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Chapter Text

         Lana enjoyed sleeping more than anything. Anywhere she could get a moment to rest, away from the ever-scrutinous, ever scornful eyes of her Mother and Father. She remembered a summer afternoon with her head resting against the bark of a tree in her backyard. A dark closet, holding winter coats and boots. She’d gotten an uncomfortable pain in her neck after that, but the silence had been so pleasant. Today, she had found her way into the garage, tucked away in a corner. It was such a simple reason why her fleeting times of rest mattered more than her miscellaneous, oftentimes random chores. In her sleep, she could dream stories so great, so real, enchanting tales of lives greater than her own. She could feel the mud beneath her feet, waves rock her to her core, brilliantly dressed men and women, a new home with a new family, gods and goddesses. From time to time, she’d dream of monsters. Tall, tar-black, lumbering, all-consuming relentless beasts. Lana hated those dreams. But her distaste for the waking world outweighed the beasts, so she chose them.

     Her corner of the garage was a dusty, cobweb ridden stone haven, her only protection from the wind being the large tire belonging to her Father’s tractor. It had quit at the beginning of summer and had never returned to work. Her mother had lamented that fact for weeks, but Lana hadn’t heard them speak of it in some time. It wasn’t hard to put together why they had stopped speaking of it. It was her fault, after all. Or was it? The machine’s brakes had failed coming downhill. She would’ve been crushed.

So she forced it to stop.

Was she wrong to do such a thing? Must have been. She hadn’t been allowed food for days after.

       A chilly wind snapped at Lana’s nose, forcing her back into reality. Turning her gaze outside, she watched the dull winter afternoon tick by. She could see the dusty path that led to the rest of the village, and with it, past a small clump of trees, was the village. For a moment, Lana almost wistfully imagined the last time she had walked its streets, visiting the humble market with Mother or Father, or attending church. How long ago had it been? It had been far warmer, that was for sure. There was another gust and yet another chance for the blasted cold to bear it’s fangs. Why she had settled for the garage, she wasn’t sure. Mother and Father were on edge, with Mother pacing about the modest homestead and Father walking the grounds. Nowhere to hide indoors, and nowhere to hide outdoors. She settled for somewhere in-between, though hindsight was beginning to make its presence known. Nowhere to sleep, then either. Darkness, curse this weather.

       A branch snapped. Instinctively, Lana shifted into a squat and peeked out from behind the tractor. It was Father. A humble farmer by trade, years of toil had made his face appear gaunt. His skin wrinkled like old leather, his hair had begun falling off from the front, and existed like wild tufts of gray on his head. His eyes, Lana always found unsettling. A lid covering a boiling pot, fit to burst. Whenever they had met her own, they went from tired and dull, to confused and as mentioned, scornful. Lana did not know his age, only that the other village children had much younger parents.

       It had been said that Lana inherited nothing from either of her caretakers, and that much was true. Her mother was much the same as her father, though far scrawnier, and her blonde hair had only grayed. Prone to what she called “proper discipline,” Lana feared when her eyes grew angry. It meant a swift hand wasn’t far behind. While they possessed splotches across their face and arms and coloration from toiling in the summer months, Lana was pale, with hair colored darker than a moonless night. As he finished his walk across the grounds, she heard it. It wasn’t always on command, what she heard, but Lana knew she was hearing the words unspoken, the sounds buried in the minds of whoever she was close to.

“Not right, it’s not right. Something ain’t smellin 'right. One of the monsters.”

       At her father’s thought of monsters, Lana peeked around the corner, creeping ever closer away from the solitude she had found. Silence couldn’t last forever, she supposed. And this sounded interesting. Lana had never seen a Lycan up close, but she’d heard the tales. Foul beasts that Mother Miranda protected them from, though Hunters would sometimes find themselves at their mercy. Or in this case, a bold one would venture close to the village.

       They say Lycans were once villagers, cursed to become such feral creatures. Wearing old rags, their teeth becoming sharper, a taste for blood overriding their senses until there wasn’t anything left. Nothing but the urge to kill, to feed. Mother Miranda was kind for keeping them at bay- kind and strong. But none had seen her in some time. Worship had gone quiet, somber, as the townsfolk continued to church without their leader. No wonder a Lycan would try its luck with a home so far on the outskirts like Lana’s. Was she scared? Surprisingly not. Curious, more than anything. If one was stalking about, she wanted to see it. So she took quiet, quick footsteps, pursuing her father as he entered the shed.

       Alone again, she looked to the snow covered ground, and froze. Now she understood why her Father and Mother were so on edge. At least, she hoped it was, because it had little to do with her. Splayed across the ground, corpses seemingly sitting there half-eaten the whole night, were their chickens. Each had been lively, fat, glistening with bright white feathers, though now sported a sickly deep red. Grime, frozen viscera traced the yard, leading up to their former residence, the chicken coop. Said coop was torn asunder, as though someone had ripped it in half. Which was probably what happened. Lycans were unnaturally strong.

       Standing above the bloodied backyard were dozens of ravens, and in spite of the distasteful scene before her, Lana couldn’t help her excited smile. She loved birds, the ravens most of all. Dark feathers, like her hair, not to mention shunned but clever. They were friends. She enjoyed listening to their simple thoughts, feeling what they felt, which in this moment was hunger. Dozens of plump corpses to peck and claw at- a scavenger's delight!

“Hi,” she said, quietly, should her father overhear, and the ravens regarded her, though stuck close to their corpses, “Here. Dessert for you all.”

       Reaching into her pockets, she produced yesterday's bread. Long stale, perhaps even growing molded, but all she had been given the day before. Now the ravens were far more interested, cawing back to her and raising their wings. For while the ravens were Lana’s favorite creature, so too was Lana to the ravens. With a quiet giggle, she crushed the dry bread into bits and tossed it in a cascade to her avian friends. Leaving their chickens behind, the crows searched the red ground for their prized bread, pecking and bickering with one another with great fervor.

“Is it good? Good…eat up now, pretty birds. Before daddy comes back,” she murmured, running a finger along the head of her nearest companion. Sometimes in her dreams, she dreamed she could fly like them. Maybe one day, if she fed them well enough, they might take her away from this place.

“Girl,” her Father’s voice called, shaking her from her thoughts. Shoot. She could tell he was angry.

“Yes, daddy?” She asked. Polite, quiet. She shouldn’t be outside right now, or playing with the ravens, or kneeling in the viscera-stained snow.

“What are you doing out?” he demanded. But he was shaking, the shoddy shotgun clicking in his grasp. And in his mind, she could hear his thoughts calling, “Now isn’t the time for your damn games, girl!”

“Sorry, Daddy. The ravens were hungry,” she lied. Her childish answer never got her much leeway anyhow, but it sounded much better than “I wanted to see the monster that ate our income.”

“Hungry?! We buy that bread for you and you throw it to the fucking birds? What’s the matter with you? Do you not understand even half of what we do for you?!”

“I’m sorry-“ she tried, lying again. What did she care, when they thought her a cursed, blasphemous child. What did she care, when they thought themselves holy for trying to beat her “curse” out of her?

“You be quiet,” he snarled, looming over her. Lana counted herself seven years old, though her peers in the village stood well over her, and of course, adults appeared all the more terrifying. Trying to meet the eyes of someone whom you could only match the ankles of would make for such a feeling.

       Freeing a hand, her father snatched her arm, hard enough to bruise, and marched her towards the house. Lana kicked her legs to keep up, tugging back but making no headway. The ravens, as if responding to her distress, took to the air and cried out one after the other, a cacophony of sound that nearly drowned out her voice.

“You’re h-hurting me!” She said, pulling even harder, “Stop it!”

“I’m hurting YOU?!” He cried, incredulously, tossing her forward and into the snow. After what you’ve done to us, this curse you put on this family, this ain’t half of what you deserve!”

       Waves of hatred and anger poured off of her father. Her Gift whispered such things to her. Holding her bruised left arm, glancing up at her father, she listened to the still cawing ravens, feeling their distress. She felt hotly proud of her friends, happy to know that they had her support. But she wondered, still. There was another feeling, one of insatiable hunger, somewhere nearby. So she took her eyes off of her father and glanced at the trees behind the bloodied field of chicken corpses.

“A gift from the endless dark, we thought. When we were given you. But you weren’t right. Never was. You never cried, you just watched. You hear things no one else can, you cast witchcraft. You spit in the face of everything Mother Miranda’s given us!”

“Daddy-“ she tried to say, only for him to slam his foot into the ground and silence her. So lost in his tirade that he couldn’t see the figure staggering through the trees, couldn’t hear the bushes move over the ravens and his own yelling.

“But did we put up with it? Aye, that we did. We’ve endured. Thought we could teach you better, get you right in the head, purge your darkness-spurned soul, but-“

“LYCAN!”

