on, a big and stupid grin tugging at the corner of his lips as all the fear and terror that had so dedicatedly followed him for the past however many hours fades away.

“Bedtime, Rosie.” He cooed, keeping his tone light and happy to lull her to sleep, even if the words tasted like ash in his mouth. Lady Dimitrescu had said that she would take the girl back to bed once she fell asleep. The reminder strangled something in his chest.

Ethan knew that for the rest of his life there would be a new nightmare to join the others: that terrible fear of seeing his kid held in a stranger’s arms and taken away to a place he couldn’t follow.

He clutched her close, pressing his forehead against her little body, and tried to calm his breathing. Rose was fine, she was alive, she was here. It was like a mantra in his head. Dimitrescu had been taking care of her while he’d been asleep, and… Ethan didn’t really know what to do with that bit of information. He hadn’t thought Dimitrescu would actually care until he had seen how she acted like a completely different person towards Rosemary.

Speaking of Dimitrescu…

She was gazing down at Rosemary with the softest look in her eyes. Ethan tried to not stare, really, but there was something almost bewitching about the noblewoman. The harsh sneer, that rigid smirk, had melted away as the massive woman idly traced a gloved finger against Rosemary’s cheek. The smile she gave at the sudden baby giggling was a gentle thing that crinkled the corners of her eyes. It made her look almost human.

He was broken out of his staring when Rose squirmed and shuffled in his loose grip as she rearranged herself in his arms. With a grumbling whine, she nestled her face closer against his chest with a tired, happy sigh. Her eyes had finally closed and Ethan smiled down at her, pressing down another swift kiss. “I love you…” he whispered against her cheek. “I love you so much…”

When he looked back up, Lady Dimitrescu’s bright, golden eyes stared at him with a frightening intensity. Something about her expression seemed a bit off, but Ethan couldn’t really say what it was. She smiles at him suddenly, sharper than before, and something in Ethan’s gut churns. 

“What are you thinking of, Mr. Winters?” Lady Dimitrescu purrs at him. So prideful and smug, sharp and almost sultry.

That you look like you’re about to make a meal out of me.

Hadn’t she said something about wanting his blood and how he smelled delicious?

There was something about the way Dimitrescu spoke that constantly poked and prodded against Ethan’s consciousness. It was so formal, but not stilted. There was a soft, rich lilt to her words like each syllable and consonant was given a chance to soar and, well…

Ethan has never met someone quite like Lady Dimitrescu. 

Inside the privacy of his own mind, Ethan finally had to admit to himself that he genuinely had no clue about what to do next.

Hell, he didn’t even know what he was supposed to think about Dimitrescu herself.

This was a woman who had literally kidnapped them and seemed intent on keeping them here, but she had also been the one to find two strangers in a car wreck and had taken them in, no questions asked. She called Rosemary her daughter and doted on her so easily, and Ethan could see the love in her eyes and knew it to be genuine and it fucking hurt. It hurt that Rosemary had begun to accept the woman’s strange touches and was soothed by her strange voice. Mia was Rosemary’s mother, not this intimidating giant, only Mia was -

Ethan physically shook his head to rid himself of the thought and tried his best to not let the tears building in the corner of his eyes fall. Rosie squirmed in his grip, her sparse eyebrows furrowing like she was about to wake up and start crying.

“Ah, ah, Rosie…” He singsonged instead, voice cracking even as he softly swayed her back and forth at a speed she has always liked. “None of that now. Don’t you wanna go to sleep, hmm? Bedtime is so much fun!”

He doesn’t know why he tries to keep his tone light, why he even tries to pretend that everything is alright when he knows very well that nothing will ever truly feel alright ever again. Chris Redfield had damn well made sure of that.

Only it was Rosie’s bedtime and all Ethan really wanted was for his girl to be happy, even if it cost his own happiness. Whatever Dimitrescu really was -Ethan’s stance was still firmly in the vampire camp- the noble had his daughter’s wellbeing in mind. It was just Ethan’s wellbeing that was in doubt. Who even knew what Dimitrescu had in store for him?

Rose shuffled in her sleep. Drool had already begun to seep into the fabric of his borrowed shirt from where she was happily mashing her mouth against him to gnaw on the fabric in her sleep. 

“None of that now.” Dimitrescu tutted, clicking her tongue as she gently tugged away from the worn fabric from Rosie’s mouth. Rosemary squeaks at that, frowning grumpily for a few moments before calming when Dimitrescu tickled her potbelly with one massive finger. The baby settled back in Ethan’s arms. “That shirt is simply filthy, dear girl.”

He can’t help but flush bright red at that, suddenly very aware of the fact that everything he was currently wearing, right down to his goddamn underwear, was borrowed from some stranger. He was also very aware of the spittle that Rosemary had so happily slobbered on him and was already sticking to his bruised and aching skin. Compared to the very well-put-together noblewoman, Ethan probably looked like a half-drowned raccoon. Which was stupid. He shouldn’t care about what he looked like to someone who has literally kidnapped him. 

“... It’s not mine.” He cannot help but mutter dryly.

Dimitrescu just looked at him, one dark brow arched high, before her golden eyes flitted downwards and then back up in a clear display of observational appraisal. The look on her face showed she was not impressed by what she saw. Ethan felt his ears flush bright red at the swift dismissal.

“Clearly.” The woman remarked to him, her tone just as dry. “We shall have to remedy that and get you proper garments, and then burn those filthy rags you currently wear. I smelt the horseflesh and manure on your clothes the moment you first entered this room. Utterly unbecoming. If you’re going to be staying here, I expect that you at least be presentable.”

Ethan had to grit his teeth so hard they nearly chipped.

He will not yell at her.

He won’t.

But, God, it would feel so good.

I’m sorry that I didn’t pack an overnight bag when armed men broke into my house, killed my wife, kidnapped me and my kid only for you to then kidnap me and my kid.

It was only the physical reminder of Rosemary sleeping away in his arms that gave him the willpower to bite down on his tongue. A change of subject was needed immediately before he tried to lunge for that fireplace poker to whack her in the face with it, or just curse her out in any way possible.

“What do you mean you smelled it?” Ethan instead asked quietly, mindful of Rose conked out in his arms. “The clothes, I mean?”

Dimitrescu blinked and then looked at him as though he had said something very stupid. “I meant exactly what I said. The moment you first entered this room I could smell that malodorous amalgam of horseflesh and manure waft off you that, for a moment, I had thought you had rolled around in a hay bale beforehand.”

“Oh.” He blinked. “Right.” Because that made sense. Perfectly understandable.

She had somehow managed to smell that across from the room? Ethan himself had only noticed it once he put the clothes on, and even then it had mostly been concealed by the sharp scent of cleaning detergent. He couldn’t stink that badly. Hopefully. Ethan gave a tentative sniff at his shoulder.

Dimitrescu smiled at him and her teeth were so very white and sharp. “How do you think I found you two so easily?” She asked him and the way she said it almost seemed like a tease, only Ethan felt like he’d been dunked in cold water. His hands trembled and the taste of iron flooded his mouth as his stomach threatened to come up. Fuck, not now.

“C-Can you take her?” Ethan asked her, holding out his daughter towards her. Dimitrescu’s eyebrows raised in surprise at the sudden offer, but she took the precious bundle easily. Giving up Rosemary was like parting with a limb, and Ethan would know that from personal experience. His stomach was roiling and it felt like his heart was about to burst out of his chest. 

“Hello there,” the noblewoman cooed softly, her smile stretched wide as she easily cradled his daughter in one arm.

“Do you promise you’ll take care of her?” He asks. There were flashes in his vision now, threatening to overtake him but Ethan held on. He had to know.

Dimitrescu has been nothing but perfectly polite. Cold, yes, bitchy, without a doubt, but polite. But she looked at Rosemary with what looked like love and had been nothing but gentle with her. Rosemary needed gentle right now, because right now Ethan couldn’t be that for her. Already his nerves began to unravel like a frayed string. 

“Of course.” 

Ethan believed her. He had to.

There was still far too much in between them, far too much fear and mistrust, and yet, Ethan knows that his daughter was safer with Dimitrescu than she would be with him at this moment. 

“There is a deep sadness to you, Ethan Winters,” Dimitrescu noted, still distracted as she rocked Rosemary in her sleep. 

He cannot help but laugh at that, and it was a sharp, bitter thing. He laughed and sobbed, tears pooling while bile built high in his throat, rising up to his teeth. “You could say that.” He barely managed past the scream threatening to escape past his teeth. His body was beginning to shiver and he felt so cold now that Rosemary wasn’t in his hands, like Dimitrescu had taken his warmth just as she had taken his daughter. There were spots of light flashing in his vision as the edges went a little fuzzy, and Ethan swore he could smell the rot curdling in his nose and clotting against the back of his teeth. 

His wife was dead. Again. Only this time Ethan knew it for sure. Last time there hadn’t been a body and still, some small part of him that hadn’t broken had dared to hope. It had been that small, desperate hope that had him driving across the state to Dulvey when common sense told him to let it go or at the very least to alert the proper authorities. This time there wasn’t anything like that, because he’d seen Mia die himself. 

“Since you shall be remaining here, there are, of course, certain duties you are expected to perform.” Dimitrescu, who hadn’t noticed his growing panic, began. “My family has a ne-”

There was static in his ears that overwhelmed his senses that drowned out the rest of Dimitrescu’s words.

“We’re going to be a family - now that you’re here.”

Oh god, his family.

He can’t -

            -

                      He can’t breathe.

Dimitrescu finally looked up and seemed to realize that something was wrong. “Mr. Winters?” She asked him, voice surprisingly soft, but Ethan didn’t even hear her.

Ethan just stares at her, struggling to focus as his breathing falters and stutters in his chest like there is something thick and tacky in his lungs. God, it was so hard to breathe. 

“I’d like to be alone now.” Ethan rasps, barely managing to get the words out. 

“... I see that you are a bit too preoccupied for anything more.” Lady Dimitrescu notes, sounding a tad displeased. “I suppose that we shall have to postpone the rest until tomorrow, yes?”

His throat felt like it was swelling until it became hard to swallow. His pulse was pounding in his ears like there was a war drum. Only vaguely is he aware that Lady Dimitrescu has risen back to her feet with Rosemary tucked easily in one arm. She says something to him again, only Ethan can’t really make out the words because they are washed over by the roaring in his head. Something about a maid? And then she’s gone.

He’s finally left alone for what feels like so long.

And, finally, Ethan Winters breaks.

Not slowly, not gently, but completely.

He breaks.

Mia was dead and this time it was for real.

Because Chris had –

He had just –

                          - just shot -

Mia!

The sound when those bullets had slammed into her had sounded like

                -like metal piercing through meat -

The box that he had thrown in all his feelings, everything that he had shoved away as he had focused on finding his daughter, finally opened like Pandora’s Box to unleash all the emotions he had strangled down.

The world around him began to blur as tears finally fell freely. 

“Damn you, Chris,” Ethan whispers underneath his breath, even as it hitches in his raw throat. “Damn you, damn you, damn you.” It becomes a mantra, a rallying cry, a curse, a broken sob.

He can’t breathe.

He can’t fucking breathe.

There was a deep sadness to Ethan Winters, Alcina has decided. A sorrow that has burrowed itself so deep that it cracked open one’s very bones to cling inside the marrow like a stubborn splinter. 

But the man loves his daughter. Alcina could see that, clear as day. The way he had immediately focused his attention on the infant, how all the worry and that delicious fear had immediately been swept away in a maelstrom of emotion as he all but ran to Alcina’s little girl. It was clear by the way he held her, curling himself over her like a shield and a shelter all at once, how tears slipped down his cheeks as he pressed kisses and assurances of love across her face. 

Ethan Winters loved his child. Truly, entirely and without hesitation.

Alcina had watched the man dote on her Rose with a genuine curiosity. The odd man-thing has surprised her, Alcina was a tad baffled to realize. In all honesty, she hadn’t truly known why she had shown such tender mercy when she had scooped him up from the bloody tarmac. His scent had coaxed her, the sweet taste of his blood had aroused something within her that had never been felt before. He had been an oddity, a curiosity, at best.

Only now… now…Well, what an interesting creature Ethan Winters was. 

Already Alcina’s mind is whirring at this new development, old assumptions thrown away as she plans a new course of action. Perhaps there are more uses for the man-thing than just his ambrosial blood.

Ethan Winters loved his daughter. Alcina saw this, had witnessed the raw, vulnerable love that had crept into his eyes and had seeped through his tears, and wondered. Already plans were forming in her mind’s eye, but she held off for now. She needed to know more before committing to anything. There was still much to be discussed, and so Alcina allowed herself to wait for the man to speak with a gracious patience that had been borne from raising three strong-minded, mischievous children. 

As she waited, she couldn’t help but breathe in through her nose and let the man’s scent envelop her tongue and she smiled to herself. Even underneath that disgusting, cloying scent of barnyard stink, the man’s blood still sang to her senses. Without the scent of dead man-thing about them, his scent was absolutely tantalizing by how it danced across her taste buds as though it were to burst with flavor like one of her vineyard grapes. Oh, how she desired a taste! 

Only, it seemed that everything had promptly become all too much for the supposed human.

Alcina could hear his heart quickening, could smell the panic and anger and grief come off him to curl in her nose which quickly scrunched up from displeasure. Ugh, grief always did such devilish things to blood that simply fouled its taste. Fear at least gave a bit of bite to the flavor, a little extra oomph. Grief thickened the taste in a way that made it seem almost oily by how it practically stuck in one’s teeth like gristle.

The man tried to compose himself well enough, but Alcina could see it was a losing battle by how the scent of his despair mixed with the faint salty traces of tears that had begun to slip from the corner of his eyes. 

Alcina can be kind. She can be considerate.

Ethan Winters was still rather weak that even a simple bloodletting might do too much damage. He had only just awoken and had shown from that silly stunt before that he was still wounded. Not to mention the man-thing has thoughtlessly muddled the ambrosia-like quality of his blood with his overwhelming grief. 

In time. She will have him in time.

It still galled her that the man seemed like he wasn’t paying attention to her.

“I see that you are a bit too preoccupied for anything more. I suppose that we shall have to postpone the rest until tomorrow, yes?”

Alcina kept her tone perfectly calm and level, a necessity when it came to public courtesies. It wouldn’t do for the drudge and laity to see a Dimitrescu lose their composure. After all, a Dimitrescu must always carry herself with grace and poise, even in the face of Ethan Winters’ irritating lack of gratitude. 

“Once you have calmed yourself a maid will be waiting outside to show you to your quarters. See to it, Mr. Winters, that you come to see me on the morrow so that we may discuss your place within my home.”

Winters didn’t answer her, didn’t even seem like he even heard her. His pupils were wide-blown and his entire body seemed to tremble.

Bothered though she was by the man’s inherent rudeness, Alcina is still gracious enough to allow the man to mourn in peace. And so she left Ethan Winters to his fit of hysteria. No doubt Rose, no, Rosemary , will be thankful that her rest wasn’t disturbed. 

“Rosemary, hmmm?” Alcina cooed down at her daughter, brushing a gloved finger against the curve of the slumbering infant’s soft cheek. “So that’s your name then, little one?” 

The child simply slept on, one tiny hand pressed into her mouth. Alcina practically melted at how cutely she slept and how beautiful the sight of Rose nestled in the safety of her arms was. It was time for her to be put to bed though.

Pressing the side of Rosemary’s head against her breast, Alcina cupped the exposed ear with her hand to have both ears covered. “Daniela!” Alcina called out for her daughter, letting her voice carry in the air. That done with, she resettled the babe in her arms as she waited for the red-head to appear.

Within a minute, a swarm appeared from Alcina’s left to quickly take form in the shape of her daughter. “Mother, Rosie!” Daniela greeted them happily, striding up to them both. “Ooh, is it the little one’s bedtime? How lucky it is that I don’t have to-”

Her daughter’s excited ramble broke off suddenly when Daniela’s nostrils flared slightly, the pupils of her eyes widening just a touch as she leaned her head forward with a larger than normal sniff. Her head turned away from her mother to instead face down the hallway or, rather, towards one specific door, as she breathed in through her mouth again.

“Daniela...” Alcina begins to warn her, recognizing that stance.

“Oh, you were right, Mother…” The redhead exhaled with a dreamy smile. “He smells absolutely delicious! Can’t I play with him?” Daniela asked, wrapping herself around her mother’s arm to tuck her elfin chin against the soft spot in the crook of Alcina’s elbow, one ghostly pale finger gently brushing against Rose’s cheek in greeting. Her daughter’s wide, golden eyes stared up at her from beneath fluttering eyelashes, her black-stained lips pursed upwards in a soft, sweet smile.

“No, Daniela…” Alcina’s voice lowered into a low, thundering growl that rumbles deep in her chest. Her Dani was such a sweet child, but so mischievous. If Cassandra was Alcina’s fierce she-wolf, then Daniela was her wile vixen.

Her daughter sighed tragically but nodded her head to her mother’s demands. One might think that would be it, only Daniela’s smile is far too innocent for all the mischief twinkling in her eyes. Alcina cannot help but look at her daughter with suspicion.

Her Daniela was such a sweet, tender thing, but her hunger was simply insatiable. How Alcina wished she could trust the redhead entirely when it came to these matters, only there had been many a time where Daniela had quickly sated herself on fresh blood. She was still a tad too impulsive in her young age.

It was only then that Alcina finally noticed that there was a slightly distressed, pinched furrow between Daniela’s brows from where they had knitted together and how Daniela’s smile had left.