       Lana saw no sense in decorum or manners. The beastly malformed creature was mere feet from her father, who dropped his angered expression immediately, whipping around just in time to lock into a grapple with the snarling beast. He was everything Lana had imagined he would be. Pointed, crooked fangs stained with the blood of chickens, gray skin covered in a thick layer of overgrown hair. His hot visible breath wafted up and over his eyes as he locked his dilated, glowing ethereal eyes on her father. She noted, as well, matted to his body in sections, chicken feathers.

       Any other child might have screamed, and ran. But despite herself, she giggled. The face her father was making was funny. And the chicken feathers made the lycan look silly. He, Lana’s Father, raised one of his lanky legs and desperately kicked the Lycan in its stomach. The creature snarled and fell away, though not without clawing her father’s arms. Her father yelled, but regardless, filled with adrenaline, readjusted his shotgun and took aim. Lana covered her ears, without a second to spare, as the shotgun went off. The lycan had rolled, however, avoiding the initial blast, but it howled as buckshot embedded itself in its right arm.

       Woefully out of time and unable to reload, Lana noted that he’d neglected to grab the extra ammunition out of the shed in his tirade he’d screamed at her, her father instead took the butt of his gun and drove it with a scream into the lycan’s maw. It had as much effect as a paper airplane hitting a solid brick. Her father took a sudden swipe upside his head from the beast and collapsed down to the floor. Lana suddenly didn’t find it quite so funny anymore. Now it was curious.

       The beast had ignored her the whole time, though she knew it wouldn’t be that way for long. Her Father was in trouble and hurt. Not to mention scared and weakening quickly. She felt like she should be springing to help and yet all she could do was watch. After all, he was mean. He hit her. Called her mean things, and said she was cursed and bad. He said her gift was a sin. So why should she help?

       She watched the lycan clamber atop her wounded father, who barely held back the literal jaws of death with his frail but hardened old arms. She pouted. He was still her papa. And her mother would be so furious with her if she let him get killed. She had no choice.

       Lana locked her eyes on the beast and called on her gift. The screaming ravens fell silent. The only noise at all was her grunting father and the snarling lycan. Even the winter gusts had quieted. The child reached out her hand and squeezed, and the beast howled. Its claws tore into its skull as she willed the beast to hurt, to have a headache. Her father, seeing an opportunity, clambered to his feet like a madman, grabbing the nearest weapon he could, that being a rusted farming sickle. She stopped using her gift and just watched. The air became an orchestra of hacks and slashes, aggressive grunts giving way to weakened gurgles. Lana watched with interest piqued as the lycan faded, melted away to naught but a crystal husk, and feathers. A pity.

       Lana inspected the corpse closer. Why was it that Lycans turned into crystals when they died? Her first thought was to grab one and hold it. After all, they were so shiny, and her bird friends loved shiny things. Perhaps when her father wasn't looking, she could try her luck. Speaking of her dad, his adrenaline seemed to begin to wear off of him, and the pain was setting in. Lana briefly wondered if she should rush to get mother, almost shocked that she hadn’t emerged in all the ruckus. But then the door slammed open, revealing a furious woman brandishing a kitchen cleaver. It was foolish perhaps, to think that her mother hadn't witnessed the struggle. 

“It was her!” The shrill, angered voice of her mother cried, “Joseph, it was her! It came to her when she called!”

Lana's stomach dropped. She had only been trying to warn her father, not hurt him! Her gift was whispering to her, warning her of danger. Her mother's thoughts were a tunnel of hatred and outrage, so jumbled that Lana couldn't decipher them in any legible way. Her father, however, was strangely silent. 

“It-it wasn’t me! I didn’t…” Lana quickly stammered, mustering her own defense, “I helped Daddy, I used my…my gift…”

       Lana turned away from the pinched, fearful yet furious expression of her mother and toward her father. It was the moment she learned that lycans weren’t the only monsters to fear in such a town. Her father looked so miserably calm as he stalked towards her that she felt fear for the first time in this whole exchange. Yes, he’d come at her with belts, his fists, sometimes her mother had used a shoe. But he held the sickle so tightly in his hands that she knew that this wasn’t normal.

“Daddy…” she squeaked, stepping backward, almost tripping over herself.

“Do it. Do it, Joseph. Before she calls more! She’ll ruin all that Mother Miranda gave to us!” Her mother encouraged. Then her father broke into a run and Lana could do nothing else but turn and sprint for her life. She didn't even have time to think of a plan. 

       It wasn’t a fair fight. It wasn’t an even race. Even wounded, her father was so much bigger, so much stronger, that she stood no chance. She staggered through trees, feeling a hand swipe at her leg, and managed to take her shoe off. Uneven, she staggered, heavy breaths raking through her chest. Her heart pounded as she rounded a tree and took a running start down the beaten but long-abandoned path.

“Daddy, it wasn’t- I didn’t-“ she tried, before she staggered. His pounding footsteps grew closer, a hand wrapped around her neck, slamming her against a tree. All wind left her lungs at that moment, her head pounded and the world went strangely silent as she tried to rack breaths back into her body.

“Should’ve done this…long ago…” he growled, ferally, reminding her so much of a lycan, chilling her so deeply. With no regard for aim, or his intent to kill, her father swung his scythe. She felt her world go dark, a horrible snagging and dragging sensation, followed by agony so great Lana was sure she was dead. She didn’t even know she was screaming until a moment after.

Her eyes. Her father had cut out her eyes.

       He might’ve done more, worse if Lana hadn’t panicked. Her gut twisted, as she called on her gift, begging for everything at that moment to go away. To leave her alone. She felt trees shake, and heard her father roar as he was thrown aside like a doll. Her back slid down the bark of the tree she found herself against. Unsure what kept her going at that moment, she moved as fast as her legs would take her. Sightless in the woods included scratching herself on brambles, crashing into trees, falling face-first into the mud, all the while screaming, crying as the blood trailed across her nose and lips, tasting of grime and lichen.

       Lana moved until her legs couldn’t carry her anymore until the snow banks reached her knees, and the cold was too great. She collapsed, and she sobbed. She covered her eyes, feeling nothing but cold, running blood, and a brutal stinging from her wound and the exposed elements. Would a lycan find her like this, alone? Would her father track her, finish what he had started? Why? Why was this her fate?

Oh please,

Please, it can’t be like this.

How can she dream if she can’t see?

       Her hands were slicked from what she knew was blood. Lana could feel that much of it had long since frozen on her face and yet she could still feel it seeping from her wounds. She remembered when people in the village passed away, or were hurt, villagers would gather and pray to Mother Miranda for help, to heal the sick and wounded. Would Mother Miranda listen now, if she asked? Lana hugged herself, feeling her jaw click back and forth, teeth chattering. Would God save her, or was she a blasphemous curse that her parents insisted her to be? It was time to find out. Clasping her hands in the snow, Lana remembered the adage of worship. 

“I-I call on, thee…e-endless dark. Deliver u-us-'' her voice cracked, and on gasping sobs, she murmured, “to fate's hands! As the midnight moon rises…o-on black wings, we m-make our sacrifice…wait for the light at the end. Life, d-death…give glory, Mother Miranda…!”

Nothing. So she recited it once again, adding,

"Please, Mother Miranda...It hurts, it hurts so much..."

        And she begged until the cold took the feeling from her limbs and the wind seemed to drown out her voice. She begged until her voice was raw, so raw it felt like her throat was bleeding. Until she felt snow fall gently on her arms and legs. Until she realized, despite it all, she still had her gift, whispering to her. Warning her of what was to come. Warning her that she was being followed. Whatever had come from her, it had come to hunt. Her prayers had been ignored, it seemed, as another horrifying figure loomed over the horizon. 

        And when the sound of something, something massive and hungry, rustling the bushes tore its way into her exhausted ears, the gift whispered once more.

“Run.”

        Alcina Dimitrescu liked to hunt. On rare occasions, at least. It wasn’t a proper activity, a Lord to sulk about in the woods, searching for a poor unfortunate soul to feed upon. But it took her back, far back…to the days her powers began to burgeon and the hunger, her bloodlust, couldn’t be sated for days. When the moon was full, when she had no more duties, she would take a coat and leave her ancestral home seeking the thrill of the hunt. 

        She wasn’t particularly picky, not at first. In the old days, her first catch was a stag. Not facing a creature quite her stature before, the stag had stood its ground and charged her. Drunk on her new might, she took the creature by its horns, savaged its flesh with her claws, and drank well that night. 

        Her second catch was a bear, for the forest seemed to understand her status as the rarest but the apex of the predators. She felt maybe a little too proud of that one. She happened upon the lumbering beast in the late summer, just days before the leaves were set to darken and drift from their perches. It took her not long to realize that she was to be challenged yet again by the beast. It was only after her strength proved herculean and her claws much sharper did she realize that she had slain a mother of two cubs. With what she decided was proper respect, recently a mother herself at this time, she drank all it had to offer and had the bear fashioned into a coat.

        The years would pass, and the chases would become longer, but Alcina would always get her mark. Thuggish Lycan troupe, gallant stags, and great bears, soon enough became a tedious measure and a rather boring one. Then she considered the village and grand old tales from her childhood. The grandest, most dangerous game of all. Man.

        Her fifth outing was against a Hunter and his son. She endured traps, scoffed at their bullets, and simply continued her brisk chase. Then she had been surprised, realized she had underestimated just how crafty, just how cruel mankind could be. For the son saw Alcina’s Miranda-given blessings, he struck his father down and gifted him to Alcina. No doubt, to save his own hide. But that sort of wit, that willingness to do anything to survive, spiced her annual hunt so greatly. Never again would an animal do. She took the son’s head and left his long-stale father for the Lycans. 

        It had been some time since, and many hunts had come to pass. Now here she was, in the light of a bright full moon, on a frigid evening. She draped her bear-fur coat over her shoulders and set for the woods once more. For she could already smell unique blood, faint, but growing ever-closer. 

        Alcina had tread through foliage for some time before coming across the first sign of her prey to be. However, there was something about its scent that gave her pause. Decades spent lavishly indulging in the joys of life’s nectar, you learned to differentiate between types. Not simply A or O, but rather, mortal blood or…blessed blood. Blood like hers, or perhaps the other Lords. Maybe even Miranda herself. Those who had been given the Cadou enhanced to creatures of great might and influence. 

        Before her, was such blood. Rich, dark, and teeming with divine influence. But it belonged to a handprint roughly times smaller than Alcina’s own, and well below the average of a human. Yes, this was a child’s handprint. She had not the slightest clue what a child was doing with the Blood of a Lord, but her interest skyrocketed. There seemed a steady trail continuing deeper into the woods, though not in any clear direction. 

        She wondered, sometimes in circles, merely following smeared trees, and heavy drops in snow, theorizing to herself what she was dealing with. Most logically, one of the other four almighty beings who presided over this land had done an experiment on a young child. Perhaps decrepit Salvatore, or the blithering fool Heisenberg, seeing as a child had escaped them. Oh, how she would gleefully hold this over their heads when Mother Miranda returned. 

        Then she heard a sound unnatural with her environment. Shrill, agonized wheezing. A sound much akin to maidens who found their way into Alcina’s dungeons. As she listened, she drew closer to the source and caught sight of it. And despite herself, her heart clenched in pity. For lying, exhausted, appearing positively mauled, was a little girl. No more than four, she estimated.  A mop of frazzled, untamed black hair over a face so covered in blood that Alcina could not discern any features on her. It would turn even perhaps her daughter Cassandra’s stomach.

        She was dressed like that of a common villager, which momentarily made her doubt her earlier theory. Regardless, she reeked of the Blood of the Lords, and it was clear she possessed it. Alcina continued forth, confident in her acquisition. Then, with surprising awareness and speed, given her empty eye sockets, the little girl turned and faced Alcina, before standing and running as fast as she could in her opposite direction. Intrigued, Alcina let the chase begin, though her hunger was quickly being forgotten in lieu of this curiosity.

        There was a mystery here, a complete enigma, and Alcina intended to find its very bottom. A bleeding child, alone in the woods, was practically condemned to frenzied devouring by the resident Lycans. Though this child, clearly hurt as she was, had traveled quite the distance for one in such agony. Truly, should she not have already been set upon? Why was it that she, the elusive mistress of Castle Dimitrescu, was the one to find such an oddity? Such a curiosity, mere feet away from her clothes. 

        Try as the little girl might, and god below, she was certainly making an effort, Alcina’s strides equated to nearly four of her paces. It didn’t help that the child kept, unfortunately, crashing nearly headfirst into various obstacles, such as branches, frost-covered tree trunks, and tripping on the uneven ground. She just kept running in spite of it all, a true fighter. Alcina mused that she had Daniela’s spirit. The vampire cleared her throat and decided to call out to this foundling. 

“Won’t you stop and chat, small thing? Your blood is so unique…won’t you tell me where you received it?” She called. Her words gave the child pause, but the response was that of panic and nothing else. The Lady of the Castle barely had time to perceive a shrill cry of fear, a shriek of  “GO AWAY!” before her entire world turned upside down. 

        Never, was it proper to ask a woman her weight. Alcina knew, however, that her substantial size was eclipsing many humans. She was not a being easily toppled, thrown, or knocked off balance. Every movement, gathering, and word, was performed with every ounce of grace she could muster. So understandably, feeling her feet leave the ground, her body gripped by an unseen yet awe-inspiringly powerful force. Against perhaps her better judgment, she brought a hand to her head to ensure her covering did not disappear in this dingy fortress. 

        Completely losing track of where she was, Alcina felt her body fly backward at a velocity that would shatter any other mortal’s bones into dust. She crashed through the trunk of an admittedly weak tree and came to a skidding halt on a bank of snow. Uncomfortable as it was, she wasn’t hurt. Perhaps her clothes had torn in places but… 

Just what WAS that? 

        Her cry of fear, the agonized request for Alcina to leave the child be, still rang in her ears. Certainly, the child possessed the gift. Certainly, it had been her who had tossed Alcina aside like a rag doll. In a bid of random departure from her ancestral home, Alcina had come across an infant Lord. A child who, without knowing, was now among her, Donna, Karl, and Salvatore. Everything seemed to click into place. This child was a Lord, her family. And something, someone had hurt her. Terrified her so dreadfully that she was running from anything that approached. 

        Her righteous fury grew, and she pulled herself to her feet and continued her pursuit with renewed effort. The child hadn’t made it very far, though she still seemed to know she was being pursued. Alcina had to bite back her tongue as she watched her careen straight for a tree. Alcina briefly considered warning her to stop, but knew that it presented an opportunity to approach without being tossed. So Alcina bit her lip as she crashed into the tree, falling off of it and landing, shivering, bleeding, in a snowbank. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, small one. Won’t you calm down, for me?” She asked yet again, close enough to make out the details of her face. So small, but so scared. That collision, Alcina noted that she may be concussed. 

        Despite her requests, the child still resorted to trying to crawl away. With a wheeze, the girl raised her arms and though Alcina felt the grip of invisible power, it did not bother her anymore than a mighty gust of wind. Alcina appreciated the effort, admired it, though finally arrived at her prey. 

“G-Go away…go away…you wanted to-to eat me, I know you…did…” she wheezed in-between sobs. Inconsolable, dazed, and cold. Alcina crouched down beside her, and got a good look. 

        As assessed, the blood seemed to be coming from her gored eyes. The eyes themselves did not inhabit her skull any longer. Replaced with hollow sockets, and jagged pierced flesh. It was the work of blind hatred, and it was wrong. Her words were even more confusing, though she supposed she understood why she might assume so. Alcina reached out, and the girl tensed before she let her fingers run across the girl's brow, gently, diligently, as she shushed her. 

“No no, small thing…I want to help you. I want to make you feel better. Can you tell me your name?” 

If the girl had any adrenaline left in her body, it seemed to be ebbing away, replaced with her exhaustion and pain. She croaked out, almost a whisper, after a moment. 

“Lana…”

“Good girl,” Alcina praised, smiling at her lovely name, “Lana, I can take you away from here and make you feel all better. Do you want that? You’ll be safe with me, little one, I promise,” 

“I-It hurts…it hurts! Please! I-It-'' Lana devolved, shouting, reaching out a hand to take hold of Alcina’s massive finger. The desperation, the fear in her grip, tore Alcina’s heart down even further. She gently shushed the girl again, before reaching out with both arms and taking her from the filth of the ground. She pulled her cloak aside and rested the girl against her chest, nestled close. The poor thing trembled and continued to make small, pained noises. 

“Let’s get you home, then, dear thing. Your sisters will just adore you.”

Chapter Text

     Lana adored her times of rest, the dreams that came with them. She was certain, however, that they had never been as vapid as the one she was having now. She was deep underground, far away from sunlight, wrapped in fertile soil. Undisturbed by man or beast, at peace. As her rest continued, she felt herself grow, her presence widen. She wanted to grow, for she was hungry. As she grew, she ate the beings who lived underground, and continued to grow. The more that was consumed, the more Lana knew. 

    Despite this fleeting dream, Lana’s vision would briefly fade away from the underground as her body fought to awaken from its coarse slumber. She could feel herself pressed into soft sheets, hands upon her. Food, of some kind, bland and tasteless, slipped past her lips and down her throat. She didn’t remember too much of the waking world, however, she was certain to never forget the feeling of massive, cool fingers running through her hair. Nor would she forget the rich warm melodies of a hummed lullaby, or the mysterious hand’s words of praise. 

“Such a brave little Lord you are,” the voice cooed, “Rest, dear… rest, and know your family is waiting for you.” 