“Oh, Dani, my darling girl...” Alcina cupped her daughter’s cheek, her thumb gently brushing against the high rise of her cheekbone as though to physically bring back her beautiful smile. “What is it, my dearest? Are you hurt?” Dread pooled deep in Alcina’s gut as her heart seized. “Are you cold?”

“Nothing like that, Mother.” Daniela laughed softly, her own pale hand rising up to rest against the massive hand as reassurance. Her smile returned, if a tad dimmer than normal, though the eye roll she gave was just as dramatic as always. “Just, well, it’s Bela and Cassandra again.” 

Alcina couldn’t help but frown at that. “Oh dear, don’t tell me they are arguing again?”

Daniela simply shrugged. “It’s been a long winter.” Her daughter couldn’t hide the frustration in her tone well enough, and Alcina’s gut dropped again. It wasn’t fair for her darlings to be cooped up for a whole season, unable to freely roam about the grounds… oh, how Alcina burned with frustration, utterly helpless in this one thing to protect them from.

“-and you know how Cass gets.” Daniela had continued on and Alcina’s attention snapped back to her daughter. 

Alcina tried to smile, though it was a tad strained. “Oh, I’m well aware.” Bela tended to do well in winter by dedicating her free time to her studies. Cassandra, on the other hand, tended to make messes. Daniela didn’t do well either.

Her daughter seemed to have picked up on her mother’s mood. The girl’s own frustration melted away as she hugged her mother even tighter in comfort. “I’m sorry, Mother. I didn’t mean to trouble you.” 

“No, darling, you are always welcome to tell me anything.” Alcina cupped her daughter’s face again, pressing a soft kiss against the tattooed sigil that rested between her daughter’s brows. “Mothers will always worry after their children.”

Her daughter sighed aloud, nuzzling her cheek against Alcina’s touch like a cat seeking comfort. The soft buzzing of a thousand wings fluttering about in contentment that hummed and thrummed throughout the hallway, a distinctive biological quirk that attested her daughter’s satisfaction. The lump in Alcina’s throat eased as she pressed another kiss against Dani’s forehead.

“Why don’t you take your sister back to my chambers. It is high time for her to be put down for bed.” Alcina transferred the sleeping babe over to the redhead who eagerly gathered her sister in her arms. “And, Daniela, that does mean straight to bed.” Alcina makes sure to remind her daughter firmly. Daniela was a girl often taken in by flights of fancy, indulging in distractions and diversions. “No detours, is that understood?”

“Aww, Mother!” Daniela complained, all previous tension gone from her as she smiled cheekily if still a bit strained. “I still haven’t shown the little one all my favorite places in the West Win-”

“Daniela.”

“Yes, yes, fine, fine. Shall we fly, Rosie?” Daniela snickered at that before pressing a soft kiss against the golden curls of the babe’s head. In a fit of giggles, her daughter’s form began to collapse into the swarm of flies, the clothed bundle carefully buoyed and kept afloat and stable despite Daniela’s sudden disappearance. 

“No running in the hallways!” Alcina cannot help but call out, only Daniela had long since turned the corner in a wisp of fluttering cloth and beating wings; a soft, delightful giggle echoing against the walls before fading away. Alcina herself can do nothing but sigh aloud; a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Her youngest has always been so capable of raising her spirits. Daniela has always been such a bright, lovely thing; even when Alcina had pulled her from the dreadful snow all those many years ago. 

The sudden soft sound of footsteps against velvet carpeting brought Alcina out of her memories. She turned around, a tad surprised to see a young, flaxen-haired maiden slowly walking up towards her, diminutive pale hands trembling softly. 

“My Lady,” the tiny thing squeaks aloud. It is the sheer novelty of a newer, fresh-faced maid speaking up without prompt at all that even draws Alcina’s attention enough to direct her molten gaze down upon the human. The maiden, though outwardly seeming to show a brave face, still trembled slightly at the shoulders and hands. “Shall I…” The little creature swallowed nervously, and Alcina couldn’t help but tilt her head to the side just a tad. The blonde maiden seemingly found her courage as she quietly asked. “Shall I clean up, Lady Dimitrescu?” 

Alcina raised a well-sculpted brow at the peculiar question. What an odd little mouse, she thought to herself, a tad bemused. “That is your job, is it not?”

The girl flinched and looked rather green around the gills. “Y-Yes, my Lady. I’ll fetch the buckets and rags.”

A tad odd when only the table had been disturbed, but Alcina could appreciate such dedication to perfection. Still, she would do a gesture of good faith for Winters and let him keep his solitude.

“You will have to wait for some time. Mr. Winters has a small case of the vapors and needs privacy, but when he emerges show him to his quarters.”

The maiden blinked once and then began to blink rapidly, her mouth opened as though to say something before slamming shut. The blonde quickly recovered and bent her head down low as she murmured quietly, but politely. “Yes, my Lady.” The maid curtseyed low, her pale eyes downcast. 

“See to it.” Alcina was already turning away from the conversation to walk down the hallway in the vague direction of where Daniela had initially come from. Hopefully, she would be able to quickly pinpoint where in the castle Cassandra and Bela were.

Alcina hoped her eldest girls weren’t truly quarreling with one another again. At that thought, the Dimitrescu matriarch couldn’t help but sigh aloud knowing all too well what her older daughters were like. There was no doubt that the two were indeed butting heads. No doubt the sound of their raised voices would serve as her guiding compass. 

Alcina’s children could be such stubborn, tempestuous girls. Her Daniela might be a sweet, tender creature who rarely challenged things, but Bela and Cassandra had more fiery temperaments that have long since led to the two butting heads for decades. Usually, it was either Alcina herself or, if she were not around, Daniela who served as the mediator between the two’s quickened tempers.

All she could do was hope that no damage had been done to whatever room her eldest children had decided to take their passion out upon. She had only just barely managed to have one of the servants patch up the broken door in the western library a month or so ago! 

There was the sudden distinct sound of something heavy and ceramic breaking far up ahead of her. Alcina hurried her pace, agitation crawling through her skin. 

She desperately needed a cigarette after having to deal with Ethan Winters’ rudeness. 

Chapter Text

The Baker family guesthouse was an absolute hell pit, and Ethan meant that from the very bottom of his heart. It was a fucking shithole from front to center to backside, and he was simply the unlucky one who had to fucking deal with it all. He was the one who had to creep through the derelict hallways that stank wetly of rotting wood and decaying flesh, all the while hoping to God that nothing lunged at him from the shadows.

The hallway Ethan was now in was a place where the floorboards groaned underneath his feet no matter how carefully he stepped, shrieking and screaming like the victim of a slaughterhouse no matter what he did. Somehow this place was even more worn down than the main house, with the wallpaper around him dull and stained from water-logged plaster. Or was it blood? 

It could be blood.

It could very, very likely be blood. 

God, there was just so much blood in this place. So much so that it barely made sense that it all could fit in these cramped hallways, even as thick and swollen with festering bodies that were just waiting to pop up like oncoming zits on an oily-faced teenager. The Mold had spread and festered all along the walkways to leave behind disgusting brown stains that could have belonged to any rorschach test. It crept through every panel, snuck through every piece of plaster. It left its mark against every surface, every corner, every bit and piece of the house.

Ethan walked slowly and carefully, breath shuttering in the back of his throat as he crept forward while glancing around warily, the flashlight in his hand the only stable source of light while the gun in his other hand served as a pitiful comfort. Ears pricked, the man flinched suddenly, weapon held up, when the surroundings creaked and groaned around him like a dying man. Like the bellyaching of some massive creature that has swallowed him whole.

For one wild moment all Ethan could even think of was his Christian, God-fearing mother telling him the story of the Book of Jonah, from which the Hebrew prophet had been devoured whole and trapped within the belly of the water beast for three whole days and three entire nights until the gargantuan creature had spat the man back out onto shore.

Would that Ethan could convince this disgusting, water-logged bayou to spit him out of danger like the whale had done to Jonah. 

Only, Ethan has never been so lucky as to convince anything to leave him alone. If his mother were still alive and saw what her son was walking through currently, no doubt she’d be convinced it was hell on earth.

And it was. 

Hell.

Absolute Hell.

Ethan Winters was in Hell. 

He’d seen so much. Had seen so many bodies and pieces of bodies that now the man barely even blinked an eye when he stumbled across a mostly rotten corpse. The only thought he even gave towards it was if it was still alive and kicking, but when it didn’t move, didn’t so much as twitch -

It was just

             just

                                 just dead, rotting meat

A few days ago before all this, Ethan wouldn’t have even believed it. He wouldn’t have believed that he could walk past the rotten, decomposed shell of what had once been a human being with barely a flicker of a glance, with nothing but the passing thought of ‘good riddance.’

Oh, God… what has this place done to him?

He was in Hell. He had to be. 

This was Hell on Earth, and he was simply one of the early entrants. Not the first, but certainly not the last. 

Ethan moved on slowly through the damp, disgusting hallways of the guesthouse with the pistol held up and his index finger ready on the trigger. 

Mentally calculating all the bullets that he had used up, Ethan cursed under his breath. He had, fuck, what even was it, five shots, six shots, left?

Not enough. It wasn’t even nearly enough. 

The shotgun on his back was completely empty, and all Ethan had on him that was useful was the pistol and his knife. It had taken around that many shots to the face to kill those nightmare monsters and Jack hadn’t even so much as blinked when Ethan had unloaded an entire clip right up against his balding temple.

What the hell was Jack’s wife going to be like then? 

Ethan flinched as the wooden surrounding around him creaked and groaned around him again. 

Just the foundation settling, Ethan reassured himself, heart thumping so hard he could feel it beating against the back of his teeth. The handgun, which was so dangerously low on ammo, was a cold comfort in his hand.

Ethan tried his best to breathe, only it caught against the back of his throat.

Fuck, he couldn’t do this.

Ethan wheezed for breath, his vision darkening as the walls began to close in around him. Creeping, crawling, coming ever-closer like a fucking shadow sneaking up behind its occupant, tendrils warping and twitching impatiently to wrap around a vulnerable throat.

Oh, fuck.

Ethan tried to ignore the panic blurring the edges of his brain, the terror burning bright in his chest. But, God, it was so hard. It was so fucking hard to find reality amongst the crimson fragments in his fucked up brain.

The walls were moving, shifting, closing in.

And Ethan could only just clutch onto his handgun, bile rising up high in his throat to coat the back of his teeth, and all he could do was pray to whatever deity there was left that things would quieten.

Only Ethan has never been that lucky. 

The walls were just as much an enemy as anything else in this fucked up southern plantation hellscape he had stupidly trapped himself in. 

The walls hadn’t stopped Jack.

The walls hadn’t stopped whatever the fuck those mold monsters breeding in the corners had been. 

But Ethan had to keep going. 

He needed that stupid fucking lantern. The stupid fucking lantern that was clutched in the hand of Marguerite ‘Call me Mama, darling’ Baker.

Fuck. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t fucking do this.

But he had to.

Mia needed him; she was counting on him.

And he remembered a grainy, shaky video from an old camcorder. Terrible video quality, terrible audio, but it had been Mia’s face, his supposedly dead wife’s face, that had made him watch on, something deep in him desperate and aching."Ethan, baby. All I can say is that if you get this…” And then the video and audio had cut out. And Ethan has just stared at the screen in a daze, half-convinced that what he had seen had been some sort of fever dream. But he had looked further, had gone further, had searched and searched until it had all pointed at the small town of Dulvey, Louisiana.

And everything had changed.

Mia was counting on him, she needed him

                              only -

                                         the world changed

“You really shouldn’t have come here, city boy... “ A soft, husky voice sighed out over the landline, her accent thick and heavy with a Southern twang. “My name’s Zoe. There should be a way out through the attic. Go there, now!”

And then soon enough even Zoe was counting on him, and it was her fucked up family - but they hadn’t always been fucked up, had they?- that Ethan was trying to get through in the first place.

God, how did this all even start? Why the fuck had Ethan even come here with nothing but a fucking pocket knife and no fucking clue as to what was waiting for him?

“Welcome to the family, son!”

Jack’s fist had punched straight into his face, hard enough to crumple the cartilage in his nose and had probably broken something in his jaw right before the man’s muddy boots had stomped straight against Ethan’s neck.

He didn’t quite remember anything else after that.

He remembered floating in space, his head swimming and his heart thumping slowly, the faint sensation of being dragged by his heel while his back dug against old worn wooden floorboards. 

He remembered waking up slowly, if barely. He remembered waking up at a kitchen table surrounded by people he didn't know, his left arm aching even as his eyes had glanced over the ugly staple marks where they had stapled his arm back together, Jesus Christ.

God, Ethan was such a fucking idiot.

Fuck, he was still wearing his business casual clothes from the office. What the fuck was he even thinking coming here?

But what else could he do when he’d finally, finally, found some sort of link to Mia?

He’d found Mia easily enough, closed up as she was behind a padded cell with a thick chain and padlock keeping her holed up tight. Ethan should have questioned that bit, should have thought a bit further on just why Mia was locked up behind bars despite her small, slim frame. Fuck, he really should have thought ahead before he had even stepped one foot on that cursed, haunted bayou land.

But Ethan has never been a smart man now, has he?

He never has been, for all that Ethan wishes he could have.

“I’m dead, Ethan!” Mia had howled, her veins blackening as the rot crept along her sallow, fevered skin like a corpse, with that knife in hand as she stalked forward with wild eyes. “I can never leave!” She had wailed at him, tears bursting in the corners of her red-rimmed eyes, before she had leapt and Ethan had - 

                     Ethan had swung the axe

                              had felt it connect and dig into flesh and bone

only Mia had just screamed all the louder as the terrible wound that had cut through her jaw fixed itself in moments; and then she was on him again, nails scratching and clawing at him like dulled scalpels. 

But then the axe had gone in - through- her neck, and Ethan would never forget that raspy, wispy sound as Mia had tried to breathe and the air had just gone through the hole in her throat -like a fucking goddamn whistle - and how life had returned to her skin and the wild look in her eyes faded away as she fell on her back, but not before she had reached for him as she crashed on the floorboards. 

He will never forget the sound of metal slicing through meat and cartilage. That horrible, wet gasp of startled surprise. 

Ethan will never forget the feeling of that axe going through his wife’s neck.

It was a noise and feeling and a sight that had burned itself into his very soul.

“We’re going to be a family - now that you’re here.”

Oh, God.

“Why can’t you just accept Her Gift!?”

Oh God, he’d never be free.

Only then

               then

“I’m Redfield.” The soldier, the one from the radio, had taken off his helmet and had held out his hand to help pick Ethan up off the ground and, for the first time in so very long, Ethan had felt safe.“I’m glad we found you.”

                                 Ethan opened his mouth to say something back to the soldier -

                                                  the world changed 

Ethan was on the phone - a burner, with no way to trace either side, and the BSAA monitoring every single second of contact- and there had been a tiny little click! as the line connected.

“... You didn’t forget about me.” Zoe had sounded to be near tears, and Ethan had clutched the phone so tight he thought it’d break in his hand. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, about how of course he hadn’t forgotten. He’d said something like that, hadn’t he? He’d told her, right?

                    Ethan opened his mouth -

“Mia’s pregnant. It’s going to be a girl.” The words came out instead, even though that conversation had been two years later.“I wanted to ask you something, something important. We’re still thinking of a name, we really like the name Rosemary, but Mia and I both agreed that we already know what our daughter’s middle name should be. A name belonging to someone who kept her parents alive and safe.”

“Ethan- '' Zoe had tried to interrupt, but he had steamrolled right through her. Because this? What he had wanted to ask her? It meant more than anything, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. 

“Rosemary Zoe Winters has a nice ring to it, right?” He’d told her, trying to smile.“Sounds so fancy and sophisticated, yeah? Maybe we’ll add those two dots on the ‘e’ to really sell it.”

“... You’re such a sap,” Zoe had told him then, and Ethan could easily imagine her rolling her eyes at him. God, he wished he could just see her face to face. Just to see her, to thank her, to grab ahold and never let go. Such a sentimental sap that I can’t even believe you’ve gotten this far in life. Honestly, Ethan…” She’d said, and he had listened to every word, clung to it like a lifeline.

Ethan couldn’t quite remember what exactly he had said to Zoe then, only that whatever it was had sent the Dulvey resident into a quick fit of laughter. Ethan remembered that, at least. Her laughter. Those thick, shuddering hiccups of breath as she tried to reign herself in. He’d never heard Zoe laugh genuinely until a year after Dulvey.

“... Does that make me Auntie Zoe, then?” She’d asked him then, and her voice had been so soft.

Ethan remembered smiling so hard it had hurt his cheeks.“Yeah. Yeah, I think you’d be a good aunt. The cool fun aunt who bails her niece out of jail, no questions asked… but please tell me if you ever have to bail my kid out of the drunk tank.”

“I dunno, Ethan.” God, he could hear the smile in her voice. “That seems to go against the cool aunt code. Most likely you’ll be the one to bail her out, ‘cause I’ll be in there right beside her no doubt. Gotta keep up the image of being the cool aunt and all.”

God, Zoe. How had he ever lived without her? She’d saved him, saved Mia, so many times that he couldn’t even count them all. His love for her was so different from his love for Mia, but it was a strong love nonetheless. Maybe it was a love he might have known had he ever had a little sister. Zoe Baker certainly fit the bill considering how she had saved his ass time and time again.

“Guess I’ll just have to start getting my bail money ready,” Ethan had teased her, smiling so brightly that it had twisted something painful in his chest. “I can’t wait, Zoe.” His voice cracked just the smallest amount, and Zoe picked up on it.

“You alright, Ethan?”