    Before too long, or perhaps after many years, Lana met a distraught raven. It was fragile and lost. The girl found it quite odd to find such a creature underground and wondered how it had found its way down here. Lana loved birds almost as much as sleep, but this one pecked and tore at her flesh. Over and over again, for years. It called itself a friend, and Lana knew that this bird loved her. Yet despite its devotion, Lana was upset. She did not want to be pecked and tore upon, she wanted only to grow and be left alone. 

The raven started with her hair, poking and snipping the strands one by one, until only her scalp remained.

“With this, I have all that I need. Thank you, Lana,” The Raven said. 

“Go away…” she muttered, before her vision faded and the fuzzy waking world returned to her. She tried to reach out into the darkness, find the raven, but instead she distraughtly dragged at her own hair, “Give it back…”

“Mother!” A voice, one that rang like bells in her ears cried out nearby, “She’s…scared!”


    Shushing sounds and the humming of flies filled her ears. Her hands were gently pried away from her head, exhaustion at such a megre act settling in as she calmed down. Lana ran her hands over the sheets, searching for the hand that had stroked her hair before. Instead, she felt the world shift from underneath her. What she believed may have been arms wrapped around her, and her head rested against something firm yet soft.

“No no, don’t be scared… Mother will be here soon, little one. Darkness, you are so small…that’s it, I have you. Oh…are you falling back asleep…?”

     The voice was different from the hand that had pet her before. She couldn’t pay that close attention, however. The voice’s chest, Lana was pretty sure it was a chest, was just so very nice that she felt herself slip away, back to the underground. 

    Even after the Raven left Lana alone, alone to rest and grow and feed, she still returned. When Lana asked why she had come back, the Raven explained that it needed more. It requested this of her as though they were friends, kindred spirits. This time, the Raven pecked at her eyes and took them for herself. Without sight, and in agony, Lana wondered if she had been too kind to the lost raven. Crippled, Lana realized now that the Raven was her only means of seeing the world around her. 

    In spite of the stolen vision, the Raven would return to her and demand more still, and without sight, Lana could not say no. The Raven took her ears, her fingers and her toes. Soon, Lana feared that growing would be impossible. She wished she had a true friend, one that did not masquerade in lies as the Raven did. 

“You’ll help me, won’t you?” the bird asked, “Lana, won’t you give me what I want? Am I not your greatest vassal?” 

     Few things felt more terrifying than being without sight in a dream. But that wasn’t true it would seem. Lana could see one thing in the pitch blackness when the Raven returned to her. She saw its eyes, golden, peering at her in the dark and demanding more. Perhaps one day, there would be nothing left to give, and she would never grow again. In the dream-turned nightmare, Lana screamed her wishes, her request for help to the deep dark cavern. 

        Though none would understand. For the Raven, furious with her screams, ripped her tongue from her lips and silenced her absolutely. Lana didn’t realize she was still screaming when she woke up. 

           Being blind presented a multitude of new challenges, not the least of which being that she had no idea where she was or what was around her. She settled herself with a few breaths, reaching into her mouth to check and see if her tongue was still there. It was. She was sitting straight up in what she assumed to be a bed, with heavy, soft sheets draped over her. She could hear crackling, like that of a fireplace, somewhere to her right…or left. Lana forgot what the difference was. 

     The room smelled heavily of must, like it had not received use in some time. It wasn’t a bad smell, not to Lana, it certainly beat the smell of farm animals or manure. It seemed the fireplace was essential for keeping it cool. Lana’s arms were exposed to the room around her, and she could tell that if the fire was not roaring in its place, she would be far far chillier. She was thankful for the warmth, especially after…

     The events returned to her in full force, all at once. She felt tense, and sat very very still. She remembered the forest, the pain, and hitting her head…and of course, the voice. Had she really been dreaming? Was the voice real? She pulled the sheets of the bed closer to herself. They were so soft and nice that Lana found herself distracted by them, and briefly forgot her fears. 

     Then she heard footsteps. Loud, quick, and heavy, though muffled like she was hearing them through a wall, and they were getting closer. She faced the direction of the steps and pulled the sheets even tighter to herself. Could it be one of the kind voices, who’d spoken to her while she was dreaming? Or was that just a dream itself? 

     Wherever she was, someone had to have helped her. Still, her skin goosepimpled at the idea of someone cruel behind that door, someone like her mother or father. So instead, she reached out with her gift, and prayed to hear the thoughts of whoever was approaching her door. With almost frightening clarity, she did hear a voice, the familiar voice who had promised help.

“I told Cassandra to watch her…oh, I hope she didn’t have a nightmare. Good…now, let’s introduce ourselves…” 

     A quiet click of a nob turning, followed by the creak of a door opening. A gasp ripped from Lana’s mouth as a flash ripped across her brain. The most clear image, for only a second, burnt into her memory. A beautiful woman, so much bigger and imposing than anyone Lana had ever met. She had such a pleasant smile on her face, a smile that made Lana’s heart ache. Her skin was pale, and her hair was almost as dark as Lana’s. All these details aside, Lana knew that this was the prettiest woman she would ever meet. 

     Her eyes were golden, different than the sinister gold eyes that haunted her in her dreams. This tall lady’s were bright and, well… pretty. Everything about her made Lana feel small. If Lana ever grew up, she wanted to look just like this woman. But the image made no sense. If her eyes were no longer there and her head was wrapped in bandages, such a clear image shouldn’t have made sense.

     She was almost confused, before it clicked. It was the gift, showing her and telling her what she was seeing. Even without eyes, it seemed her gift had decided to help her see in other ways. Without her sight, Lana could smell…blood. The iron scent of blood permeated the room, like when mother would skin and clean the chickens for food. Despite the horrid memory, this woman also smelled very nice, like expensive perfume. 

     Coming from the village, bathing was fairly common but not as much for Lana’s family as she might have hoped. Coming from the hideous stench of hot-summer work and rare bathing, fertilizing the fields and tending to animals, it was such a pleasant change that Lana wished she could smell nothing but blood and perfume for the rest of her life. 

     What was especially charming about this woman was how kind she was, without even saying anything. She was sizing Lana up, concerned and what felt like pity clouding the woman’s thoughts. It was almost enough for Lana to forget that this woman had wanted to eat her at one point. Lana remembered running through the woods, her gift warning her of a presence so close behind her at all times, warning her of how hungry she was. 

     Lana had pulled her sheets up to her mouth now, as though it would help hide her somehow. There was no hunger here, it seemed, yet she was still wary. Of course, the woman spoke not a moment later and Lana’s fears were almost instantly eradicated. 

“Good morning, little one,” the talk woman’s deep, playful voice greeted, “Is something wrong? I heard you screaming…” 

     She spoke so nicely, like a rich person on the old tapes the villagers would sometimes play. Lana tried not to say something that might sound stupid- 

“Bad dream- miss- um. The Raven bit my tongue out,” she stumbled, “I-In the dream, miss, and I got…I was scared. She was very mean.” 

Shoot. That sounded stupid. 

     The lady didn’t seem to think so though. She giggled, actually laughed at Lana’s remark, her nervousness and her formalism. Lana wasn’t sure if she liked being laughed at, but she felt no ill will or mean feelings from the lady. Did that mean she had actually made someone laugh?

“Oh my… Yes, that does sound like a bad dream,” she joked back, making Lana blush, “Worry not about formalities my dear. Do you know who I am, or where you are?” 

“N-No Miss…I don't know. Um, either,” Lana rasped, “Can you tell me? Pretty please?”

     So childish sounding, but it made the woman laugh all the same. It was appalling to think someone actually enjoyed the time they were spending with Lana. She hoped she wasn’t offending or saying anything wrong. The woman finished her warm and tender laughter and continued. 

“Yes, of course. If you remember…I found you in the woods, hurt and by yourself. You’re in my castle, one of my spare rooms,” she elaborated, explaining slowly and gently. 

A castle? The only castle like that nearby was…could it be? 

“As for who I am…I am Alcina Dimitrescu. Call me whatever you like, small one.”

Oh. The fear was back. 

     Their village belonged to the shared rule of Four different Lords, each belonging to a different house. Each scared the people of the village to their bones as Lana would hear new and dreadful stories of the Lord’s actions. House Beneviento, headed by Lady Beneviento, a dollmaker. House Heisenberg, runner of a factory on the outskirts of town, providing work to much of the town. Her father had worked there years before, in his youth. Lord Heisenberg was said to be wild and eccentric, with a passion for invention. House Moreau, whose lord was not seen but on the rarest of occasions. They say he was grotesque, not to be trifled with. 

     The House of Dimitrescu was the closest to their village, looming over them at all times. Young women from the village were plucked away at all times of the year, or sent to provide labor amongst the castle’s sprawling grounds. Said girls were never seen again, and it was said that the Lady of the House had them devoured. And that was what unnerved Lana so much. 

     Outsiders, strangers, blind kindness were traits that the people of the Village were known for shunning. Every child had grown up knowing the tale of the Village of Shadows. Lana remembered the story well. 

      A young girl, lost in a dark forest wonderland of strange, kind creatures, would quickly find herself at the mercy of said beasts. Surely, the young girl would have been devoured for her blind trust. A victim of deception, trusting strangers. 

     However, in that story, the girl’s mother and father had pierced the veil of trees, tormented the monsters that threatened their daughter, and at the cost of her heroic father, the girl and her mother escaped to safety. One happy family, a bittersweet ending to a tragic tale. Lana was sure any other girl in her situation would find that tale comforting. They would surely find solace in the idea that their mothers would swoop down and cradle them in their arms, while their Father’s bravely scared Lady Dimitrescu away with torch and blade.

     Lana, however, knew that if her parents were to arrive at this very moment, her mother would curse her soul to hell, her bed would be put to the torch, the blade would be embedded in her heart, and her flesh devoured by the Lady of the Castle. These images came so viscerally in her ever-imaginative brain that in spite of herself she trembled where she sat, and a sob welled up in her throat. It was a lump so wide that she thought she might suffocate from it. 

     It was completely true, then. This woman in the forest had come to her in a guise of kindness and grace, and brought her to her lair. Lana was a legless fly, and Lady Dimitrescu was a great spider. She was going to die here, she knew it. 

“Heavens, she looks so scared… Poor thing…” Lady Dimitrecu’s thoughts rang in her head. 

     The voice again. It gave Lana pause for a moment, and she took a shaky, hitched breath. Then, rapidly, several others. If Lana could cry (Could she even do that anymore?) she was sure she would be sobbing. Why did she sound so sad? Wasn’t she about to be eaten? The bed shifted as a great weight, clearly Lady Dimitrescu, took a seat beside Lana.

“Little one? I need you to breathe for me. Can you do that?” The mistress asked the girl, “I’m not going to hurt you. 

“Y-You’re, g-gonna-“ Lana tried to say, before devolving into gasping sobs.  She couldn’t help it. Her heart wasn’t slowing down, her thoughts were moving a mile a minute, and try as she might she just couldn’t breathe. Not that hiding under the covers was making it any better for herself. 

“Please help someone please I don’t wanna be eaten I don’t wanna die please someone anyone I can’t do this I..” 

“Lana. I told you I was going to help you, didn’t I? And I have. Who do you think bandaged your eyes? Come now, dear,” Alcina tutted, “Be a good girl and relax.” 

     Lana hiccuped in spite of herself but she still managed to even out her breathing. In a very sudden but not unwelcome gesture, Lana felt the other woman’s hand envelop hers, rubbing gentle circles on its back. Lady Dimitrescu was so warm. 

“That’s it, just breathe, little one. Good girl,” Alcina praised her, filling her heart with so much of an unfamiliar happy feeling that she wasn’t sure how to respond other than another hiccup. She pulled the covers away from herself, and while still dishevelled, felt more at ease. 

“I-I’m sorry milady,” Lana apologized, “I’m just scared…” 

     Alcina hummed. Listening in on her thoughts, Lana hoped to find a clue as to her intentions. How could one just trust the words of someone they’d never met? Even if she so strongly desired to just believe the kind lady had come to help her, wasn't going to hurt her. 

“So polite…but perhaps timid. Damn those nasty man-thing’s in the village… Well, don’t be deterred, just be honest, Alcina. Ask her about her powers.”

Powers?

“Milady, hm?” Alcina questioned, her voice bordering on teasing, “You’re a very sweet girl. You don’t need to be scared, Lana. I promised I was going to help you, and I shall. I know all about the nasty rumors floating about in the village but I can assure you, not one hair on your head will be hurt within these walls. But you and I need to talk.” 

“Did I do something wrong, milady?” Lana ventured timidly. 

“Perish the thought, child. I’d like to know what you remember from the night I found you.”

Running, gouging pain, blood, snow, crashing, tearing, sobbing… 

“GO AWAY!”

     She had used her gift again, hadn’t she? If Lady Dimitrescu had been the one to discover her, then she had definitely seen her gift. Tense and with blood running cold, Lana considered what this could mean. Certainly nothing good. 

     She recalled the last things her Father had said to her. That her gifts were akin to witchcraft, and that it was blasphemy in the face of Mother Miranda. The Four Lords were her servants, loyal to her exclusively and often the subject of tribute and worship in the village. 

     If Lana’s gifts were blasphemy,  and Lady Dimitrescu served the good Mother, did that not mean she would kill her? But she promised to help, not hurt. Perhaps it was in her best interest to be honest. Not to mention apologetic. 

     Not only had she ran and spurned the Lady of the Castle, but used her gift on her. She had struck a Lord, something that many would consider a death sentence. 

“I…I hurt you, milady, I’m sorry!” Lana flustered, “I really, I didn’t know it was-“ 

“Shh shh shh…No, little one!” Alcina clarified, rubbing gentle circles on her hand again, “All’s forgiven. You didn’t hurt me, only surprised me. Can you tell me…who gave you this gift?” 

“You’re not mad…?” Lana questioned, a bit rude but she was surprised, “You don’t, think it’s bad?” 

     Alcina tutted. Answering a question with a question was definitely not polite, but she seemed to forgive it given the circumstances. Listening in on her thoughts, the lady seemed more confused by Lana’s question than anything else. 

“Hm, now why would I think it’s bad?” Lady Dimitrescu answered, “I’m gifted, much like you are. I certainly can’t throw people with my mind, though. That’s very new.”

That was unexpected. If her gift was blasphemy, why would the Lady admit to being much the same?

“You’re like me? You have…powers?” Lana used Lady Dimitrescu’s word for it, to sound smart.

“I do,” Alcina relented, “I’m very strong… and, as you might know, quite tall. I was gifted by Mother Miranda. My daughters, I gifted them their abilities.” 

     Lana shuddered and wracked her brain. That didn’t make sense, and yet the relief she felt was unmatched. Lana adjusted her position on the bed, unknowingly drawing closer to the Lady of the Castle. The room was chilly, and Alcina was very warm. 

“Now I just want to know where you got yours from.”

     Well that was hard. Lana just always had her gift, she never received it from anyone. But she’d delayed answering long enough, so she opted to just be truthful. 

“I never got them from anyone, Lady Dom…Dometrek,” Lana fumbled. 

“Heavens, she…certainly at least tried.” 

Lana blushed, and continued to try and explain, “I’ve…just always had them, since I was little.” 

     Silence, for a moment. It didn’t seem to be the answer Lady Dimitrescu was expecting, but she did not chide or accuse Lana of lying. Instead, Alcina released Lana’s hand and pressed it against her face, making Lana flinch before feeling her hair caressed out of the way of her bandages. It was a very pleasant feeling that made Lana shudder. 

“I see,” Alcina tutted, “Now, that would mean you’re from the village, yes?”

“Yes milady. I’m from…well, I’m from my house…” 

Alcina chuckled and Lana smiled in spite of the situation.

“I figured as much, little one. Do you have parents? Relatives, perhaps?” 

     Bad question. Lana didn’t know how to answer, not at first. But she hadn’t shied away from the truth so far, so she saw no reason to lie now. She kept her answer short, she didn’t feel much like talking about her Mother and Father. 

“I-I do.” 

“It was quite late at night when I found you, my dear. Did they know you were hurt?” 

Screaming and running and hatred blade held high above to smite the black sheep the blood the anger the joy on her parent’s faces being lost and alone and cold so very cold-

     Her brief dip into the memory was shaken out as Lady Dimitrescu put her free hand on her shoulder and pulled the girl closer, now fully sitting beside the gargantuan Lord. Lana realized she was breathing rapidly and her heart had begun to pound in her chest. Trying to slow her breathing proved difficult as the sob in her throat threatened to suffocate her again. 

“Calm, sweet girl, calm,” Alcina suddenly whispered to her, squeezing Lana’s hand gently. Though her voice sounded comforting, Lana could hear Alcina’s thoughts of rage. Directed at her? For not answering her when asked? 

“You’re drifting again. I…believe I understand. We don’t have to talk about this anymore, if now is not a good time. I…apologize again.” 

Alcina didn’t seem mad at her. That must have been a good sign. Lana didn’t really want to think about it. 

“Sorry, for crying, milady” She apologized, “I’m just…” 

“No no, dear one. This must all be too much for someone so young…how old are you, dear? Four?” Alcina asked, ever-so-tenderly that Lana managed to ignore her previous fear. 

“I’m this many,” Lana explained, holding up all the fingers on her free hand, and, pulling her right hand away from Alcina’s grip, her thumb, “Um… one two three four…that’s… six! I’m six, milady.” 

“My, but you’re so small… but smart, aren’t you? You have impressive counting skills, my dear,” Alcina praised. Lana laughed, feeling very pleased with herself. 