“I’m fucking terrified, Zoe.” Ethan had confided in her, clutching the phone tightly. The next words that came out were something he never would have dared said to Mia. But Zoe was different. “What if I fuck her up? I can barely get through the week without waking Mia up screaming bloody murder, and now there’s going to be a baby thrown into the mix? What if…” the next words were like cement in his throat, but he needed to get this out, needed to say it, needed Zoe to hear it and tell him how it was. Zoe never cut him any slack, but she didn’t give him bullshit either. He trusted her more than anyone, more than that BSAA shrink and even more than Mia. “What if I hurt her?”

“Oh, Ethan…” Zoe’s voice had gone so very gentle. “You would never. She’s your little girl.”

I killed a little girl, Ethan had thought to himself then, had wanted to say it to her, but was too much of a coward to voice it aloud. It was a thought that has stuck with him even since Dulvey had ended, a shameful thought, something almost traitorous considering all the shit Mia and Zoe had gone through, but it had stuck with him nonetheless. 

Evie had been a monster, but she had still been an eight year old who didn’t know any better. No one had taught her love or empathy, so of course she had turned out like that. She’d just been a kid who would never get to grow older; a kid who had never gotten to know better, to be better… 

That was a thought Ethan had never shared with anyone. Not Mia. Not the BSAA and their shrinks. Not Chris. Not even Zoe. It was a carefully kept secret that he didn’t have the courage to voice aloud.

“Have you talked to Mia about this?” For all that she didn’t have the entire truth, Zoe could tell something was bothering him.

“No. God, no. Fuck, Zoe… it’s just…” Ethan had begun, had tried to find some way to explain it all so easily. He never had quite managed that. “It’s just every time I try to bring up Dulvey... every time I try to bring up anything about it and something in her almost dies. I mention the name, fuck I even just hint at it, and something in her just crumbles and closes off… What am I supposed to do, Zoe? Mia won’t tell me anything about what happened to her in those two years, or how she had even gotten there in the first place, she won’t even so much as hint at it. And every time I try to ask, every time I try to be understanding, it’s like taking three feet back. And now Mia’s pregnant, and we’re going to have a fucking baby? How can I not fuck this up, Zoe?”

“You’ll do a fine job, Ethan,” Zoe told him firmly, and he clung on to her every word. “You’re too sweet not to be. I can’t wait to hold her.”

They’d both known on that call that’d Zoe would never get to hold the baby, much less be fun Auntie Zoe, but neither of them had said anything. The distance between them, a whole ocean, and the threat of the Connections finding them… no, Zoe would only ever get to see someone who bore her name through photos that would have to be destroyed immediately. 

No traces, no risk.

“You’re going to be a great dad, Ethan.” Zoe had shifted on her feet then; the sound fizzling as the receiver bushed up against her cheek. Their time was almost up. “So you take care of yourself and your family now, ya hear? Keep Mia and your baby girl close. Chris’ll keep you safe.”

Chris?

                                     Ethan opened his mouth

                    the world changed

“Chris!?”

“Sorry, Ethan.”

                           BANG!

Ethan woke up with a gasp, jerking up from the cushions with one hand swinging wildly and the other clutching close to his neck.

“A dream…. Just a dream…” He told himself, lied to himself.

His hands were trembling so much that Ethan couldn’t quite make his fingers work the way he wanted them to. His hands just spasm and clench when he tries to form tight fists, and a laugh bubbles through his tight throat, half-laugh and half-sob.

“Oh, God…” He moaned, clawing at his hair with his hands. Everything around him was spinning wildly, and his nose scrunched up at the acrid smell of stale vomit and sweat. His stomach clenched painfully, completely empty from when he’d violently thrown up last night. “Zoe…” He whispered, tears building in the corners of his eyes. He’d thought he’d cried so much last night that he’d never be able to form another tear again, and yet here he was. 

Had Chris sent his operatives to take her out too? Ethan didn’t know where she was, only that she was still somewhere in the States and that she had found a job in journalism. He had no fucking clue where she was holed up, had no way to reach her without the BSAA. 

“Fuck. Fuck!"  Ethan screamed, slamming a fist against the couch cushion. 

When was the last time he had talked to Zoe on the phone? When was the last time he had heard her voice, had known for sure that she was alive and not wasting away in some ditch or being cut open in a sterile lab?

It’d been a few weeks ago, Ethan remembered. Just before Rosemary’s six-month celebration where Mia’s face had been smeared in icing and Chris had smiled and -

“Fuck,” Ethan punched at the couch cushion again, chest heaving for breath. “Fucking shit fuck!”

Zoe had sounded fine. Ethan told himself that over and over, trying to calm down. 

She’d sounded tired and had bitched to high heaven about her editor, but that had been normal considering what a piece of work the guy was. Hell, it has become so customary for Zoe to cuss out her editor that Ethan had known enough to bitch about the guy as well. Their conversations had so many swearwords swapped back and forth that Ethan’s mother, had she still been alive and made aware of their conversations, would have shoved hard soap into their mouths. Ethan wracked his numbed brain. Had there been any cues from her that something wasn’t right?

“... Fuck…” Tears pooled in the corner of his eyes that he stubbornly swiped away with the back of his hand. “Zoe…”

He had no way to get into contact with her. He didn’t even know what state she was in, much less a phone number. Was the BSAA watching her? Had they killed her too?

No. No, she had to still be alive. There would be people who would notice if she disappeared, Ethan reassured himself, hands trembling as they gripped at his hair so tight that they ripped out strands. Her co-workers, her hardass boss. Too many eyes. They can’t just kill her.

Not like Ethan and Mia, who had been placed in a foreign country with no contact to their old world. No one who would notice if they were suddenly gone. In hindsight, Ethan had to bitterly admit that maybe that was why the BSAA had sent them to Romania in the first place. It was laughably easy to get rid of them without anyone noticing their disappearance... Except Zoe. 

Zoe would get suspicious when the next phone call didn’t go through. God, he hoped that the girl wouldn’t start looking into it. He laughed bitterly, almost choking on it. It was Zoe Baker, of course she was going to look into it and get herself into deep trouble.

Ethan rubbed a hand over his face. “Shit…” He cursed quietly, leaning his head to rest against his knees. 

His whole body was shaking. The nightmare had brought back too many memories, too many reminders, that it was hard to focus on anything else. Ethan swore he could taste the Mold on the back of his tongue.

Maybe it was the dream that was making him think of it, but a small thought kept popping up in his head. The call with Zoe about Rosemary, about the idea of her being a namesake, brought back another memory.

If Rosemary had been a boy, there had been another call he would have made. Only instead of Zoe, the call would have been to someone else. Someone else who had helped him and saved Mia and him from certain death. Someone Ethan would have trusted with his own life. Had Rosemary been a boy, for all that Zoe would have still become the fun cool aunt, Ethan’s phone call would have been directed towards Chris Redfield instead. And Ethan would have asked… 

Holy shit.

Ethan would have named his firstborn after Chris Redfield.

Bile rose up in the back of his throat, threatening to spill out past his teeth as Ethan lurched on the couch, trembling hands rising to quell his trembling belly. Oh, God…

Oh fuck, he’s going to be sick again. 

There is a soft knock at the door that violently tore him out of his thoughts. “Mr. Winters?” A soft, feminine voice came through the thick hardwood. “Are you awake, sir?”

Ethan stared blankly at the door, trying to remember how to speak. God, his head hurt so much. “... Yes?” he rasped out, voice scratchy like he’d swallowed gravel.

The door opened and a dark-haired maid stepped through. Older than Larisa, probably in her mid-twenties. There was a tiny scar that split her left eyebrow. 

“Sorry for throwing up last night,” Ethan apologizes weakly. He barely remembered anything after Dimitrescu had left him alone, aside from the surety that he was going to suffocate from his sobs, but he did faintly remember throwing up on the floor at one point. At least he had missed the carpet. 

He did faintly remember Larisa coming in last night and telling him about a bedroom or something along the lines of that, but Ethan had been so out of it that he’d just screamed at her until she’d left. 

“There is no need to apologize.” The girl told him, shrugging her petite shoulders in a ‘what can you do?’ manner. “Lady Dimitrescu instructed us that we are to welcome you within the castle properly.” 

Ethan just stared at her. There was a buzzing in his ears. His eyes were so dry and crusted-over with gunk that it hurt to blink. His mind feels like it is a few seconds behind his body, too exhausted and numb to even begin to care about paying attention.

“Sir?” The maid asked him, fidgeting with her hands. 

Ethan felt like he was underwater and watching this whole thing three feet outside his body.

“Where’s my daughter?” Ethan finally managed a sentence.

The girl blinked at him a few times, almost like she wasn’t quite sure how to respond. For a moment, there was just this awkward staredown between Ethan, who could barely keep himself awake, and this new girl.

“I believe she is with the Countess, sir.” The brunette told him quietly. 

Right. The big scary lady with the hat. Ethan remembered that at least.

“-with me?” The maid had asked him something.

Ethan had caught absolutely none of that, so he just stared at her blankly. “.... Sorry, but I don't know your name.” He finally managed to say.

“... Gabriela,” the maid told him, still looking at him oddly as though he was the weird one. “My name is Gabriela.”

“Gabriela,” Ethan tested the name out on his tongue. “Nice to meet you, I guess. I’m Ethan.” He held out his hand instinctively, his body simply going through the motions without him behind the wheel. “Ethan Winters.”

The girl took his hand cautiously, looking at him like he was some feral cat waiting to bite her and leave behind some sort of deadly parasitic disease. “A pleasure, Mr. Winters,” Gabriela told him quietly. “Would you kindly follow me, sir?” 

Ethan couldn’t help the pang of annoyance that flared through him at the vagueness. He was getting really tired of that.

“Look, I’ve had a rough couple of days.” Ethan told her shortly. “So spare me the niceness and just tell me what you want.”

“Lady Dimitrescu ordered us to bring you to the tailor when it was first available to you,” Gabriela explained. “I understand that you have had nothing to wear but Marius’ spares?”

Ethan had no clue who Marius was, but assumed it was whoever it was that Ethan was currently borrowing clothes from, down to his boxer shorts.

“Yeah?” He ventured a guess, still watching her warily. For all he knew, she’d just burst into a swarm of vicious spiders dedicated to eating him alive. It’s happened before. 

“Lady Dimitrescu requested that you be fitted and sized for an appropriate wardrobe.”

“What? Why?”

Gabriela fiddled with her hands timidly. Ethan tried to not get annoyed but, Jesus Christ what was with these maids?

“Irina thought it best not to ask the Countess. We’ve summoned the town tailor, if you’d kindly follow me, sir. Please.” 

Fuck it. Why not at this point?

He got up on his feet, trying not to groan when it felt like every joint in his spine popped. 

She smiled at him with relief. “Thank you, sir.”

“You can just call me Ethan,” he told her as he followed the maid out of the room.

The tailor, an old woman with silver-streaked hair and wrinkled hands, introduces herself as Willa. He’s told to take off his clothes, save for his underwear, which he does mindlessly. 

The old woman clucks her tongue at him, eyes sweeping over the large swaths of yellow-green bruises that covered him from head to toe. “Whatever happened to you, young man?”

“I was in a car wreck, apparently.” He told her dully.

The woman’s eyebrows rose up. “It must have been some wreck. I am glad you are up on your feet,” the tailor said, looping a strip of tape against his waist. She is very gentle with her touches, careful to not press too hard against the bruises, and Ethan felt something catch in his throat at the first real moment of genuine compassion he’s had since he first woke up in this castle.

He cleared his throat, blinking rapidly. “I heal fast.”

He’s draped in fabric that she then puts pins in, poked and prodded with a needle, measured with a thin strip of tape, tutted and fretted over. Through it all, Ethan just stands there and tries his best not to either pass out or start crying all over again.

The maids flittered back and forth in the corner of his eye, whispering to one another quietly. He should be watching them warily, but… He just can’t right now. His head hurts too much, his stomach is starting to eat itself, his heart feels like it’s been torn out of him and wrung for every drop of blood. By this point, Ethan has already mentally checked himself out at least ten minutes ago. It’s almost like he’s watching this happen to someone else. A distant specter watching over his own body. But what else can he do?

There’s a large full-length mirror that he’s instructed to stand in front of. He does it mindlessly, just going through the motions without really thinking about it. The face that stares back at him from the glass was frightening.

Sickly pale with dark bags under his eyes like someone had pressed bruises there, his eyelids were puffy and still swollen from tears, and there was a distinct glaze cast over his eyes. He looked like an absolute mess. 

Ethan wishes he could even begin to care about it.

Ethan wishes he could care about it at all.

But Ethan doesn’t.

He doesn’t care.

He can’t.

He just… can’t.

Ethan stares at himself through the mirror, and he lets himself float away from it all.

It's better that way. For everyone.

Chapter Text

After the awkwardly quiet session with the tailoress, Ethan Winters allows himself to be shoved and prodded through various corridors and rooms with nary a single comment. He is led onwards by the soft voices and darting eyes of various maids he does not know the names of. All the while Gabriela trails behind him at a sedate place, always his constant, silent shadow.

Ethan wants to shove away the gentle hands placed carefully on his shoulder, to not follow after their soft voices urging him forward, to stop listening to when it was time to take this left now, take this doorway and through this hall take the second door onwards…

But he’s just so tired.

“This way, Mr. Winters,” the unknown maid urges him on, tone soft yet pleading. As though she were afraid of what would happen if he just ignored her and collapsed on the floor, or just didn’t listen to her at all. It seems as though everyone Ethan has met outside of the ruler of the castle has been the same: soft-voiced, scared and so desperate to please and even more eager to blend into the background. He should be trying to look in on that, should at least be questioning it, but all he can muster the energy for is to follow them on heavy, trudging feet while his head buzzes and pulses painfully and thickly like the world’s worst hangover.

Ethan honestly felt like an absolute mess. He wants to scowl at these nameless maids, to sulk and brood and break down and cry, only - 

“But if you’re going to be sulking all evening, maybe you shouldn’t have any,” Mia had smirked at him while she had gestured with the wine bottle, playful in tone even as the edges of her eyes had creased slightly in displeasure.“You really have to stop worrying, Ethan…”

He’d taken it as stress, whether it was from caring for Rosemary, the events leading up with the unexpected pregnancy, moving to Romania… or just… just Before. Fuck, why hadn’t Ethan just held on to Mia and asked her what was wrong? Why hadn’t he just asked his wife if she was okay and had just not brought up Louisiana for one simple meal?

For once in his life, could he have just shoved down his questions and looked at his wife, who was so clearly tired and troubled and aching, and had just been a good husband for once? Why hadn’t he just gone to her and kissed away the wrinkles that had deepened in her brow, brushed away the soft worries in the corners of her eyes with the calloused pads of his fingers?

Why couldn’t Ethan ever be enough for once?

Why couldn’t he just be what Mia actually needed?

The thought only reinforced what Ethan already knew about himself. Despite everything that Mia and Zoe and… and even Chris Redfield… had told him, Ethan knew that he was a rot, a plague, a burden. Only just a terrible and grim reminder, not good for anything. After Rosemary had been born, Mia would just look at him and smile and Ethan could only stare back with such love in his heart, for all that he had truly felt helpless and that he was drowning beneath the blood thrumming through his own skin.

Do you know what I did? Ethan would think in those soft and quiet moments lost in the shadowy corners of Rosemary’s nursery. What I had to do back in Dulvey?

Why do you look at me like that? He had wondered, heart aching. Why do you look at me like I’m something worthy of love? I went back for you, but I killed so many people for you too. I killed a little girl for you, for us.

His mind, his dark, treacherous and insidious mind had whispered. Has always whispered…

Why don’t you hate me for what I did? 

                          Like I do?

                                                 Rosemary would.

She’d hate me if she knew what I had done. What I did.

She’d never forgive me. She’d never forgive us. We were supposed to keep her safe from the monsters, only we have always been the monsters, haven’t we?

That terrible, awful sound of metal piercing through living flesh, the sound of glass shattering as the windows and light fixtures were rendered undone in the terrible crossfire. The sound of the sharp edge of that axe tearing through flesh and cartilage and muscle and -

                                                 Mia!

Rosemary will never know her mother’s voice, will never remember her touch or her gentle warmth.

 Oh God, Mia… I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry

“- Mr. Winters,” Gabriela's voice tore him out of his thoughts, practically threw him out of his terrible mind and back into the dull kitchen. “Mr. Winters, can you hear me? Come with me, we should really get you something to eat.” She almost sounds apologetic. Ethan looks up from the rich crimson carpeting to look the girl in the eye and she flinches at whatever it was that she sees reflected within. Ethan wants to laugh or break down into sobs, but he can’t find the energy to even twitch his lips.

Only then Ethan is being pushed and prodded into a closed-off room with a wooden trestle table, and it is there that yet another maid, her dark hair covered in a cloth wimple, places down a simple platter of freshly baked bread and fresh pâté baked within a glazed, earthenware terrine set down right before him. The unnamed maid backed away to hurry out the room without another word, while Gabriela stood nearby, fretfully fidgeting with her hands as she stood sentry by the doorway.

The moment the plate filled generously to the brim is set before him, Ethan practically lunges for the food, stomach aching from where it has begun to eat itself from hunger. He barely remembers to pace himself lest he throw it all up.

When was the last time he’d even had a proper meal?

Was it dinner with Mia before… Before? Had they even actually eaten, or had they just been about to sit down for dinner? Ethan couldn’t quite remember. That whole night was a blur of color and sensation and fear and -

He shook himself out of the thought, distracting himself by grabbing at the ceramic pitcher filled to the brim with ice cold water and tries his very best to pour it into his empty glass. Only his hand shook so badly that all he did was spill it everywhere on the tablecloth. 

“Let me, Mr. Winters,” Gabriela is by his side in an instant. Ethan doesn’t even have enough time to object or say anything as she takes the pitcher from his hands to pour it steadily into his glass. He tries to focus on her, only everything in him feels so slow and slugged. She steps back to her place by the doorway without a single word. Still as quiet as a church mouse. 

He eats slowly, carefully. He sips at the cup, relishing the cold liquid running down his parched, aching throat. Gabriela is a silent specter behind him, only Ethan can’t bring himself to care that much. 

Minutes pass by, all blessedly calm and quiet. Ethan eats his meal with his fingers, honestly unsure if his shaking hands could properly grip the handle of a fork or knife.

Distantly, through the fog, he’s faintly aware of someone else entering the room and hurrying over to Gabriela. A hushed exchange of words are shared, the urgency of their tones rising in pitch. Ethan nibbles on the fresh pâté.

 He can’t stop thinking about it. About

                                                  Mia!

“It happened so long ago,” Mia had told him then, still stubbornly refusing to look him in the eye. “I don’t understand why you are so-"

The first bullet had almost seemed to take her by surprise. It had burst into her shoulder, shot straight through the skin and muscle and bone, and all Mia had done was look up in surprise, like she’d been tapped on the shoulder instead of shot with a gun, only… only then more bullets had followed.

And Mia… Mia… how her body had turned pink and red raw from weeping wounds as the shots had fired into her over and over and over again. Unceasing, unrelenting. Overkill in every sense of the word. A dozen, a hundred, shots to bring down one small-statured woman in a cute pink shawl.

And he had done nothing but watch.

Ethan stared down at his meal listlessly, barely aware of anything as he slowly chewed on his food, barely noticing when he switched to sip at his glass of water. Ethan was simply going through the motions, following the faintly heard pangs of hunger and thirst his body was demanding. He listened to his body’s needs, only just… just barely…

What was even the point?

“- Mr. Winters?” A voice asked him softly, gently, a warm hand weighing down like an iron weight on his shoulder. Ethan jerked at the touch like he’d been shocked. The hand backed away, sudden and quickly, and Gabriela stepped back from him, dark eyes wide. The other maid, yet another one he doesn’t know, was already hurrying out of the room like she was being chased.

Ethan stared at the dark-haired maid frantically, trying to remember how to breathe, how to be, how to think.

“I-I’m,” Gabriela stammered, pale cheeks flushed hotly. “I’m s-so sorry, so sorry, Mr. Winters, I-I, I only just meant to, to…” she stuttered and stumbled through practically every word, tongue tripping over every syllable. “I only meant to just, to just-”

Ethan just stared at her blankly, not even able to wrap his head around whatever it was she was trying so desperately to say to him. There was a ringing in his ears, humming and buzzing deep in his soul, and for the life of him Ethan just couldn’t bring himself to listen too closely.

                         I just want to sleep.

“... What was it you said?” Ethan asked dully, looking at the maid blankly. His mind tried to wrap itself around what the girl had just said to him, but the buzzing in his head made it hard to concentrate on anything.

Please…

                         Let me just close my eyes… just for a little while.

Gabriela shifted on her feet, nervously fidgeting with her hands. Ethan just stared at her. He was doing a lot of that. Staring. It was probably creepy.

“I was given instructions through a colleague, who was instructed in turn by Irina, to tell you that the Countess is now waiting to receive you in her solar,” the maid told him, tone almost desperate. “If you would kindly follow me, Mr. Winters, I will take you to her.”

Ethan probably understood roughly a fourth of what the maid had actually just told him. He stared at her blankly, hands curling into tight fists once it all slowly clicked in his fuzzy, brain-dead head.

“... Are you fucking serious?” He asked the maid, the maudlin haze he’s been stuck in just finally clearing ever so slightly as hot anger sparks within his chest.

Gabriela startles. “S-Sir?”

“... I have had a very shitty past few days…” Ethan told her quietly, pressing his knuckles against the wooden surface. “I watched my wife get shot to bits in front of me by a dear friend who I thought we could trust. I watched that same friend take my screaming infant in his arms while his hands still had her mother’s blood on them. I then got my ass kicked six ways to Sunday and was knocked unconscious and kidnapped, and was then, apparently, in a violent car wreck where your oh so gracious lady decided to also kidnap me and my six month old and now won’t let us leave. So, yeah, it’s been a very stressful few days for me.” He’s practically snarling at her by the end.

“… The Mistress actually found you almost a week ago.” The maid pointed out weakly, wringing her hands timidly about her starched frock. “You were just asleep for most of it.”

“Well it’s been a few days for me!” He snapped at her. She flinched at that, and Ethan flinched back. The exhaustion swept back in, swirling and flowing like the tide until it felt like his head was stuffed full of wool. God, he was just so tired. “Fuck, just… Look, I did the stupid clothing fitting and I even managed to not vomit on her nice furniture. Please just… just give me this one thing, alright? Please?” His voice cracked at the end, revealing the red raw vulnerability he should be trying to hide, but Ethan just couldn’t care anymore at this point.

Mia was dead, and Chris had been the one to kill her. And all Ethan had done, even after all those months upon months of military training and all that had gone down in Dulvey, was just watch.

The soft, fatty ground meat tasted like ash in his mouth as he chewed. Ethan picked up the glass of water while trying to ignore how much his hand trembled as he sipped lightly. His stomach was, blessedly, not trying to eat itself anymore, but even just a few bites and sips had the previously starved organ beginning to ache. Even then, Ethan forced himself to keep eating, taking each bite and sip slow so he didn’t just vomit it back up. It was automatic, almost mechanical, how he ate. 

The only thing that mattered was Rosemary… and finishing this plate of ground-up cold cuts.

Ethan fiddles with his hands, one shaky finger clumsily tracing the soft grain of the wood, following after the swooping curves until his finger stops at a knot, tapping away at the small imperfection with a chewed-up fingernail. There was a faint ringing in his ears, a buzzing in the back of his brain.

“What happens if I decide that I just don’t want to go? He finally asked her.

Gabriela’s silence was his answer. 

Right. It didn’t matter what he wanted. It never has.

“… I’m finishing my water first.” Ethan told her shortly, clutching the glass close just in case it was ripped away from him. So much has already been taken from him already.

His wife. His entire life. Even his infant daughter, the only thing Ethan has left, has been taken.

Ethan chews on the soft, decadent pâté, angrily admitting to himself that it tasted amazing. Not that he would say anything but, still, it was a good meal. He poked at the ground up meat, tapping away at the earthenware ceramic with his fingernail.

Gabriela was still watching him closely, desperately. Ethan decides that he hates that. Hates her. Hates everything. The widower wants to shove away from the table, hide away from the desperate, searching glances of all these terrified maids, wants to just get away from it all.

Only he can’t. He just can’t. 

Rosemary, Ethan had to remind himself, breathing slowly through gritted teeth. Rosemary always comes first.

It is only that reason, and that reason only, that Ethan even leaned up from his seat to look at the maid properly, idly running his hands through his hair while trying his best to not tug and rip out the short strands. “Why?” He finally asked the dark-haired maid tiredly. 

The younger girl blinked at him. “Why what?” She asked him, looking rather confused.

“Why does she want to see me?” Ethan asked her for clarification. “Your mistress, or whatever she calls herself around here. What does she want?”

The girl bit down on her lower lip, dark eyes darting back and forth. “I… I do not know the finer details, sir. I simply received word from Irina, the Matron of the household staff, that Lady Dimitrescu desires your presence upon your immediate availability.”

“... Right, sure.” He said dully, still staring at the maid blankly. He looked down at his half-eaten plate of cold cuts longingly. He’s barely eaten more than a few bites and swallowed half a glass of water. He grabs at the pitcher and shakily raises it to bring it closer to his cup to refill it. Water droplets spill erratically onto the simple linen tablecloth, and Ethan can do nothing but watch on with absolute frustration. 

The maid looks at him with something that almost resembles pity. “If I had to guess, then I would believe that the Lady wishes to properly introduce you to her Household.” Gabriela told him quietly. “You have yet to meet her children, correct? The Lady’s daughters?”

His mind clicked, clicked away slowly, like a rusted gear gradually turning before it slammed to a halt. Oh, fuck. There were more of her?

“... Are they just as tall as she is?” Ethan couldn’t help but ask aloud, dread pooling deep in his gut as something in him spluttered before sparking, just the smallest bit of awareness, or maybe just his survival tendencies, slowly pricking up. A vivid few moments of absolute awareness fighting against the dredging slog of his brain numbed thoughts. Like a roaring engine suddenly doused in water.

Gabriela looked taken aback by the question. “No?” She said, only it sounded far too unsure for his comfort. The maid looked around at their surroundings carefully before she was leaning close to him, so close her breath ghosted across his ear, only still so silent that he could barely hear her whisper. “The daughters are quite special, sir. The Countess is quite lax with them, so you mustn't make them angry.”

That last bit actually made Ethan smile a tad wryly to himself, despite everything. “Larisa said something like that about Lady Dimitrescu herself.”

Gabriela, oddly enough, snorted through her nose at that, finally showing an emotion that wasn’t repressed anxiety or fear. It suited her, Ethan couldn’t help but think.

“Larisa says quite a bit, and a bit too much at that,” the maid told him, only her tone was rather fond. Almost immediately the girl flushes, like she knew that she shouldn’t be showing off any sort of positive emotion. Ethan couldn’t help but distantly feel a tad disappointed in how quickly she clammed back up.

“So, I don’t suppose you could ask your boss to be put on hold until I finish this?” Ethan asked the dark-haired girl, gesturing tiredly at his barely nibbled on meal.

The maid just blinked at him, staring at him like she had no clue on what to say. Ethan lowered his hands as his entire body sank down low into his borrowed chair. He wished that he could just phase right through the floor. “Right, didn’t think so.” He muttered to himself. Shoving himself upwards by the elbows, Ethan straightened in his chair, reaching out towards the fresh pâté hungrily and angrily cramming it into his mouth.

He needed the food, the strength, if he was supposed to face the massive, overwhelmingly large noblewoman again so soon. Especially considering that said woman had decidedly determinedly that his infant daughter was now her daughter. Ethan was ready to debunk that idea with his fists and teeth if need be.

Still, at this moment, all Ethan could honestly bring himself to hope for was that Rosemary was with Lady Dimitrescu. It’d be worth it just to see her, to hold her. For Rosemary, it’d always be worth it.

“Lead the way, I guess,” Ethan told Gabriela, who smiled at him so very gratefully while Ethan could only just grimace dourly at her. He stood up from the table, taking one last quick and longing glance at the half-devoured table spread, before he followed after the young girl on tired, sluggish feet.

Why the massively tall noblewoman couldn’t give him ten fucking minutes of peace and quiet… well, he’d probably never know.

Gabriela guided him out of the room and down a series of velvet-clad hallways. Ethan followed after the woman on slow, shaky feet. Some very small part of him wants to look around at his surroundings and categorize every small detail, from the obscure objet d’art to the tastefully rendered wallpaper, if only to familiarize himself with his surroundings. Only, at this point, Ethan is pretty sure that he is simply running only on simple inertia and pure spite. 

“... I’m sorry to hear about your wife, Mr. Winters…” Gabriela utters gently, so soft that he barely heard it.

Ethan stares at her, only the young girl was staring straight ahead as she led them down the hallway. His face spasms, throat clenching tightly. “... thank you…” He whispers back, voice wet.

Gabriela doesn’t acknowledge him any further as they continue to walk. 

She took him through several almost identical hallways, up two flights of stairwells, down several more hallways before cutting through several empty rooms. After one last long hallway, the maid Suddenly paused behind a set of elaborately carved mahogany doors inset with gold curlicues and leafing. 

“... Mr. Winters, my Lady,” Gabriela announced softly as she knocked on the door, for all that her voice somehow rang clearly and loudly in the open space of the empty hallway. Ethan tried his best to not stare at her with the barely forming feeling of hatred. It wasn’t Gabriela Ethan silently loathed at that very moment. Only her mistress. 

The dark-haired maid pushed up against one of the oaken double doors before gesturing for him to enter. Warily, Ethan walked through, his heart thumping so loudly against his ribcage it was a wonder it wasn’t beating up against the back of his throat.

The widower entered the room and the first thing he noticed was the strong scent of smoke. It was too sharp and sweet to be natural woodsmoke. A cigar or cigarette maybe? He looked around and immediately saw Lady Dimitrescu. The massive woman was seated upon a giltwood canapé raised upon six cabriole legs, its upholstery a soft cream damask set with gold threading. She looked at him from where she lounged against the soft cushions, one long leg thrown over the other carelessly, the barest amount of pale skin shown about her ankle from where the dress rode up, as she smoked from a jade opera-length cigarette holder inset with a silver mouthpiece. 

Rosemary wasn’t with her.

That single, simple realization made his skin crawl. A flicker of rage and disappointment sparked within him, burning and billowing so greatly it felt like he’d burst, only then the sudden wave of exhaustion dampened it quickly enough.

Was this some sort of test? Was she going to do something while holding his daughter over him like a carrot on a string?

God, Ethan just couldn’t deal with this, with her, right now when his brain felt like mush and the world felt like it was half a step ahead of him. He just wanted to hold his baby and sleep for the next decade.

But it didn’t matter what Ethan wanted, now did it?

“Mr. Winters,” Lady Dimitrescu greeted him politely, dark crimson lips curling upwards around the silver mouthpiece. “Welcome.”

“Glad to be here,” Ethan told her dully. God, he has only been awake for a few hours or so and already he wanted to throw himself on the first bed available just to avoid whatever this conversation was about to be.

He was just… tired.

God, he was just so fucking tired.

Those bright golden eyes flickered over him assessingly; that pale nose wrinkling just a bit once the noblewoman saw that Ethan was still in the same clothes that he had worn yesterday when they had first met. “... I do hope that your fitted garments come sooner rather than later…” The noblewoman mused aloud, almost to herself, as she dragged another mouthful of delightful chemical into her lungs. Smoke curled out of her mouth in loose coils, like smoke escaping a dragon’s maw. “Perhaps, with a suitable set of clothes, you will command more respect in time.” She mused offhandedly.

Ethan genuinely couldn't even tell if that was an insult or a compliment. Considering the woman before him, it might just very well be both. Maybe. Who even knew at this point?

“Where’s Rosemary?” Ethan asked the noblewoman shortly. The only question with an answer that he actually gave a damn about.

Beside him, Gabriela winced like his words had slapped her straight across the face. Dimitrescu’s face gave nothing away, but one well-sculpted eyebrow did raise just a bit. Ethan stared at the golden-eyed woman, too tired to even begin to try to care about societal necessities.

His wife was dead, his infant daughter had apparently been force-adopted by this scary tall noblewoman and Ethan’s sanity was hanging on by a very, very thin string that was already threatening to snap. 

And Dimitrescu just stared at him openly, still smiling. The pale-skinned giant raised that silver mouthpiece to her lips and inhaled slowly, her eyes half-lidded from pleasure. Ethan watched it all, staring deeply as he observed her. How her rich, plush lips pursed slightly as she exhaled the smoke softly, slowly.

“She is currently enjoying a post-supper nap in the nursery,” Dimitrescu told him. “She was a stubborn thing, as usual, but eventually she fell asleep.” Her golden gaze shifted away from him to settle upon Gabriela, who shuddered and shook but still forced her shoulders up straight to look the terrifying noblewoman in the eye. Ethan had to give the girl props for that.

“You may take your leave,” Dimitrescu said idly, waving the girl away with a gloved hand, already forgetting her as the noblewoman refocused her attention on Ethan. He stared back at her, teeth gritted in defiance.

Gabriela bowed her head so quickly that Ethan honestly thought that the girl might have broken her neck. “Yes, my Lady,” the dark-haired girl quickly scuttled out of the room, careful to keep her back against the wall at all times while leaving Ethan alone in the room with the massive noblewoman. 

Ethan was beginning to sense a theme with these maids.

Pulse throbbing against his temples, Ethan ignored how his companion have so easily abandoned him to the wolves. He simply stared at the massive woman blanky, honestly unaware of what he was supposed to do next. Should he take a seat, just continue to stand there, or simply turn around and walk out of the room?

In turn, the noblewoman merely smiled at him further, blood-red lips curling upwards into a sinister grin that revealed a row of sharp teeth gleaming pointedly against the light. “Whatever is it that you are thinking of, Ethan Winters?” Dimitrescu asked him, her voice a quiet purr that rumbled deep within her impressive chest.

Ethan just stared at her. He wished he could say something, maybe spit out some sort of cunning vitriol, only the very idea of it just exhausted him further.

He was just… tired.

I’m so fucking tired…

Because Mia was gone.

Ethan stared at the noblewoman, heart aching. How was it that his heart could hurt so much when it feels like it has already been ripped out of his chest? Ethan wanted to scream, to cry and wail and slam his fists against the wall until they were bruised and bloodied. God, it hurt.

What was even the point anymore? Some part of him, that blood-stained damned phantom that has lingered beneath his skin since Dulvey, asked in the scary stillness of his mind.

Rosemary. Another part reminded him softly, urgently. Think of Rosie.

Ethan wanted to fall asleep so badly though. To close his eyes and never have to open them again. But Rosemary… think of Rosemary.

“Why did you bring me here?” Ethan asked with every bit of strength he could muster together, not even trying to keep his tone polite. He’d only really come here semi-willingly for the hope of seeing his daughter, but with her absent Ethan just couldn’t bring his brain dead self to give a shit anymore than it had to.