     It hit her then how odd it was, a peasant like her to share a gift with a Lord of their land, be in their home, laughing and drawing comfort from divinity itself. It was more than she deserved. Yet, here she was being told otherwise. 

“Milady…?” Lana murmured, tense, trying not to overstep boundaries. 

“Yes, Lana?” 

“Can I ask a question, um, please?” 

The tall pretty lady let out a small laugh and pet Lana’s head. 

“Yes, dear, you may .” 

“How do you know my name? And, um, another question…can you hear people’s thoughts too…?”

     Her second question gave Alcina pause, for just the briefest of time. It was enough to put Lana on edge again, wondering if she’d said something wrong. The vampire hummed inquisitively, before answering. 

“When I found you, you hit your head and broke your nose,” Alcina emphasized this by tapping Lana’s nose gently with a finger, which made her smile, “You were a tad delirious, but you asked me for help. You told me your name was Lana. After that, I brought you here to recover. You’ve been asleep for almost a week. It was rather frightening…you had a concussion, coupled with shock and perhaps an infection. We…could not do anything about your eyes, I’m afraid. Your little nose may be a little crooked, but I find it endearing.” 

That made sense, but…

“As for your other question…are you saying that you are a telepath?” 

Lana blanked. 

“I’m a person,” Lana answered, truthfully, though feeling incredibly silly. Like she was out of the loop. This amused Alcina, however. 

“Yes, dear, what I meant was…” 

“Can you hear this, child? My thoughts?” 

Lana nodded, “I-I can…I could hear you when I was in the woods, milady. You were hungry.” 

     Alcina seemed satisfied with her answer, though still seemed puzzled. Talking about Alcina’s hunger at the time seemed to remind Lana that she hadn’t eaten in some time. Would it be too much to ask for food? Surely she shouldn’t overstep her boundaries… 

“That’s a very unique gift. Suppose I’ll have to watch what I think around you, dear. Some things are better left to the adults, you know.” 

“Oh! Um, I’m sorry, for hearing your thoughts! I can’t always, well uh, it just happens, milady,” Lana hastily tried to explain. 

“Again with the sorries…you’ve done nothing to call for such formalities. If anything, I should apologize to you. Indeed, I had been out hunting that night for prey. But when I came across you, I couldn’t very well just leave you there, could I? So I’m sorry for frightening you.” 

     She was apologizing? The Lady of the Castle was asking for her forgiveness? That wasn’t right. This was wrong. Scrambling, Lana reached out a hand and found herself touching what she believed to be the ladies arm. It was very firm and big, muscly too. 

“I-It’s okay, Lady Di…Domo…” Lana tried to say, feeling tongue tied. 

“Now now, sweet one. We’ll have to get you acquainted with my name soon enough. For now, is there anything you’d like?” 

Grrrrrrrgggggggg…

Lady Dimitrescu let out the loudest laugh so far as Lana’s traitorous stomach made an absolutely embarassing sound of hunger. 

“Dear me, you sound famished. Are you feeling well enough to leave the room? It’s close to lunch.”

Lana nodded, “Yes milady. Um…but I don’t have anything nice to wear.”

Graceful fingers caressed Lana’s chin, flustering the poor girl even further. 

“Don’t worry about such things, dear, we’ve plenty to provide in this place. I’ll have the maid’s help you wash up, then we can chat further.” 

     Then Alcina shocked Lana further. A massive arm, well-built yet soft and oh-so very warm wrapped around Lana and pressed her against the fair lady. Lana reckoned that she barely would reach the ladies knee, should they be standing. So here, sitting beside her, Lana found herself pressed somewhere between her hip and bosom. 

It was safe, soft, warm…and Lana knew she never wanted to leave this place.

But how long before Lady Dimitrescu sent her home? 

This place was like a dream- and Lana knew better than anyone that we all had to wake up sometime.

     Ethan Winters was dreaming. He knew he had to be, because Eveline was dead and Louisiana was years behind him. Mia was mere months away from having their child and he had been resting comfortably in bed not mere minutes ago. 

     Despite that, he felt as lucid here as he was in reality. It felt so very real that for an instant he thought he may have been in the real world itself. That his home in Europe, Mia’s pregnancy, years of trying to put Louisiana to bed was in fact the real dream, and he was still face to face with the most deadly and cruelest threat to his life. 

     It wasn’t hard to question reality. He could feel the moist, decayed leather of the couch that sat in the midst of the room. Smell the putrefaction of the estate. Hear the cicadas just outside the bolstered window. The room was bathed in old yellow light from a single bulb still lit on a broken ceiling fan. His eyes, however, focused on the opposing end of the couch.

     The last time he had laid eyes on her, she was a grotesque, building sized mutant, wailing and sobbing as she tried so hard to fight off a deadly neurotoxin and kill Ethan. 

     Eveline didn’t look like that anymore, rather she was back to her young, childlike self. Simple black medical garb, hair blacker than tar, face blank as she stared Ethan down. He noted perhaps a hint of equal confusion in her eyes as well.

     Every sleepless night wondering, praying, begging for Mia’s safe return while she was considered missing. Every torture placed upon his wife for three years, the desecration of what was once a lovely family in The Bakers, the hours of hell, battling parasitic demons and eradicating The Bakers so slowly and assuredly. All of that on the shoulders of this bioweapon, left unchecked. 

But Ethan wouldn’t show fear. He’d ended this before, and he would do it again if need be. 

That didn’t mean he didn’t feel it though. 

“Eveline?” He hesitantly asked, trying to sound brave. It wasn’t easy, seeing as he was in fact deathly terrified. 

“Hi,” she shot back, not hesitating, like it was perfectly normal that she was here, in his dreams. 

“What are you…what is this?” He pressed. 

Eveline shrugged. 

“It’s your dream, Ethan. You should know,” Eveline spat. Now she seemed upset, which wasn’t good. At least she thought it was a dream, too. Ethan stood up and put some more distance between himself and her, regardless. 

“Well leave, then. If it’s my dream,” Ethan tested, trying to make himself wake up. He pinched his arm. Nothing. Eveline rolled her eyes but didn’t do much of anything. 

“I can’t leave. I’m sleeping too,” Eveline said, “and I don’t wanna wake up.”

“You’re dead. I watched you die,” Ethan, feeling bolder, “There’s no waking up, Eveline.”

Big mistake. She was in front of him in an instant, somehow in his face, brows furrowed in clear rage. 

“You’re WRONG!” She shouted, forcing Ethan up against a wall. He realized he had fallen over. Her face relaxed not a second later, back to neutral expression. “I’m. Sleeping,” she pressed, before the blank stare gave away to something far more melancholy, “Just sleeping. Jerk.”

Then, without moving, she was back on the couch. Ethan pulled himself to his feet. 

A moment passed in silence. The paranoia associated with this distorted reality started to weigh on him. Nothing made sense. 

“You never answered my question,” Eveline suddenly suggested. Ethan didn’t miss a beat. 

“What question?” 

Eveline met his eyes this time. Still sad, “Why? Why does everybody hate me?”

     A loaded question, Ethan thought. It definitely wasn’t the direction he thought the conversation was heading towards. At a loss for words, he waited to see if Eveline would continue, and she did, “Why do you hate me?” 

“How can you ask that? You…tormented my wife for years. Kept her away from me. The things you did to her… not to mention The Bakers-“ 

“I wanted a family too, you know,” Eveline hissed, “Just like you.” 

Ethan didn’t budge, “Not like that, Eveline. What you did was wrong.”

“She made me to be her daughter. But she didn’t want me. She said I wasn’t right .”

“…Mia?” Ethan pressed. 

     Ethan was well aware of the involvement Mia had with The Connections. A shadowy organization that distributed bioweapons worldwide, and had originally developed E-001. AKA Eveline. But Mia was assigned as Eveline’s handler, not her doctor. 

“No, not her,” Eveline replied, annunciating “ her” with great venom and making Ethan bristle. But Eveline met his eyes again, and she was back to that sad expression. 

“Miranda. My mommy.” 

Ethan pondered this.  

“She’s the one who created you?” He pressed again. Her eyebrows narrowed. 

“She’s my real mommy,” she said, in what must have been confirmation, “but she sent me away with Mia.”

     The explanation seemed to make sense. It would explain Eveline’s fucked-up obsession with the creation of her own family. Bioweapon or not- Eveline was almost human. She would have gotten her DNA from somewhere, and this woman must have provided it. 

     Despite everything he had gone through, he did feel pangs of sympathy for the girl. That’s all she was- psychopathic bioweapon aside- just a little girl who wanted what she couldn’t have. Did that excuse what she had put them all through? Jack Baker seemed to think so. 

     He recalled a memory much like this while he was trapped in the mold. One of last things Jack Baker had said to him before he finished off Eveline for good. 

“She just wants a family of her own, son.” 

“I wanted a family too, you know.” 

Ethan, against better judgement, returned to his seat on the couch. Eveline side eyed him poisonously. He stared at her straight on. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry your mother did that to you, Eveline.” 