Dimitrescu’s smile merely widened like he had just done something that has delighted her. “Why, Mr. Winters,” she purred lowly, smoke escaping through those plush, crimson lips. “I simply wanted to introduce you to the rest of my Household. My dearest daughters have been ever so inquisitive about you that I just couldn’t just keep their curiosities at bay any longer. And so,” she gestured loosely, easily, at the wide expanse of empty space between himself and her massive form in the elaborately decorative room. “Might I introduce you to my darling trio?”

And then, somehow, it was like her very words had given some sort of signal.

Ethan’s first warning was the tell tale sign of dry carapaces clacking and clicking together noisily. Ethan startled in place, honestly taken aback, as the space beside Lady Dimitrescu suddenly surged and swarmed with thousands of flying bugs.

“What the fuck!? ” He breathed out, heart beating fast as he stared.

Hundreds and thousands of bugs -no, not bugs, but flies - swarmed and clustered close, creeping and crawling over the space so thickly the air was like a deep, dark cloud. Ethan stared, scarred fingers twitching at his sides while he desperately wished to grasp onto his handgun. Only he had nothing on him, and Ethan felt so very naked and bare and vulnerable without the cold comfort of a firearm.

Those terrible, creeping clusters swarmed heavily in the air, collecting and gathering and humming so loudly Ethan thought his teeth would chatter. The man could only watch this all happen with his eyebrows slowly raising up past his hairline as his sluggish mind tried to quickly wake up to this brand-new, yet still somehow very familiar, nightmare.

Faced with such an unnatural, nightmare-fueled phenomenon Ethan Winters could only think of one thing.

… Are you fucking serious?

Ethan could do nothing but continue to stare blankly as the thick swarm of flies broke off to form three vaguely humanoid shapes, from which each emerged a pale-faced human girl. It was almost like they had stepped out of the swarm, like Athena bursting fully formed from Zeus’ split skull.

Their black clothing was loose, but even then Ethan could still see the defined muscles as they moved with such easy strides, all liquid grace and easy movement. They were sleek and lithe and dangerous. And that wasn’t even mentioning the bugs. Ethan has not forgotten about the bugs.

God, he was just so sick of bugs. 

The three girls all gave him matching smiles from behind black-stained lips. Flies scuttled across their pale skin, creeping and crawling like maggots on a corpse.

“.... No,” Ethan said shortly, holding out one hand as though he could just pause time just so he didn’t have to fucking deal with any of this. “Just… no.” He closed his eyes, not even caring that that was a very stupid thing to do in front of dangerous people, but at this point he was so emotionally numb that he just couldn’t care at this point.

He’s just seen a giant swarm of flies turn into a trio of young women. Ethan deserved this moment to panic and scream silently behind closed eyes, God damnit.

For a blessedly quiet moment there was no noise save for the soft humming of flies. Ethan kept his eyes squeezed shut and his hand held out, wishing that he could just sink through the floor so he didn’t have to deal with any of this absolute bullshit. 

When Ethan finally decided to open his eyes, after a good ten seconds where he was just screaming obscenities within the inner sanctity of his mind, the widower saw that the three girls almost looked startled, like they hadn’t expected Ethan’s reaction to be like that. Considering their dramatic entrance, they must have wanted to scare him. 

God, how Ethan loved to defy expectations. 

“You’re an odd one.” The blonde one tilted her head to the side slightly, bright eyes gleaming. “Most people run or scream.” Although none shared the same hair, all three of the daughters had the same eye color, Ethan noticed. Almost the same exact shade of the predatory gold as their mother’s, but a tad softer. More amber than gold.

“... You’re not the first insect lady I’ve run into,” Ethan told the trio bluntly, not even caring if he sounded rude. “Although the flying and shapeshifting is new, I’ll give you that. That’s a pretty neat trick. Did you three rehearse?” 

Redhead and the brunette blinked at him, brows furrowing downwards, while Blondie just stared at him unblinkingly with what seemed like curiosity. 

Ethan, running on fumes and sheer spite by this point in time, decided to ignore everything about what has just happened in the last ten seconds and get straight to the point, no matter how many alarm bells were ringing in his head. He needed an answer to this now. He’ll freak out about bug ladies 2.0 later. “I do have one question though.”

Blondie raised a pale eyebrow, while her sisters exchanged a glance with one another. Ethan could feel the burn of Lady Dimitrescu’s eyes against him like the sun concentrated through a magnifying glass. One bad step and she’d probably just fling him against the wall like a rag doll.

Tough shit. Ethan was too emotionally braindead at this point to care about being polite. 

“How do you three feel about spiders?” Ethan asked them, completely serious. 

All three blinked at that, caught off guard.

“… We detest them terribly?” The blonde girl finally offered, pale nose wrinkled slightly from utter distaste. Besides her, the blonde’s two sisters watched him carefully, heads tilted to the side slightly.

“Awesome,” Ethan shoved his hands into his pockets to hide how they trembled. “Cool. I can deal with that, I guess.” Well, that saved him from one problem at least. He would take super-sized flies any day over having to deal with Marguerite’s itsy-bitsies.

Speaking of Marguerite, since the similarities were way too fucking close for Ethan’s comfort...

“You guys got any family in Louisiana?” He genuinely can’t help but ask aloud even as he resisted the urge to swat at anything tiny that might be swarming up or around his arms. Fuck, Ethan had never been a fan of bugs even before Louisiana, but after Marguerite and her ‘babies’ just the thought of creepy crawlies now made him want to set his immediate surroundings, and himself, on fire. 

The trio just looked even more confused, like he’d thrown them through a loop by not collapsing into a fearful, babbling mess. Ethan stared at them, eyebrow raised. Have they ever had a conversation that didn’t end up with screaming or hysteria?

When none of them said anything Ethan turned towards the giant matriarch, who was still seated on the cream giltwood canapé and was watching him with open fascination. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a sister who lived in Dulvey, did you?” He asked.

“I haven't a clue as to where that is,” Lady Dimitrescu told him, smiling charmingly like she wanted nothing more than to flay the skin off his flesh and grill his organs over an open flame. “I do have a younger sister. However I truly doubt that she is who you must be thinking of.”

Oh great, so there was another one.

Ethan side-eyed the giant woman warily. “Is she just as tall as you?”

“Shorter,” Lady Dimitrescu told him pleasantly, still smiling, and then said no more.

“Right. Cool, I guess,” Ethan said, shifting his attention back to the three bug girls, who were openly staring at him with curiosity. Aside from their golden eyes, and the whole bug thing, their most distinctive feature that linked them together were the identical tattoos intricately inked between their brows. Ethan couldn’t quite make out the smaller detailing, but it looked like some sort of sigil. Compared to their mother, their appearance was like night and day with their dark garb and kohl-smudged eyes. Oh, also the bugs that crept and crawled over their pale faces every now and again. Ethan hasn’t forgotten that bit.

Despite every cell in him screaming to not do so, Ethan couldn’t help his curiosity as he turned his head to look at Lady Dimitrescu. She was watching him from the canapé, one hand propped up high with her cigarette holder. She smiled at him through thick, dark eyelashes, looking very amused. His gaze flickered from her face and then on downwards.

Past experiences with the last woman with freaky ass bug powers has traumatized Ethan enough for him to look for certain traits. If one of those distinctions had his eyes falling from those soft, plush lips down the creamy slope of her neck, past the abundant swell of her chest, down the soft curves of her waist to those wonderfully strong thighs…

Wait, what was he looking for again?

Oh, right, looking for giant wasp nest vagina. 

He looked with a critical eye as subtly as he could, trying his best to not be too obvious about where he was looking. Somehow he doubted that the Romanian noblewoman would appreciate the question of whether or not her nether regions happened to include a functioning nightmare nest of creepy crawlies. It was just a feeling, but Ethan felt pretty confident.

… he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary from when he glanced downwards. Nothing that protruded unnaturally…

“Is there something that has drawn your attention?” Lady Dimitrescu asked softly, only her eyes burned bright and deep like hellfire when they stared down upon him. Shit, he thought he’d been subtle.

“You have a very nice canapé,” Ethan answered back quickly and easily, the fake answer already long since decided in his head the moment his eyes went dangerously southward. “Exquisite framework. I’m guessing Louis the Fifteenth or is it actually Louis the Sixteenth? There are too many of them that I get confused. Still, it’s nice. Is it a restoration?” He was rambling, but it seemed to be working.

“An original, actually,” Lady Dimitrescu told him brusquely, only her shoulders had relaxed. Looks like he’d gotten away with it. “Though we’ve certainly done our best to keep it all in good shape.” Those terribly bright eyes flicker away from him to settle on the trio of young women. They warm and soften, ever so slightly, at the sight. “Don’t we, girls?”

“Yes, Mother,” Blondie and the brunette chirped back dutifully, but the redhead was still staring unblinkingly at Ethan, smile widening with every passing moment. She tilted her head, much like a cat debating on whether or not it was worth the effort to pounce. 

Apparently the decision was easy, considering how the red-haired girl swanned up to him in the space of a single second. “Mmmmm,” the girl hummed appreciatively, smiling even wider as she quickly invaded his personal space when the redhead leaned in close. “You smell absolutely delicious!” Her warm breath puffed against the naked expanse of his neck.

Ethan startled backwards at the sudden intrusion. Holy shit, the girl was fast! 

“Thank… you?” He didn’t quite know what to say to that.

“Mother, you didn’t think to mention that the man-thing was handsome!” Bug Lady Number 3 cupped his face with both hands, leaning in close, way too close. “Aww, I just want to eat you right up!” She all but cooed at him, those bright metallic eyes barely a few inches from his while those long, pale fingers began to trace his face, tip-tapping against his cheekbone playfully. She was too close, too intimate by how she trailed those feather-light fingers against his bare skin. Softly poking and prodding like he was a fucking horse to be assessed.

“Could you just,” Ethan began, trying to tilt his head out of the way once her fingers started getting way too close towards getting into his mouth. He pressed a palm against her face to push her away. “Yeah, could you just not?”

“Awwww, so mean!” The girl pouted at him, voice slightly muffled. Something warm and wet slid across his palm, and Ethan jerked back his hand like he’d been stung. 

“Fuck! Did you just lick me!?” He demanded.

The redhead just smiled smugly as she suddenly pressed up against him. Thin, but terrifyingly strong arms wound around his neck and trapped him in place so that she could tuck her head underneath his chin. “Mmm… so warm!” The girl breathed out contentedly, nuzzling against his neck. 

“Oh my God, I’m in hell,” Ethan said numbly, standing there. 

“Daniela, dear,” Lady Dimitrescu calls out, tone lilting into a singsong tut. “Leave Mr. Winters alone.”

And the redhead sighed, sounding very put out, but released her hold as she stepped backwards to settle in place besides her sisters. Ethan just stared at her, honestly unsure about literally everything that has happened in the past few minutes. The redhead winked at him, grinning. He scowled at her on reflex.

Lady Dimitrescu stood up from the canapé, one gloved hand resting on her hip as she took another breath of smoke. The soft silver vapor pooled out of her mouth in thin, wispy strips. She seemed amused. “Since you are a guest here at Castle Dimitrescu, Mr. Winters, I thought it was time to introduce you to my dearest daughters.” 

The Romanian noblewoman then gestured loosely at the blonde girl with her cigarette holder, a genuine smile on her lips. “My eldest, Bela.” She gestured at the brunette next. “My second child, Cassandra.” The dark-haired girl wriggled her fingers in mock greeting, sharp teeth gleaming. “And you’ve already made yourself… acquainted with my youngest daughter, Daniela.” At that her tone, once pleasant, turned sour with disapproval as she looked down at Ethan like he was gum she’d found on the bottom of her shoe.

Lady, she made herself acquainted with me, Ethan thought to himself, biting down on his tongue so he didn’t say it aloud. It was tempting though. So very, very tempting. Ethan swore he could hear his teeth creak from how tightly he clamped his jaw down.

The noblewoman continued on imperiously. “Daughters, this is… Ethan Winters. He is Rosemary’s father and thus you will treat him gently.” It was honestly rather amazing how she could sound so condescending even when introducing him to her family. Truly, she had a gift.

“Hey.” Ethan gave them a short wave before he tucked his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans. The urge to shift on his feet was like an itch he couldn’t scratch. He stared at them openly, refusing to blink first. Everything about them was screaming alarm bells in his head, and Ethan would be damned, brain-dead or not, if he wasn’t at least somewhat aware. If only for Rosemary. If his daughter wasn’t in the picture, Ethan probably would have collapsed a long time ago.

The noblewoman’s nose wrinkled at his manners like she had smelt something foul. “Mr. Winters shall be a guest here for the time being. There will be no playing with him, so please refrain from teasing him too much.” She told the trio sternly, wagging one large finger admonishingly. 

The urge to fidget in place was overwhelming but He kept himself still, spine tense in case someone decided to pounce. He had not missed that bit about ‘playing’ which just gave him terrible flashbacks of Lucas Baker.

“So, what are you?” Daniela asked him curiously.

He blinked at her. “Huh?”

The redhead looped an arm around the brunette’s, Cassandra?, shoulder and tilted her head to lean against the slightly taller girl. Cassandra rolled her eyes, shifting in place, but didn’t slap away her sister’s touch. Her eyes were focused intently on Ethan, unblinking, those golden orbs smoldering like embers against the charcoal-pitch kohl of her eyeshadow.

It was unsettling. Everything about this place was unsettling, and yet this girl’s eyes took the cake.

“You don’t smell normal. You smell…” Daniela paused, flaring her nostrils like she was trying to pick out some scent. “Hmmm, I don’t know how to explain it,” she huffed, seemingly annoyed for all that she smiled at him warmly. “Most men smell and taste all the same. Sometimes you get a different note, a different thickness, but it’s all mostly the same. It’s so boring! But you, you’re different. Why is that?”

Ethan had no clue what she was talking about. He sniffed at his armpit, trying to be subtle. 

“I think I just need a shower,” he told her honestly. A shower sounded very nice. And a toothbrush. Ethan could still taste the faintest traces of bile stuck to his tongue from when he’d thrown up last night.

The girl’s nose wrinkled at his answer, looking displeased. It was an action Ethan has seen countless times by the girl’s very large mother.

“We could always find out for ourselves,” the brunette muttered, voice rough and hoarse. Her eyes were bright, almost demented, as they stared at him intently. “Cut him open and see if he bleeds just the same as the others.”

Ethan backed away at that sentence, hands raising and curling into ready fists. Just try it, bitch. He settled on the backs of his feet, ready to dart out of the way.

Daniela beamed at her sister’s suggestion, and those terrible golden eyes flickered over to her mother’s. “Oh, Mother, can’t we?” She pleaded, smiling brightly. “Can’t we just have a taste? Please, just one sip!”

A sip of fucking what? My blood? 

God, Ethan could not deal with this right now. He was five seconds away from either screaming and throwing hands, or crumpling into a ball and sobbing.

“How about we don’t investigate anyone’s bodily fluids and their properties,” Ethan said aloud, still staring at the brunette just in case she decided to rush him. He could take her. Probably. 

His eyes darted around the room as best as he could without moving his head, looking for anything that he could use. This was a new room without a fireplace, so that removed the idea of a fire poker. He was sure that Gabriela hadn’t thought to lock the door behind him, but was that because the door didn’t lock from the outside? Could he get out of the room fast enough to see what the lock was like, or should he just book it?

Fuck, he can’t just run. He had no clue where Rosemary was in this giant castle. He didn’t know enough about his current surroundings to run off, much less with an infant. 

“Enough now, girls,” Lady Dimitrescu tuts again, turning her massive body gracefully to stand behind the three. The girls were tall, taller than Ethan with those heels, and still the woman towered over them all easily. Daniela pouts, shoulders sagging, and Cassandra shifts on her feet, suddenly less tense. Ethan breathes out a short breath, trying to calm down his rabbiting heartbeat.

Stay calm, just stay calm. Read the room, categorize everything.

He focused on the immediate threat. With Dimitrescu behind her daughters, that made the trio the closest threat to his person since he doubted that the noblewoman was the type to barrel through her children. So, freaky bug trio it was.

They looked as though they were in their early to mid twenties, but something about them made Ethan believe that they were younger than they truly looked. They just seemed so young, almost childish in their excitement.

Ethan wondered at that, brow furrowing in thought. Were they simply young at heart, or truly young despite their outward appearances?

Blondie -Bela- rolls her eyes and tugs gently on a loose lock of Cassandra’s hair, forcing the middle child to look at her balefully. “Listen to Mother,” the older sibling admonishes, before her gaze moves to settle on the youngest of the trio. “Same goes for you, Dani.”

“Aww, Bela!” Daniela whined, lips pressed into a pout. “Why can’t you ever let us have any fun?”

“Because your sister knows when to listen to her mother, sweetling,” Lady Dimitrescu cuts into the conversation with all the subtlety and grace of an eighteen wheeler skidding on black ice. “Surely you won’t trouble your dear mother with such mischief so early into the afternoon, now will you?” Her tone is gentle, soothing, but there is something hard set in the gold of her eyes, something terribly severe.

Daniela shrinks at the sight of her mother’s expression, stepping back just a step to be half-behind Cassandra. “Yes, Mother,” the redhead is quick to say, bowing her head down low in submission. Flies scuttle about the pale expanse of her exposed neck and chest, ceaseless and frantic.

There is a sudden buzzing in the air, like someone had kicked over a beehive. It makes Ethan’s teeth nearly vibrate, and he grits down with a clenched jaw as his eyes flicker back and forth between giant lady and bug ladies. God, how he wished that he had thought to bring that knife from the breakfast table.

Lady Dimitrescu hums pleasantly at her daughter’s answer, the sound long and slow as it reverberates deep within her impressive chest. “Good.” She says finally, tone rather clipped as she looked down upon the redhead and brunette with an intense stare.

Only then those terribly bright eyes shifted on to Ethan himself. Her gaze is so piercing, so sharp, that it almost feels like she could flay him right then and there, leaving his vulnerable body open and aching. Only Ethan has always been a stubborn bastard. He squirms underneath her gaze, but his shoulders are thrown back as his weight shifts to balance on the balls of his feet. He’s ready. Whether it’s to run or fight, he’s ready.

His lungs twinge painfully as he breathes in a short, sharp breath. A grim reminder that he isn’t nearly at a hundred percent just yet. Okay, he’s always at the ready. The option of running sounds much better than trying to fight his way through.

“What do you want?” Ethan asks bluntly, trying to stall for time.

Bela bristles at his tone, finally showing some sort of aggressive emotion, but Dimitrescu merely chuckles.

“I did say last night that we would be speaking with one another come the morrow, yes?” The noblewoman asked pleasantly. She didn’t even wait for him to respond as she laughed lightly, almost to herself. “Of course, the morrow has come and here we are. Please, sit down, Mr. Winters. There is still so much to discuss.”

The noblewoman moved to sit back down upon the cream colored cushions of the beautiful canapé, casually throwing one long leg back over the other. Her daughters look at one another, as though trying to figure out what the other wants to do, before they move on silent feet to stand behind their mother. Dimitrescu smiles at him warmly, only there is something sharp in her smile, something almost sharklike. Predatory. “Well now, Ethan Winters,” Lady Dimitrescu drawls out the words, teasing out the syllables.

She’s having fun fucking with him. Ethan just knows it.

“Come, sit down.” She breathes in another lungful of her cigarette, gently blowing out a soft cloud of smoke. “And let us discuss terms…”

Chapter Text

“Come, sit down.” She breathes in another lungful of smoke through her slim and slender cigarette, gently blowing out a soft cloud of smoke. “And let us discuss terms…” 

Ethan cannot help but watch the noblewoman warily from where he stands near the doorway, his fingers twitching incessantly at his side as though desperate to reach for something solid and heavy to defend himself with. 

“Sure. Let’s talk, I guess,” Ethan allows slowly even as his eyes quickly dart back and forth between the mother and her terrifying trio of daughters. His heart still feels like it was still caught in the back of his throat and it’s near impossible to breathe through it.

It’s almost an exact mirror of yesterday, just in a different room and now with an audience. 

Holy fucking shit, has it only been since yesterday that Ethan had woken up to this absolute nightmare of a world? Shit, it has been, hasn’t it? Fuck…

Face completely impassive, Ethan walked towards the cream-backed canapé without saying a single word. He sits down slowly, hesitantly, not even daring to relax as his spine curves to rest against the soft silk cushioning and giltwood framework of the antique furnishing, and even then he doesn’t so much as blink outwardly. Ethan is much too concerned about the massive noblewoman sitting across the table from him; this massive giant whose face was half-hidden in the shadow cast by that wide-brimmed hat for all that her eyes practically glowed all while. Behind her the fly trio stood by on eager feet, bright amber eyes reflecting back against the light. Ethan’s stomach lurched uncomfortably at the sight of them, and he couldn't help himself from tensing.

There was a wild, restless energy to the three that Ethan just didn’t trust at all. Even seated, Ethan cannot help but watch them warily, scarred fingers twitching against his thighs as he tries his goddamn best to stay as calm as he could. Only their bright, golden eyes burned into him, practically sinking into his skin and flaying him alive just from a simple glance. Their eyes were just too bright, too cold, too inhumane, too hungry. It was almost as though they were just waiting for the tiniest infraction, the smallest excuse, to pounce and rip and tear into him. 

Breathe, Ethan. Breathe. Don’t stop. The moment you freeze up is the second you’re pinned down and torn to shreds. So just fucking breathe, Ethan, just breathe… His words -Chris’ own words- echoed in the very back of his mind. It wasn’t a surprise that the words did nothing to calm him down; in fact, it practically roused his temper, but damn if it wasn’t good advice.

… Fuck you, Chris…

Ethan inhaled through his nose, slowly and noisily, heart still pounding fast against his ribcage. It didn’t help. There was nothing to calm himself, nothing to soothe his nerves. Not when he was sitting before a giant who has already shown herself to be much stronger than him, who has taken his daughter as her own and didn’t seem to care whether or not Ethan had something to say about it. Oh, god, is she going to keep him away from his kid? Why isn’t Rosemary here right now and who’s even watching her at the moment?

Ethan is calm. Completely calm. As completely calm as one in his situation can be. His trembling hands were just the byproduct of a traumatic kidnapping and a car wreck. He’s got this. It’s just that Ethan would very much ignore the simple reminder yelling in his head that the four in front of him were probably even more inhuman than the Bakers; that’s all.

“Would you care for a cup of tea, Mr. Winters?” Lady Dimitrescu asks him, sounding like the very embodiment and personification of utmost class and courtesy, as the pale-skinned noblewoman reclines against her own seat, that jade cigarette holder still held in a loose hand. Ethan can only just stare at her and want. He wants to open his mouth and scream, wants to hurl every foul word and obscenity at her until he was red-faced and panting for breath, only -

Rosemary. Think of Rosemary.

Ethan musters every bit of willpower he can to continue to look this gigantic noblewoman square in the eye without letting her see the rage and fear burning brightly within him. Dimitrescu merely continues to smile at him, those wickedly sharp teeth bared like an approaching great white shark.

Breathing in deeply through his nose, ignoring how shaky it actually was, Ethan reminds himself to stay calm. He’s just got to stay focused, that’s all. He can’t lose his cool. He can be polite.

Maybe her offer of tea was an olive branch of sorts? Some sort of sign that she was willing to meet him halfway? He didn’t trust it at all, but what else can he do?

“Sure,” Ethan allows slowly. “I’ll have a cup of tea.” His hands were gripping onto his knees so tightly he nearly lost all feeling, but he settled back in his seat and civilly waited for her to pour.

He waits…

Dimitrescu smiles at him again, looking as pleased as punch. Ethan does his best to not furrow his brows at her, especially when she hasn’t moved just yet. Shifting in his seat, Ethan waits patiently.

And waits…

Despite himself, Ethan’s eyes flicker away from the biggest predator in the room to the tea set laid out on a silver tray on the table that served as the barrier between him and the Dimitrescu family. His eyes flicker back up to Dimitrescu.

And waits…

His eye twitches, just a bit, as he fidgets in place. Now there’s annoyance mixed in with the low-burning hatred building in his gut, because seriously? She was the one who had offered, she had been the one to ask if he had even wanted a cup. Common courtesy, the bare minimum for good manners, would dictate that whoever had offered would provide. Because that was just obvious. His mother had always been insistent that whoever was the host or hostess must be the one to pour for the guest. It was literally something Ethan had been taught as a child.

Only…

Ethan was still waiting on the canapé, still staring up at the matriarch who still hasn’t moved so much as an inch.

A minute passes by and when it does Dimitrescu’s eyebrow raises upwards just a touch. Ethan’s jaw clenched as he tried to reign in his temper.

Was it a trick? Some sort of test? What was Dimitrescu’s game here, and how could Ethan get around it?

Fuck.

He’s stuck trying to balance on a knife’s edge between keeping this woman happy enough to not want to keep him away from his kid, and trying to make sure he can take advantage of whatever he can so that he gets access to his kid. Ethan can’t piss her off. Not when she’s got Rosemary stashed away somewhere. He’s got to play nice.

Biting down on his lip to stop himself from saying something stupid, Ethan decided to just do it himself. He grabbed the handle of the tray and dragged it closer to his side of the table, before going to grab the teapot and an empty cup. His hands are still shaky from exhaustion and stress, and just as he is just about to tip it down to pour -

“I’ll take mine with just a splash of cream,” Lady Dimitrescu inserts pleasantly, still smiling, and Ethan? Ethan stops, teapot just about ready to pour into his own cup, head lifting up just barely to just simply stare at this ballsy ass bitch and… and…

And still, still, she just continued to watch him with amusement. Those thick, plush lips curled into the phantom trace of a smile as she brought up that jade opera-length cigarette holder to her mouth to breathe in and blew out soft wisps of smoke. She looked oh so fucking pleased with herself. And Ethan?

He hates her. He hates her so much.

How hard was it to pour a goddamn cup of tea? Ethan seethes inwardly, wishing more than anything he can open his mouth and snarl out his vitriol. Only he can’t, he can’t risk pissing her off when she’s got his kid in her clutches and Ethan at her mercy. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to think about it. If you fucking offer someone a drink, you’re supposed to be the one to pour. 

His calloused and shaking fingers gripped onto the bone china so tightly that it was an honest to god miracle it hadn’t cracked underneath his grip. Biting on his tongue, Ethan had to look away from those bright, golden eyes down to the teapot shaking in his hands. Her ability to piss him off was honestly extraordinary. 

Think about Rosemary.

“... Sure,” he manages to say, barely able to keep away the utter loathing that is hiding underneath.

He leans forward and grabs her empty cup by palming the entire rim, inwardly smug when her face pinches just a bit at that, and slowly, slowly drags it across the hardwood table. Dimitrescu’s face pinches tighter and tighter as the bone china grinds and scrapes against the varnish, filling the empty room with the dull shriek as it is dragged across the table. 

He pours her the tea until it is just about to hit the rim and then pours his own. Blinking, as though he suddenly just remembered her extra request, Ethan grabs the tiny ceramic milk pitcher and, really with his hands shaking so much it really is hard to not spill a few drops on the table before he gets it over Dimitrescu’s cup. He pours and it overflows just a bit. “Oh, sorry about that. My hands are…” He holds up his free hand so she can see how it trembles and shrugs his shoulders in a ‘ what can you do?’ way. 

“Indeed,” Dimitrescu says, tone clipped. Her eyes track where the tea and cream have begun to dribble down the ceramic and pool on the wood. Face perfectly impassive, Ethan grabbed ahold of the cup’s rim and inwardly smiled at how the liquid sloshes a bit when he goes to drag it back to her plate, leaving behind a rather impressive liquid trail. It took everything he had to not react to it.

He deserved to be petty to his kidnapper, even if it was just a small thing. Just enough where he can get away with it.

Dimitrescu picked up her cup, eyes narrowed at the droplets streaking down the fine porcelain, but she doesn’t call him out on anything.

“Thank you,” she says instead, smiling demurely even though Ethan hadn’t so much as offered as he had been told to do it. She sips at the tea, humming pleasantly, before she turns her head to look behind her at her daughters, who all stood up straighter at the attention. Her smile softened into something genuine, the cool sharpness melting away, as she looked upon them. “My darlings,” Dimitrescu began warmly. “Why don’t you three go on? This will not take too long.”

Bela blinked and looked rather unsure. “Mother?” She questioned, head tilted to the side.

“This will not take long,” Dimitrescu repeats easily. “I merely wish to go over the ground rules and my expectations going forward with Mr. Winters. I will see you all at dinner, yes?”

Bela didn’t look too pleased with that, and she even opened her mouth as though to say something only for her sister to interrupt her.

“Are you sure we can’t stay? What if he’s up for a little play?” Daniela cheerfully asked her mother from where she was leaning forward against the back of the canapé like a slinking cat. The redhead was staring at him in a way that made her seem like she was about to pounce. Dimitrescu had wrapped a massive hand around the girl’s small wrist, Ethan noticed then, alarmed. It wasn’t a painfully tight grip, but it was firm enough that the noblewoman seemed to think that there was a chance the girl actually was going to leap. 

“Daniela,” Dimitrescu tuts at her, tone stern in admonishment, but there is a hint of dark amusement in her eyes. “Leave Mr. Winters alone. He hasn’t even finished his tea.”

The redhead sighed dramatically, slim shoulders heaving with the motion, but when her mother released her wrist the girl pushed up off the giltwood frame nevertheless and began to walk towards a side-door, dragging a reluctant Bela with her. “Bye, bye, Ethan!” Daniela crooned delightedly, shoving her eldest sister through the doorway.

“Uh, bye, I guess.” Ethan clutched the teacup close against his chest, half-ready to fling the fine bone china at her the moment there was sudden movement towards his person. 

Cassandra wriggled her fingers mockingly, grinning sharply in a way that showed off all her teeth, even as her form began to collapse and dissolve into a burst of buzzing flies to follow after her sisters and even closing the door behind her. Somehow. Not even her clothing remained, which honestly left Ethan with yet another question as to what the fuck they even were.

But figuring that out, not to mention having a breakdown regarding everything that has just happened in only the last ten minutes, would have to come later. Right now, Ethan had bigger problems. 

Or, rather, one big problem.

“Those girls,” Dimitrescu said fondly, smile still warm.

Ethan decided to try for civility. “I’m sure they keep you on your toes,” he offered, fiddling with the stem of his teacup. 

“Indeed they do,” Dimitrescu raised her tea back up towards her rouge-stained lips, and Ethan can’t help but observe her across the rim from his own cup. Despite being a matching set, the teacup was comically small in her hand. Well, technically everything about her made everything normal-sized look kid-sized. Even her seat, which would normally sit two side-by-side comfortably, looked too small for her as she used it for a chair. 

Despite her feminine build, Ethan wasn’t at all fooled by her soft curves. He could see muscles defined clearly against her tight-laced clothing. For all that she wasn’t jacked in the normal sense, there was something about how she held herself, something in the slope of her neck and the grip of her hands, especially her hands -which were so very still and careful when gripping the fragile ceramic- that screamed physical prowess. In a physical fight, at least without anything to give him an edge, Ethan would get his ass kicked. 

So, that meant he had to do what he’s done before and use his wits. Whatever happened next would just be a battle of words and Ethan had every desire to come out on top of her.

So he decided it was just better to rip the band-aid off and jump straight into the thick of it. “What do you want?” Ethan asked the woman quickly, hoping to maybe throw her off or onto her back foot by being the initiator. Only it didn’t really work as Dimitrescu seemed completely unfazed and, if anything, she looked almost amused.

“What I want?” Lady Dimitrescu repeated, almost mockingly, and it sets Ethan’s teeth on edge. “What I want, Mr. Winters, is simple enough. I merely wish to talk, to lay down some, ah, ground rules if you are to be residing within my household. Once that is concluded, there are some questions I would like to have you answer.”

Ethan wouldn’t really consider being held prisoner against his will as residing but, fuck it, there were other battles he needed to fight for. Mainly doing everything he can to get to his kid even just a second faster.

“... What do you want to talk about then?” He asks her, fingers fiddling with the teacup. The moment he says that something about the noblewoman changes and shifts. The genuine warmth in her smile brought on by her children was gone. Her eyes darken, beautiful face going still and cold, and everything about her suddenly lights up every alarm bell in his body that this was a very dangerous person in front of him.

“If you are to be staying here in my home, there are boundaries that must be set and respected. I expect you to follow each one to the letter. The most important rule is one that I’ve already mentioned before, but thought it best to remind you so that it can truly sink in.” Lady Dimitrescu lifted the teacup up to her lips and sipped at it, humming pleasantly under her breath before she set the cup back down on its plate. She raised her lit cigarette back to her lips. “You are being given the rare mercy of my hospitality, but that gift does come with a price. You are not to leave the castle grounds under any means, and if you were to attempt to flee the repercussions will be most dire.”

“... Okay,” Ethan said, gritting his teeth. He knew that already, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. He needed to know the outside surroundings for when he booked it, but they would be watching him too closely at the moment. He’d need to figure out how far he can get out without getting into trouble.

Dimitrescu took another slow drag of her cigarette, smoke blowing softly out of her mouth. “You are free to explore the castle to your heart’s content so long as you don’t make a mess or cause any trouble, but there are certain areas and sections of the castle that are restricted to you. The lower recesses of the castle are completely off limits, doubly so for our cellars.”

“Why, what's in the cellars?” Ethan asked her suspiciously. He couldn’t stop himself from thinking about the Baker family basement and the horrors that had festered down there, but, no, that was because of the Mold and Eveline… no, it couldn't be the same. Ethan hasn’t seen a single hint of Mold, and while these people were obviously not human they didn’t seem as unhinged as the Bakers. It wasn’t the same, because if it was Ethan was going to lose his goddamn mind because what even were the odds?

Dimitrescu waved her hand languidly, smoke trailing from her cigarette. “Nothing too noteworthy for a man like you, Mr. Winters. The cellars are where we store our wine reserves, both for our own personal pleasure and for commerce. My family’s primary income stems from our wines that are made within the castle grounds. We’ve made quite a name for ourselves as a vineyard and winery.” Lady Dimitrescu’s lips curled into a small, secretive smile like she had just thought of something amusing. “One might even say that our winery is the lifeblood of the family business.”

It seemed like a lot of paranoia to restrict what was supposedly just a cellar full of wine, but whatever. Ethan didn’t give a shit about how these people made their money. Unless there was a secret passageway in the cellar that he could use to smuggle himself and Rosemary out of, he didn’t care.

Ethan nods his head at that. “Sure, I can do that. Not much of a fan of wine anyway.”

“Wonderful. Do know that if I or my daughters find you in any of those restricted sections, well, you will be punished most severely.”

Ethan didn’t like how her eyes lit up at that, like she was looking forward to being given a reason to punish him. His skin crawled as goosebumps crept up his arms and the hairs on the back of his neck stood upwards.