     Eveline scoffed at him, but she did stop looking at him and that seemed to be that. Surely Ethan would wake up, sometime soon. Then he could put this to bed. He could even feel it, a strange blend of the couch and his warm sheets. Mia’s hair, cherry scented products, invading his senses through the rank smell of the Baker Household. 

Eveline spoke again, one more time, before Ethan woke up. 

“Would you kill me again, if you could?” she urged, giving him her attention yet again. Her voice sounded far away. Ethan didn’t really know how to answer. She rolled her eyes again, then hopped up from her seat, walking towards the rest of the Baker Manor. 

“Whatever. Miranda still wants her real daughter back. She’ll do anything. Mia says I got that from her.” 

     Before it all went to black, Eveline was in front of him again, silhouetted, an ominous figure, though you could make out her discolored, almost orange eyes. 

“Better watch your new family close, Daddy.”

Ethan woke in a cold sweat. The clock read midnight. He wouldn’t find sleep again the rest of that night.

Chapter Text

 Sweeping into the palace that frozen night had presented a multitude of challenges. For one, Lana had fallen unconscious shortly after agreeing to Alcina’s help. Clutching her gown, eyes leaking dark, divine blood all over her torso. She was completely pitiable, so clearly lost and alone in this world. 

‘Not anymore,’ she thought. Lana had Alcina now, not to mention her daughters. Not one for patience, Alcina had already drawn up plans to formally claim Lana as a member of her family. 

When Alcina arrived in the castle, her ancestral home, her daughters had been besotted. A swarm of flies emerged from all directions, circling Alcina before they converged, forming feminine shapes. First Bela, followed by Cassandra, while Daniela remained in a swarm. 

“Mother, welcome home,” Bela, her hood down, blonde hair frazzled as though she had just gotten out of bed. Which, likely, she had. It was incredibly late at night. 

“Food?” Cassandra was in a similar state of duress, though her face still upsettingly bloodstained from her day’s usual activities, “I hope…you’ve never brought us home a snack from your hunts, Mother!” 

Lastly, converging closest to Alcina, was Daniela, watching Alcina with deep-seated curiosity. Always curious, this one. 

“Not a snack, Cassandra,” Alcina chided, before straightening her pose. Non-verbally, her daughters knew that orders were about to be given, “Gather the servants. We need medical supplies, clean towels, and a spare room.” 

“You aren’t hurt are you, mama?” Daniela asked, still trying to sneak a peek beneath Alcina’s cloak. 

“I’m not hurt, no, Daniela dear,” Alcina cooed, “She is, however. Cassandra, Daniela, my cloak, before you go.” 

       Sweeping behind her, dutifully, her daughters removed the fur coat, revealing Lana’s unconscious form. Bleeding, agonized young women were nothing new to the Dimitrescu family, though Alcina knew they had never laid eyes on a child quite as small or young as Lana. They nearly crowded her while taking their first looks. 

“Her blood…it’s different,” Bela noted, ever the clever girl, “why is she so small?” 

“Oh, I’ve heard of these things! They’re dwarves,” Cassandra laughed, poking Lana’s arm. 

“A baby!” Daniela suggested, “Right? Man-Things… they have babies… They are small humans! Mother, I’ve read about them!” Daniela puzzled, hoping to be praised for her deduction. Alcina patted Cassandra’s curious fingers away from Lana. Best to explain, rather than give orders. 

“This is Lana. I don’t know where she comes from…but she’s gifted. She shares the blood of myself and…well, your aunt and uncles. She’ll be staying with us,” Alcina said with finality, signaling that Lana was not to be treated like a common servant. “Now hurry, daughters, no tarrying.” 

Like with most things, her daughters drifted away, synchronized, seeming to understand their orders and who was delegated without speaking. 

    Finding Lana a room had been the easiest part. Assessing the damage, however, had been a gruesome affair. It was fortunate that her staff had grown so accustomed to mending wounds. Lord knows many of the young women had found themselves in the claws of her excitable daughters over the years. Alcina turned the young girl over to them and sat back, watching the impromptu first aid session with interest. First things first had been, of course, the eyes. 

        What an atrocity. It was an incredibly heinous, brutal hack-job. The work of an enraged beast who had taken great joy in its dealings. No trace of the eyes themselves remained. Deep lacerations crisscrossed the top of her delicate cheekbones. Those would definitely scar what Alcina was certain was an adorable little face. Her nose had broken during her collision with a tree and had to be reset, though it seemed would always remain just slightly crooked. Checking for other injuries beneath her tattered villager clothes revealed another story. 

           For certain, the people of the village did not have an easy life, however, Alcina was certain that famine was not among their particular issues. So why was Lana so skinny? She had almost shed any level of baby fat she may have once had, revealing gaunt, stretched skin over bony limbs and visible ribs. The more clues as to how a Lord had come to be in such a pitiable state arrived, the greater a dread in Alcina’s stomach grew. 

Surely this was not the result of a paltry Lycan attack. Alcina was positive that it was man-things . 

      There were obvious candidates for such a crime. The instant assumption was the resident Lycans. Surely they were cruel enough to target and claw the eyes out of a child. Could it have been Lana had been set upon, suffering injuries but escaping with her divine powers? 

What was intriguing however was that Lana did not smell of Lycan. Not a whiff. 

       Alcina knew all about Lycan attacks. Often they grew too bold for their own good and got a hold of a servant or two while gathering supplies for the castle. When the girls had returned, corpse or otherwise, they had reeked of the odious, aggressive beasts. Not to mention, the Lycans were a hungry bunch. They loved to grab ahold of and chew and devour anything. It was Cassandra who had recounted a story of a Lycan who spent an unfortunate amount of time attempting to devour an entire tractor. 

Lana, in the meantime, had not a single bite on her.

       The only other theory would be that one of Alcina’s siblings had bestowed the girl with a Cadou of her own. Heisenberg or Moreau was certainly dull-witted enough to subjugate an incredibly young child to such an experiment. Stupid enough to let her escape their clutches too. Heisenberg possessed a similar power over magnetic fields. Perhaps an experiment relating to his own power? He certainly seemed to enjoy using it the most out of all of them. 

        Yet again, there was a lack of evidence for this theory. Lana smelled of livestock, dirt, and blood. Heisenberg reeked of man , oil, and burning metal. Moreau…well, the less said about his scent the better. Alcina ruled out Donna immediately. House Dimitrescu remained great associates with House Beneviento, and Alcina refused to believe Donna would make such a mistake. Besides…Donna hardly focused on any Cadou research, nor did she delve into the village on any occasion. When would she have had time to wrangle a child of all things? 

      It left one candidate. The man-things of the village. And while she couldn’t deduce a motive, she had no doubt that they were to blame. A gifted, divine child could certainly escape the violent, unhinged simpletons who prowled the village. Though, vice versa, an unhinged simpleton could certainly claw out a child’s eyes if they so decided.

When Lana’s wounds were cleaned, clothes changed, and bedsheets replaced with something suitable, Alcina gathered her daughters yet again. 

“Mother,” Bela asked, overlooking the bed, “If she’s like us…why aren’t her eyes coming back?” 

“I bet they were pretty!” Daniela called. She had taken up residence at the foot of Lana’s bed, much like a guard dog. 

“Wonder if we can find them…wonder what they taste like…” Cassandra murmured. Alcina was suddenly not okay with Cassandra’s close proximity to the girl. 

Alcina took a thoughtful drag of her cigarette holder before setting it down in its ashtray. 

“Each and every Lord is special, my darlings. While you three, myself, and Mother Miranda possess considerable healing, your Aunt Donna does not. Lana is the same way.” 

“So what can she do?” Cassandra asked, “Sleep? Why do man-thing’s sleep so much…” 

“She’s not a man-thing!” Daniela defended, “She is…a baby!” 

Alcina tutted at the bickering. 

“Neither is correct, dears. Lana is simply a young Lord…if I had to guess, she’s four years old. As for her gift…well,” Alcina paused dramatically, knowing the reaction her answer would bring, “She lifted and threw me like a rag doll, with only her mind.”

Bela gasped. Daniela dissolved into a bundle of flies immediately. Cassandra, who had rapidly been losing interest in the new treasure her mother had brought home, immediately perked up at such a concept, and her eyes roved the sleeping Lana with much adoration. 

“That’s…but you’re the strongest…!” Bela remarked, the poor girl trying to wrap her head around such an event. Her darling girls- believing in their own mother so strongly. It made Alcina smile. 

“Quite so,” Alcina agreed coolly, “It would seem our Lana has great potential.” 

       It was particularly easy to set up a rotating watch between the four. Lana quickly came down with a hazy fever, no doubt she had spent far too much time outside. Illness was another symptom very uncommon in beings like themselves, however, Alcina noted that the girl must have had a very high pain tolerance to be able to endure as she had, and decided to include it in her mental list of the young one’s burgeoning gift. 