“Speaking of my daughters,” Dimitrescu begins again, smoke spilling out past her lips. “My girls are quite dear to me. I expect you to be perfectly courteous to them.”

“Lemme guess, I should listen to what they say?” He asked her bluntly.

She smirked at him. “In most situations, yes. I expect you to listen well to my children, but it is my word that you should follow above all else. If you fail to do this and be dissident, I will be forced to chastise you.”

“And Rose?” Ethan demanded to know. “What about my daughter?”

“Careful with that tone, Mr. Winters,” Lady Dimitrescu tells him softly, her voice as kind and gentle and as innocent as a dagger plunging into the soft flesh of his gut. “Were you anyone else, anyone else at all, and already you would have been sent to the very recesses of mine own estate to languish.” Well that was most certainly a threat.

“Except?” Ethan asked her, defiant as ever because like hell was he going to roll over where his daughter was concerned.

“As is,” she sighed aloud, looking rather annoyed at him. “You are my dearest Rosemary’s father. And I suppose, that allows you certain… liberties.” Her lips pursed tightly in displeasure at that, like it was Ethan’s fault.

She isn’t your fucking anything! He wanted to scream at her. She’s my daughter. Mine and Mia’s…

Only Mia was -

His eyes prickled hotly with sudden tears that he angrily swiped away with the back of his hand.

“I am not a cruel woman by nature,” Dimitrescu continued onwards, seemingly blind to the anguish twisting Ethan’s face. “I am merciful when need be, but even my lenience has limitations. Disobey me and there will be dire consequences.” She smiled at him again and there was such dark amusement in her eyes, like a cat playing with a dazed mouse between its paws. Like she was debating on whether or not to keep toying with him, or to bring the claws out.

Ethan seethed and tried his best to not fidget underneath that look. Fuck, she’s got him pinned.

“Come now, Mr. Winter, there is no need for such a dour face,” she tuts disapprovingly. “I will not keep your daughter away from you so long as you behave yourself. I rather think I’ve been more than accommodating”

Like hell you have.

“And what happens if I don’t behave myself?” He challenged her, chin jutting out stubbornly. “What are you going to do? Are you going to hurt Rosemary?”

An honest to god growl erupted from the noblewoman’s lips, deep and loud like a big cat or chainsaw. He didn’t mean to startle as much as he did, but what the fuck was that?

“... I will allocate that senseless comment as a byproduct of your fit of hysteria from yesterday. Just this once.” Dimitrescu’s tone was dangerously sharp and flat, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. “But you would do well to never accuse me of such a heinous thing again. I do not hurt children.”

Ethan swallowed nervously as he nodded his head in agreement. He hadn’t thought so, not with how she had been around Rosemary last night, but the verbal confirmation had him relaxing just a bit, despite how his heart was trying to burst out of his chest.

Dimitrescu set down her comically small teacup down on its saucer before steepling her gloved fingers together.

“In truth, I care very little about you.” Dimitrescu told him bluntly. 

The feeling is mutual, lady. Ethan took a sip of his tea and waited for her to keep going. 

“I find you to be rather crude, and your lack of manners utterly appalling,” Dimitrescu’s tone was getting more and more frustrated with every word. “Make no mistake, Mr. Winters, that I am allowing you to live as you are within my home is a gift, one that I can very well rescind whenever I wish.”

“So why am I here then?” He asked her shortly, temper fraying. “What, are we friends now? Is this actually just 21 Questions? Are we going to braid each other’s hair later and swap hot gossip?”

Dimitrescu’s pale face somehow managed to darken as she tilted her head down just enough for the swoop of her hat’s brim to just barely hide the majority of her eyes. Her steepled fingers tightened, the leather creaking ominously. 

“...You are a very frustrating man who cannot seem to understand the generosity of my actions, and, quite frankly, I find your attitude to be quite vexing. However, you are Rosemary’s father and your presence seems to bring her genuine joy. Not only that, but it is quite obvious that you love your daughter. I believe that you would do anything to keep her happy and safe, and that is the only reason why I am giving you such liberties. Do not delude yourself into thinking that I trust you.”

“Well, I find you to be frustrating too, so there,” Ethan, rather stupidly, shot back at her.

Her nostrils flared as she frowned at him. “Although I rather doubt that ill-bred temperament of yours can be fixed, you do not strike me as a fool. I’ve little patience for those. Are you a fool, Mr. Winters?”

“No,” he ground out, trying to keep his tone as pleasant and civil as he could be.

She looked distinctly unimpressed with his attempt. “Patience is a virtue, but even I have my limits. I suggest you do not try to test them.” Dimitrescu tapped one long, gloved finger against the stem of her cigarette holder and ash floated down gently into the ceramic plate. Ethan couldn’t help but stare at her, at her hands, at the pale expanse of her neck, at her golden eyes and how they burned like amber in the light… he pressed back further into his seat and looked at her, really looked at her.

Thick raven-black hair fell down past her ears in lazy, perfect ringlets. Her skin was pale as milk glass, perfectly smooth and unblemished without a single freckle or scar or beauty mark. She was hauntingly beautiful.

It was obvious that she wasn’t human. She just couldn’t be.

“What even are you?” He asked her bluntly. “And don’t try to change the subject. What’s up with,” he gestured at her, “all this?”

“I could say the same to you.”

That threw him off. “What?”

Dimitrescu tilted her head as she raised one eyebrow at him. “There’s something different about you that I just can’t seem to put my finger on. I’m rather curious about it.”

He had no clue what she was talking about. Unless… his body suddenly went cold and numb as though he’d been dunked in an ice bath. Unless she knew about the Mold, but no, that didn’t make sense. After the Bakers he and Mia had gone through countless surgeries to remove whatever was left of parasitic strain from their system. The Mold was gone, the BSAA had removed it from his system in record time since he had only been in short contact and had injected the serum into himself. Ethan had seen the test results himself. It had been Mia who had had trouble, who still needed - had needed- to take medication. It was why Rosemary had needed so many constant doctor visits. But Ethan was fine, and why would Dimitrescu, a woman isolated in some spooky castle, even know about The Connections or the Mold or Eveli -

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ethan told her honestly. 

“I suppose the novelty of the mystery is more than enough for me at the moment,” Dimitrescu conceded, but even with that it still sounded like a threat. “I still have many questions myself but, considering how speaking to you is akin to pulling teeth perhaps we shall set that aside for a later date. You’re quite the strain on my temper.”

It took every piece of willpower to not snark back at her about how he felt the same about her, but he managed it. He’s already reached the limit of her patience that if he did anything more Ethan had a feeling that his balancing on the knife’s edge would result in her pushing him off. Hadn’t she mentioned something about languishing in the lower recesses of the castle earlier? Wait, wasn’t the lower recesses one of the areas she marked as restricted? What even was a castle’s lower recesses?

God, his head hurt so much.

“... You still haven’t answered my question,” Ethan told her as exhaustion suddenly creeped in. He could feel every bruise throbbing in time with his heartbeat. God, he’s just so tired.

Those blood-red lips twist into a playful smile. “Oh, now where is the fun in just telling you everything, Ethan Winters? Surely you’ll allow a lady to keep some of her mystique?”

He stared at her blankly.

Her nostrils flared just a bit at his silence. “I suppose… hmmm, how to explain it. I’ve been like this for quite some time, and the means through which I gained such power were quite extraordinary, but that is a story for another day; perhaps one day we can swap. Still, for convenience’s sake, I believe it best that you are aware of certain things. Due to the nature of my body I require a rather peculiar sustenance.”

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as a shiver crawled up his spine. “And what is that?” Somehow he doubted it was anything less than sinister.

“Blood, Mr. Winters,” Dimitrescu tells him simply. “I require human blood in order to survive.”

“What, like a vampire?”

Annoyance flickered briefly across her face. “I told you before that I am not a vampire.”

“Oh, right,” Ethan said numbly. His mind felt like it was misfiring all synapses as his entire world seemed to come crashing down around him. A bomb could have gone off in the next room over and he probably wouldn’t have even noticed.

Ethan, feeling rather numb to the world, pressed the heels of his palms against his closed eyes so tightly there were literally starbursts in his vision. He had the overwhelming urge to either start laughing hysterically or just collapse into a sobbing mess because, seriously? Cannibals? Again?

There was a scream building in the back of his throat, trapped behind gritted teeth.

“... So, you’re not a vampire?” Ethan clarified in absolute disbelief as he looked at her through his hands. “Because everything you just said makes me think of a vampire.”

Dimitrescu’s nose wrinkled faintly at that. “I’m quite sure. I certainly don’t avert my eyes from my appearance in the mirror and I am quite partial to silver.”

Was silver even a part of vampire lore? Ethan had thought that was werewolves.

“But can you turn into a bat?” He asked sarcastically.

He’d meant it as a joke, only Dimitrescu’s smile widened.

“Not a bat,” she told him slyly, like they were sharing some sort of inside joke, and Ethan swore he felt his heart sink into his stomach. His eyes shut again as the urge to scream came back with a terrible vengeance.

No, he was not dealing with this.

“So what were you saying about duties?” He asked her, almost desperately, to grab hold of the wheel and jerking it into a hard right to forcibly shift the subject away from vampires, not-vampires and whatever it was that Ethan’s jailor truly was.

“Ah yes, of course,” Lady Dimitrescu places her laced fingers onto her lap, looking almost deceivingly demure. “As I’ve mentioned before, you owe me quite a debt. I saved your life and the life of your child, I sheltered you both and allowed my staff to tend to your injuries and even now I am offering you a room. This is not without a price, however, as you are expected to perform certain duties.”

“Such as?” He asked, but already his heart was sinking. Whatever she wanted of him wasn’t going to be as simple as keeping his room tidy and making his bed in the morning.

“I said it before, didn’t I? Your blood…” Her nostrils flared widely, and her smile was so goddamn predatory as she leaned forward in her seat that Ethan couldn't help but shrink back a bit. “I’ve never quite smelt anything like it. It’s scent is so intoxicating that I can only imagine what it must taste like fresh on the tongue. A wicked ambrosia, the sweetest temptation…”

A chill ran up his spine. “Are you going to kill me?” Was she going to bleed him dry?

“Not at all,” Dimitrescu reassured him, only then she made it worse. “Death would tarnish that beautiful vintage and cease its supply. I’ve no intention of killing my golden goose.”

Well, wasn’t that just oh so reassuring?

“And if I say no?” Ethan asked her defiantly, even though he already knew the answer. His hands were trembling worse than ever, and Ethan felt well and truly terrified. “What then?”

“You’re not in a situation to refuse, are you?” She asked slyly. Ethan stares at her, fingers clenching tightly around his knees, and he seethes.

It was just like their last meeting. She was so smug, so self-assured that everything was going in her favor like she was holding all the cards and the worst part was that it was. Lady Dimitrescu was in complete control and Ethan was fucked.

His mind was whirling at a thousand miles a minute as he desperately tried to think of a plan. He can’t fight his way out as is, not when every muscle in his body is still screaming, not when the noblewoman has already shown that she can pick him up like he was a kitten. He can’t physically fight his way out, not to mention he has no clue where this supposed nursery was.

And even if he did grab Rose and book it out of the castle without anyone stopping him? Ethan had no clue where they actually were, so he’s got no exit strategy at all. They could be hours away from any city, and even if he did manage to reach civilization on foot by trekking through the Romanian countryside in the middle of winter with a six-month old, that didn’t mean they were safe.

That wasn’t even mentioning how the BSAA had eyes and ears everywhere and might even be trying to track them down right now. Ethan’s seen enough to know just how far their reach stretched. Even if he could avoid the BSAA, then The Connections were no doubt still eager to get their hands on him after Dulvey. They were the whole reason Chris had moved them to Romania in the first place. So, if Chris and his soldiers didn’t get their hands on Ethan and his kid, then it would be the human-trafficking bioterrorists.

He’s got no weapons, no means of transportation, no clothes suited for roughing it, no money, no supplies, no identification, nothing. How’s he supposed to take care of Rose with odds like that?

He’s fucked. He’s well and truly fucked.

And Dimitrescu knows it. 

Worse, she’s enjoying it. 

Her smile was one of absolute smugness as the woman took another slow drag of her cigarette. Her eyes were gleaming with mischievous glee.

Lady Dimitrescu breathes out another soft cloud of smoke, staring down at him through fine, dark eyelashes. “Can you do this, Ethan Winters? Your blood, freely given, whenever I wish in exchange for a place within my castle? Your obedience in exchange for my protection?” She paused almost like she was taking a breath, only she was looking at him pointedly as though waiting for him to say something. Some polite remark or eager agreement, no doubt.

Ethan stared at her and bit down on his tongue lest he start screaming every profanity he could fling at her.

“Yeah. Sure, fine,” Ethan agrees behind tightly gritted teeth. His fingers flexed into tight fists.

Dimitrescu’s eyebrow rose higher as she looked at him pointedly.

“I accept, my Lady.” The words tasted like ash in his mouth and he felt like he needed a shower to scrub away the grossness of it all. He felt filthy inside and out.

“Very good. I am glad to see we have come to an agreement,” Dimitrescu said, looking oh so pleased, only her eyes were cold and sharp as she stared down at him. “But make no mistake, Mr. Winters. If you were to ever betray this fragile trust I am giving you, I assure you that not only will you never see your daughter again, but that you will not live long enough to regret it.”

He bristled at that. “I understand.” 

Another pointed look directed towards him and he just… he just hated her so much.

“I understand, my Lady.” It was a miracle that Ethan didn’t let the sheer amount of loathing he had for this woman get in the way of his words.

“Wonderful!” The noblewoman chirped brightly, annoyance quickly snapping back to pleased. “I suppose this concludes our meeting, Mr. Winters. I shall have someone escort you to your chambers. No doubt you must be eager for your own private accommodations. Someone will come to bring you your meals for the next few days until you’ve learned the layout of the Castelul. Afterwards, you will be joining my family on some nights.”

The sudden barrage of words, not to mention just the sudden switch of subject, left his head reeling. “... What do you mean?” Ethan asked her warily.

“Why, you are a guest here, Mr. Winters. It would be rather remiss of me to shutter you off to the side. Once your clothing has arrived, you must dine with us. We would absolutely love to have you for dinner,” she all but purred at him, eyes crinkling in mirth.

Ethan stared at her, honestly unsure on what to say.

Did she just… did she really just -after admitting she was some sort of cannibal- did she really just say that? His brain feels like it’s sputtered out and he just can’t compute the ballsiness and sheer audacity of this woman.

“You’re… inviting me to dinner?” There was a roaring in his head.

“Consider it a way for us to get to know each other. My family is quite curious with you, so you shall eat with us.”

“You wanna be part of this family, you gotta eat like family!” Jack snarled in his ear.

The world was getting fuzzy and there was a ringing in his ears. His mouth was so dry and when he tried to swallow it was like there was a hand squeezing around his throat.

“What have I done to deserve this except open my home and feed you?” Marguerite wailed.

There were bugs crawling across his skin and a hint of metal in his mouth. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, could only get lost in the sensation of being cast out on a wave and pulled away from sanity’s shoreline. His hands trembled, his left forearm was burning from where Mia had hacked through it, and his ankle felt like something was chewing on it. Even now Ethan could feel the Mold sticking in his teeth, could taste the rotten blood on the back of his tongue.

“You’ll choke on your blood before I’m done with you. You and that bitch, Mia!” Jack -not Jack, it wasn’t really Jack, wasn’t ever really Jack- howled so loudly it felt like Ethan’s head was about to burst.

“Mr. Winters?” Dimitrescu’s voice, stern and annoyed, cut through the fog and Ethan flinched back into the seat. His heart was racing, his mind reeling, and it felt like he was going to drown underneath the weight of the terror coursing through his veins. His eyes jolted to the woman in white, hands clenching tightly against his knees. His vision flickered and the ringing in his ears was getting shriller and sharper. It was so hard to tell what was real and what wasn’t. 

“D-Dinner…” Ethan stuttered out, chest heaving. Where was he? Was he in Romania, or was he in Dulvey? It was so hard to tell with the terror burning through him. Rosemary, where was Rosemary? Where was his kid? Where was his little rosebud? His sweet pea?

“Yes, dinner,” Dimitrescu cut through his rambling thoughts again. She sounded very annoyed with him. “I will expect to see you there once you have been settled.”

Ethan tried to look at her, but it was so hard to focus. For a moment, Dimitrescu’s cold-pale face flickered and another face stared at him. A little pale-faced girl with raven-black hair crying tears of blood. He blinked, and Eveline was gone and Lady Dimitrescu was staring at him reproachfully.

“I…” His mouth was so dry. “I can do dinner…” It took everything inside him to not begin to break down again. 

Rosemary. Where was Rosemary?

Chapter Text

Rosemary shuffles and squirms restlessly about in her grip. Alcina rearranges herself in place upon her most favorite divan, shifting her arms and weight to accommodate the tiny terror trying desperately to squirm out of her blanket and from where she is nestled deeply into her mother’s vast embrace. Still, Alcina’s heart cannot help but absolutely melt at the very sight.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” Alcina croons slowly then, a soft hum building low and deep within her chest. Rosemary simply squeals and whines loudly, fidgeting furiously about in her grip restlessly.

Oh, what a fierce little fighter this one was!

Already the babe has managed to sneak an arm and foot out of her careful swaddle within what seems like mere moments, and yet Alcina simply doesn’t have the heart to be irritated when she is so utterly enraptured by Rosemary’s bright blue eyes and the cute way her eyebrows and tiny nose scrunch up whenever she whines and squeals up at her needingly. 

When has Alcina Dimitrescu ever once denied any of her beloved daughters anything in the world? 

“Well hello there,” Alcina says aloud joyfully even as her full attention entirely fixates upon the small, squirming bundle of pale flesh nestled within the absolute safety of her arms. “Are you hungry, my dearest?”

Alcina’s youngest, her dearest flower, her newfound Rosemary, squirms and kicks restlessly in her grip, another tiny squeal building up in her tiny infant chest. 

Chuckling underneath her breath, the Countess slowly lowers the warmed glass bottle of goat milk and vitamin powder and Rosemary immediately latches onto the rubber nipple to eagerly suck and Alcina cannot help but rumble proudly. 

And as her sweet babe begins to eagerly suck from the bottle, Alcina allows herself to finally let the tension that has been building upon her shoulders lessen. 

“There you go, my sweet girl,” the noblewoman coos, cradling the child’s small head easily within one large, gloved palm. “Oh, what a greedy little thing you are…” Alcina cannot help but chortle aloud, utterly captivated by the child in her arms. “Just like your mother and big sisters, aren't you?”

Her dearest Rosemary shuffles and squeals even as she drinks hungrily, salvia and goat milk pooling and gathering against the far corners of her mouth.

“What a little beastie,” Alcina chuckles fondly, her laughter as clear and clean as ringing bells even as she swiftly swipes away the spit with her fine, silken handkerchief that is soon quickly soiled from spit and mess up. Oh, what was one fine handkerchief in comparison to her youngest’s toothless smile?

“Hungry, weren’t you?” She teases aloud, shifting about in place upon her favored seat and Alcina cannot help but lovingly brush the tip of her finger against the babe’s soft cheek, smiling contentedly as she allows herself to relax and simply hold her daughter close as she feeds.

Rosemary barely pays her any attention at all as she suckles greedily, cheeks dimpling from the furious strain of effort. “There you go, my sweet girl,” the noblewoman coos.

Lulled by the rhythmic suckling of her youngest child, Alcina’s eyes flutter shut as she sighs aloud then, her massive frame slowly loosening as Alcina allows herself to shift and settle upon the fine gold-threaded divan. There are no maids or servants who would dare trespass upon her private rooms without her summons, and Alcina cannot help but relax and revel quietly within her inner sanctum.

Only it seemed as though no time had passed when her dear Rosemary whines as the bottle is fully emptied and all she can suckle on is empty air. Fat, wet tears begin to gather in the babe’s eyes as her tiny lips quirk into a mournful pout.

“Come now, my dearest rosebud. None of those tears now,” Alcina coos as she lifts the infant girl up easily to rest her bulk against her shoulder. A massive hand raises up as two fingers gently begin to pat against the babe’s back in an effort to burp her. Within seconds, Rosemary burps and spits up on the soft towel placed over Alcina’s shoulder with a coo and giggle.

“There we go,” Alcina cannot help but beam at the infant, her smile rising and softening even further as Rosemary squeals and flails in delight within her mother’s tender embrace. “Do you feel better now, my sweet flower?”

Rosemary simply does her best to tangle her tiny fingers in Alcina’s hair in an attempt to eat it. Chuckling, Alcina uses one gloved finger to gently pull away the raven-black strands from the child’s gaping mouth and smiles cheekily at the sudden pout when the babe frowns grumpily up at her with those tiny brows and mouth furrowed in displeasure. Alcina’s heart melts at the sight.

“So fussy,” Alcina beamed aloud, holding the small child aloft in her hands as her smile grew larger and larger. “You’re simply insatiable, aren't you? Just like your mother and sisters, hmmm?”

Rosemary simply smacks her lips together, busy hands grabbing at all the child can currently reach. Alcina, wisely, keeps her head and hair far out of reach of those greedy, grasping fingers.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, my darling,” Alcina croons, playfully tapping her index against Rosemary’s chest. The child squeals happily as she grasps onto Alcina’s finger with both hands, pulling to bring it closer to her mouth so that she might gnaw on it with gums just fit to burst with teeth. Even now, Alcina can feel the tiny bumps where the child’s two bottom teeth were just about to emerge. She would have to inquire about teething toys when the Duke returned at the end of the month.

Rose squirmed and kicked agitatedly, spittle loosening from her gaping mouth and onto the fine leather of Alcina’s gloves. She’s already caught sight of Alcina’s grand statement necklace and was making eager little grabbing motions with her hands. Wisely, Alcina keeps the girl well out of reach.

“You know how close it is to your bedtime,” Alcina tells her, tickling her stomach with a finger. “Won’t you be a good girl for Mother, hmmm?”

Rosemary squeals in delight, kicking her tiny feet about. Alcina smiles at her youngest, allows her eyes to soften even further, allows her smile to be gentle even as her voice lowers down as she begins to slowly sing an old Romanian lullaby that had been a favorite when her other girls had been young. 

“Go to sleep my tiny baby,

Try to sleep and fall asleep

Till the white dawns break the day.

Then wake up as a grown child. Get asleep, my tiny baby

Till tomorrow at the dawn.”

She croons the familiar words as she slowly rocks the baby. Rosemary blinks slowly, stubbornly trying to stay awake, only her mother’s voice and a full belly was beginning to prove too much of a challenge.

“Abua – bua – bua,”

Alcina presses a soft kiss at every word. A kiss on Rose’s cheek, her nose, her forehead and Rosemary gurgles happily.

“Abua, your mother will gently kiss you

Don’t be afraid of bad creatures in the forest

Your mother is forever guarding and protecting you.”

At those words, Alcina’s arms grip tighter around Rosemary as she thinks of what it was Mr. Winters had said about the armed men who had tried to snatch away Rosemary. Nothing like that would ever occur again, Alcina swore it upon her life and the honor of her most venerable House.

“Little sweetest

Mother’s baby

With small eyes as dark as blackberries

Your mother will go to forest

She’s going to bring you wooden pieces from the trees

And make crullers just for you…”

As the last word is crooned out, the room was quiet save for the crackling of the fire, Rosemary’s soft snuffling and… Alcina tilted her head to the side, pearl earrings clinking at the motion, as she listened. Her smile widened just a bit at that, eyes crinkling from amusement even as she called out aloud: “I know that you’re there, Bela.”

For a few moments there was no response; merely another crackle of heated sap spitting sparks from the fireplace, but Alcina waited patiently as she softly tapped two fingers against Rosemary’s back. The young girl hiccuped in her sleep. There was the sudden humming of a thousand fluttering wings as Alcina’s eldest child suddenly solidified right before her, looking rather sheepish at being caught hiding.

“How did you know it was me?” Bela demanded agitatedly, the barest hint of pink dusting the tops of her pale cheeks from embarrassment. It takes all of Alcina’s well-honed manners to stop from cooing aloud at such an adorable sight. Eldest daughter or not, Alcina had countless decades on her children and it seemed as though everything they did was utterly precocious. 

“Daniela wouldn’t even bother trying to hide herself,” Alcina answers her eldest daughter easily. “And I know that it wasn’t Cassandra because I had sent her to survey the perimeters and she probably still has an hour to go to make a full circuit. Thus, the answer was easy. It could only be you, my dearest.”

Her eldest’s cheeks still flush a terribly bright red and it wasn’t a surprise that she immediately tried to change the subject. “That was a pretty song, Mother. I think I remember you singing that for Daniela when she was still young.”

Alcina allows the switch, knowing all too well how sensitive Bela could be when embarrassed.“I sang it for you and Cassandra as well, though you both were probably too young to remember it.

Bela’s brows furrowed as she tried to remember. A fly scuttled across her cheek and into her hair.

“Is there something you wished to tell me, Bela?” Alcina tilts her head to the side just a bit as she looks upon her eldest child. She smiles knowingly. “You followed our guest after I left, didn’t you?”

Bela flushes further.

Alcina chuckles then. “I know you much too well, my darling. You never were the type to leave even a single stone unturned. Please, regale your poor mother with your insight.”

“It wasn’t truly hard to follow him unseen,” Bela defends herself, still blushing. “He reeked so strongly of grief that I could have tracked him from as far away as the far reaches of Lord Salvatore’s Reservoir, had I wished.”

Ah, yes, the slaughtered wife and betrayal of a close friend…

“One of the maids showed the man-thing to the floor where his rooms are,” Bela was eager to inform her, ever dutiful. “Mr. Winters thanked her, inspected the door and quickly latched it shut before moving on to inspect the rooms.”

“Oh?” Alcina raised an eyebrow at that, honestly amused. “And what was he inspecting? I rather doubt it was the thread count of the bedsheets.”

“It was mostly inspecting the drawers and closet space, although he did show an interest in the furniture. I suspect he was looking for a suitable weapon and when that failed he went into the bathroom where he then seemed to experience a rather intense panic attack.”

Her eyebrow raised a bit at that, though she wasn’t truly surprised. The man-thing had gone through quite a bit before Alcina had found him bleeding on the road. “Well, he certainly is tenacious. I will have to tell Irina to have the maids keep an eye on him and his activities.”

Bela shifted on her feet, flies scuttling about the pale expanse of her neck. “Do you believe he will try to leave, Mother? From what I saw, I doubt he will recover from his hysterics in the next day or so.”

“For now, I believe he will do his best to stay on his best behavior. He’s weakened and vulnerable from his injuries,” Alcina says. “If he were to leave, he wouldn’t be able to make it far with the winter snows blocking the valley pass. Even then, I doubt he would ever leave without Rosemary in hand.”

Bela’s frown furrowed deeper in thought. “Do you think he will try and take her?”

“If given the chance? I have no doubt,” Alcina said, even as her fingers tense to hold onto the babe in her grasp. No one will ever take Rosemary from her, not even her birth father. “I will rely on you and your sisters to ensure that such a thing does not occur.”

“I could always cut out his tongue. I dislike how he addresses you,” Bela tells her eagerly, and, oh, while Alcina will always adore Bela’s passionate dedication there is no need for such action at this time.

“None of that now,” she chides. “Mr. Winters is already injured enough as is. We shan’t add on to that unless he is deserving of it.” A thought strikes her then. “Be sure to remind Cassandra and Daniela of that, you know how they can get when they get too excited. Mr. Winters isn’t a toy for them to play with.”

Bela’s expression soured at that. “They’re going to do something, I just know it.”

“Most likely, yes,” Alcina chuckled. Her younger daughters were quite ardent and got carried away rather easily when it came to their little games. Alcina had already had to reprimand Cassandra barely a week ago when she’d taken a blade to one maid’s face.

Rosemary grunted in her sleep, lips pursing and smacking together and Alcina nearly jolted from surprise when a set of lips managed to press against a sensitive spot. Despite the countless days being fed from a bottle, Rosemary had an uncanny talent of honing her mouth onto Alcina’s private, covered areas.

“Mother?”

“Nothing, darling, your sister merely startled me. Now, tell me, what do you think of our newest guest, darling?” Alcina asks, genuinely curious of her eldest’s opinion of the man. Her Bela was always so inquisitive and the Dimitrescu matriarch cherished her daughter’s insight.

Bela’s brows furrow deeply in thought as she shifts from foot to foot. “Mr. Winters is… a curious man,” she says slowly. “He has reacted to things that should be far beyond his understanding with an underlying knowledge that shouldn’t be possible. I am… well, rather weary of him, if I have to say anything at all.”

“Hmmm,” Alcina hums, both aloud and to herself. She says nothing in the immediate moment, more content with rocking her arms slowly to keep Rosemary asleep. Even still, her thoughts race about and there is but no choice but to address them. Alcina shifts in place, pressing a sweet kiss to Rosemary’s cheek when the infant grunts and shifts uncomfortably in her arms. Bela is waiting for her answer only Alcina….. Well, she doesn’t quite know what to say at that very moment.

Ethan Winters has surprised her. 

It would be an utter lie to say that Alcina wasn’t intrigued by the rude man-thing that was currently residing in her home. Her newly found guest was utterly crass and disrespectful, has easily tested her patience within a minute of every discussion, but Alcina couldn’t deny the fact that she found the man absolutely captivating.

It’s been so very long since any mortal has looked upon her and scowled, longer still that one would openly insult her straight to her face. He was rude and rough-spoken, but he hadn’t so much as blinked in surprise or horror when her children had made their entrance. Alcina has seen many different types of reactions from mortals when they first see her daughters and their unique gift, but the majority of the time it was the delicious scent of fear that clung to their mortal forms like a most decadent perfume. Only Mr. Winters had been more surprised than anything, and even then had seemingly managed to overcome it within seconds.

What was it that the man-thing had said when face to face with Alcina’s darling trio?

“You’re not the first insect lady I’ve run into, although the flying and shapeshifting is new, I’ll give you that. That’s a pretty neat trick. Did you three rehearse?” 

Simply fascinating.

Alcina couldn’t wait to inform Mother Miranda about this interesting creature. No doubt Mother would be interested in the man’s inborn gifts and his past. Alcina preened at the idea of being given Mother’s gratitude for such an interesting specimen in front of her siblings. Already she looked forward to the sour look on Heisenberg’s face as Alcina proved, yet again, that she was Mother’s favorite and most capable. 

Only, and Alcina couldn’t quite ignore the sharp pang of hurt that blossomed in her chest, Mother Miranda had been uncharacteristically quiet in the last week or so. The Priestess had yet to answer any of Alcina’s calls and there had been nothing from any of Alcina’s siblings that suggested they had heard from their matriarch either. Alcina had hoped to inform her Mother of recent events and of House Dimitrescu’s newest addition, only…

Frowning to herself, Alcina traced the tip of her finger over Rose’s cheek; the babe’s nose wrinkled as she shifted in sleep. 

It wasn’t in character for the Priestess to suddenly ignore all contact. Mother Miranda had been in such a joyous mood the last few months, far happier than Alcina had seen in quite some time for all little that the Dimitrescu matriarch knew of what had exactly brought her Mother such joy. Alcina wished she knew what it was, that Mother had confidence in Alcina’s capabilities to confide in her…

Alcina would have to send someone as a messenger to her holy Mother’s residence, what with the phone line being so oddly silent. No doubt the result of faulty wiring; Alcina had known better than to trust Heisenberg with the installation, but Mother had insisted on her youngest showing off his supposed talents. It has been years, and the thought still rankled. No doubt one of the lowly stablehands could have done a better job.

Shaking herself out of her desolate thoughts, Alcina shifted in the seat and rearranged her hold on Rosemary. She turned her attention to Bela, who had stepped forward and was gently ghosting a finger through Rose’s hair. Rose’s hair was just a shade lighter than Bela’s, although it would surely darken as the child got older, but they looked so much like sisters at that moment it nearly took Alcina’s breath away.

“Would you like to hold her?”

Bela startled at her mother’s sudden question, retracting her hand as though she’d touched ice. “Oh, no, Mother. I am quite alright.”

Bela has always been her, well, not her shyest - none of Alcina’s girls could be considered as shy- but most certainly Alcina’s more cautious child when it comes to holding their baby sister. Daniela, as always, was the first to volunteer whenever she could with an ease and confidence that shined so brightly. Even Cassandra has held the girl, making faces and wagging her tongue to incite Rose’s burbling laughter. Bela had yet to hold her, more content to watch from a distance.

Daniela has alway been her most earnest, Cassandra her most daring, but Bela has always been the most patient of Alcina’s children. She was the type to wait and see, to hold back until the perfect moment to strike, while her sisters preferred to have a more active approach.

Alcina beckoned her daughter to sit, tilting her chin down at the sleeping Rosemary.

“I don’t-” Her sweet Bela stutters out, pale cheeks burning a ruddy red. “I wouldn’t even know how to hold her-”

“My dearest Bela, you’ve done this before,” Alcina says patiently. “Granted, it has been quite some time since Cass was ever this small but, trust me, you have held a baby before.”

“Did I?” Bela asked her curiously, those bright golden eyes burning brightly in the firelight. She frowned then. “I don’t remember…”

“You were quite young,” Alcina concedes. Both Bela and Cassandra had still been human then, so it was understandable that they didn’t remember. Mortals had such fickle memories. “Still, won’t you hold your baby sister, for me?”

Bela hesitates, nervously wringing her hands as she was wont to do when anxious, and Alcina waits with an easy patience born from the long years of being the mother of three mischievous children. Her eldest stiffly sits down besides her on the divan, the humming of flies easily heard as she awkwardly holds out her arms.

Shuffling Rosemary carefully in her arms, Alcina gently places the sleeping baby into Bela’s arms. “There is no need to be so stiff. Here, relax your arms,” Alcina chuckles fondly as she gently corrects Bela’s hold. “You are not made of wood, my dear.”

“I do not wish to drop her,” Bela explained, almost sheepishly.

“You won’t,” Alcina says easily. She had the utmost confidence in her eldest and capabilities.

Her eldest shifts in her seat, staring down attentively at Rosemary. “... Dani was a lot bigger,” Bela murmured, so quiet it must have been spoken to herself.

“She was,” Alcina chuckles. “Humans grow at a fast rate. Soon enough this tiny terror will be up and about on her feet. Hopefully she will not be as eager to get underfoot as much as Daniela had.”

“Hmmm,” Bela hums almost distractedly with her attention entirely focused on the baby in her arms. Bela’s shoulders have slackened as the tension left her, and her eldest smiled softly when Rosemary squirmed and smacked her lips noisily. Bela laughs, “hello there, little one.”

Something warm and soft settles in Alcina at that moment as she looks upon eldest and youngest daughters. At this moment all of her worries do not seem to exist. It was hard to let her worries consume her when all four of her daughters are safe and warm within the Dimitrescu ancestral home.

What more could Alcina ask for?