      Now absolutely delighted with Lana’s presence, Alcina would watch over the girl at night, while Daniela, Cassandra, and Bela would look over her morning, afternoon, and evenings respectively. The fever, while Alcina was certain wouldn’t last, was taking its toll on the girl. Rolling, heaving, murmuring various strings of words in her sleep. Alcina comforted the best she could. 

      Trading over to Daniela in the morning, she was pleased to see her take such a…protective… role for Lana. Snapping and snarling at anyone who approached Lana’s bedside that wasn’t her sisters or herself. She would perch around the bed, make herself at home, fawning and cooing over “the baby” and diligently searching for the moment she would wake. 

     She also would just…talk. Ramble, for hours and hours about her day, days past, what she had eaten, who she had eaten, her favorite subjects…it ran on and on. Certainly, Lana couldn’t have been a better listener. 

       Cassandra took a much different approach. Poking, prodding, attempting to awaken the young girl who oh-so-desperately needed rest, for the first day at least. Her initial adoration was quickly turning to boredom. She did discover, however, that Lana’s feverish skin felt wonderful against hers, and quickly took to holding Lana in ways that could not have been comfortable for the small child. A notable example was Alcina entering for a brief check-up, only to find Lana haphazardly splayed about, without rhyme or reason, practically being used as a blanket by her dark-haired daughter. 

       While all of her daughters had… urges from time to time concerning the servants who tended the grounds, Cassandra was considered even by her siblings to be absolutely lecherous . This increased tenfold with Lana’s introduction, as Cassandra quickly learned that she could garner sympathy and special attention from the staff. Bela had entered to relieve Cassandra of her duty, only to find FOUR maids comforting Cassandra in…inappropriate ways. There was quite a lecture after that. Though Alcina couldn’t say she hadn’t indulged in her youth either. A small part of her was rather proud. (Though Cassandra could NOT know this.)

      On the topic of Bela- she was playing every part of the doting older sister. Any treatment Bela would have given her sisters, she duly provided to Lana. Spoon Feeding her at meals, reading aloud to her from books- all things considered much too age-inappropriate- she had been working through. Bela suggested finding Lana a braille teacher almost immediately. Bela was a quick learner. She already saw the signs of Lana’s permanent residence in this “ evil” place. 

      It didn’t surprise Alcina when she heard Bela calling one late evening. Seems that Lana had awoken, briefly, and attempted to pull her hair out of her head in a blind panic. When she had arrived on the scene, it seemed she’d fallen back to sleep almost immediately, soothed by Bela, who had taken Lana in her arms and rocked her gently back into slumber. 

“She was having a nightmare, Mother,” Bela explained, “I wasn’t sure what to do…” 

Alcina patted Bela’s head, to her eldest’s delight, and reassured her actions. How proud she was at how quickly her daughters were taking to their future roles. 

       Lana’s fever broke on her fifth day in the castle. She awoke on the seventh, just before lunch, with a scream of pure horror. Alcina wasn’t sure where Cassandra went, and truth be told, rather disappointed with her. But Alcina had swept in, quickly and gracefully. Without any pretense of cold woods and fear, Alcina was certain this conversation would be far more fruitful. Definitive answers, Alcina was looking forward to getting. 

        She was treated to quite the opposite, however. Now it seemed she had more questions than answers. Not even Lana was aware of the origin of her powers. She claimed to have parents in the village, though no knowledge of any experiments, cadou, meeting with the Lords, or otherwise. Not to mention, Lana had more up her sleeve than Alcina realized. Mind reading on top of great strength… What a wonderful surprise. 

       She was an incredibly timid girl, breaking into horrified gasps and sobs at the mere mention of failure or crossing any sort of lines. Alcina was quick to calm and dissuade, though it would seem she had long way to go in easing Lana into what would be her new way of life. Asking Lana about her parents had gone south near instantly, and Alcina berated herself for coming on so strongly. 

It did, however, in her mind, all but confirm the culprits behind her new daughter’s current condition and outlook on life. More would have to be done later, however. Lana had not eaten anything but bland paste for a week- and it was time to pamper the new Lord with the lavish lifestyle Alcina loved so much. 

        Lana was a tense, confused mess. Alcina figured it was because she’d been treated kinder than she’d been her entire life. A Lord of this land had comforted her, praised her gift. She’d slept in a warm bed, one that wasn’t firm and cold. A bath! A warm   bath had been given to her by silent maidens who had washed away any lingering scent of livestock or the village. Not to mention, the clothes! 

     Alcina had chosen the dress herself. It was dreadfully old, owned by Alcina when she herself was a small child, but it would have to do for now. Surely, Donna would be willing to conjure some appropriate outfits. A soft, black dress, from the early twentieth century, ending just at her knees, accompanied by white stockings and a pair of black flat shoes that were practically mirror-shined. 

“Comfortable, dear?” Alcina asked, stooping down to get a better look at her. The girl could scarcely reach her knees, she was so small. 

“Y-Yes, Lady Demetresk…” Lana murmured, shyly, holding onto the bedpost. Still very unsettled it seemed by her unfortunate disability. It seemed she had been making an effort to pronounce Alcina’s family name, making Alcina already proud. 

“Much better, then. Now… if you didn’t know, I’m quite tall. Do you mind if I hold you, dear?” 

“…hold me?” 

How innocent . Her question dripped with confusion, as though she couldn’t fathom why or was familiar with the concept of being carried. Alcina crouched down further, still towering over the poor dear. 

“Yes. It’ll be difficult to lead you by hand, and you’re not quite used to walking yet. You’ll be quite safe with me, dear, I promise.” 

Lana shuffled, before nodding. 

“Do I…uh, do I just…?” 

She raised her arms out to the side, in sort of a Christ pose, and Alcina couldn’t help but laugh. Taking Lana in her arms, Like with all things it seemed, with grace and ease. Lana was poised in Alcina’s right (Lana thinks, she’s still not sure of the difference) arm, legs hanging over her forearm while the rest of her body sat upright and against Alcina. Impulsively, she clung her fingers to the material of Lady Dimitrescu’s dress as she was swept up. Alcina had merely let out an amused sound, patting Lana’s head with her free hand. 

“I’ve got you, dear,” Alcina comforted, sensing her brief fear, “As you might have noticed, I’m rather…well, strong.”

Lana squeaked a “Yes, Lady Dimi…tresk.” 

    Alcina warned Lana every time they came to a doorway, they would have to crouch through, dropping down while keeping a firm hold on Lana before carrying on. She couldn’t read minds, but she had a good grasp of how people functioned. Not to mention she could hear Lana’s little heart pounding in her chest. Before Alcina could ask what was wrong, Lana blurted, 

“…Milady, why are you being so nice to me?” 

It gave Alcina pause. Her thoughts turned to pity, and it made Lana squirm. 

“Now,” Alcina started, gently continuing her strides but at a slower pace, “Is there any reason I shouldn’t be?”

“I…” Lana wrinkled her nose, “No one’s ever treated me so nicely, um, milady. And you’re a Lord…!” 

    The idea that no one had ever stopped to provide Lana with as much as kind words, gentle touches, or simply carrying made Alcina’s blood boil. Equally disappointing was Lana’s understanding of herself. She spoke as though she were a peasant, a simple man-thing, and Alcina should not be bothering with her on account of this status. Utterly appalled, she wanted to stop right then and tell her straightforward that Lana was divinity, already an heir to House Dimitrescu. 

But Lana was small, her psyche fragile. She had only just awoken, and it was best not to drop such rapid-fire news to her so quickly. 

“I can see why you’re confused, Lana,” she admitted, not unkindly, “There is still more we need to discuss in due time. Ah, another door, little one…”

They stooped through once again. Before them was the lavish and spacious main hall, adequately cleaned with a fire roaring in it’s fireplace. Alcina started towards the couch, “For now, dear, I want you to put those thoughts out of your mind. You’re an honored guest, and I will treat you as such.”

      She left no room for argument, so Lana bit her lip and stayed quiet. Alcina stopped and took Lana in her arms again. Warning that she was going to set her down, Lana left the comforting hold of Alcina’s arms (to her seeming disappointment) and was now sitting on the spacious custom couch. She wished Lana could see it. So utterly dwarfed by the furniture in the castle, Alcina decided it would be a miracle if they didn’t lose track of her in such a place. 

“Now, before we eat, I wish to introduce you to my daughters,” Alcina stated, “They are…well, see, they took care of you while you were asleep, my dear. They have grown a fair bit attached to you, it seems.” 

“But I didn’t do anything,” Lana said, confusedly. 

“My girls have never seen someone quite as small as you before. Daniela in particular is excited to see you awake, as is Bela,” Alcina explained, “I thought it necessary to warn you. They can be…excitable.”

Oh, how she prayed they could be civilized .

“Wait here, dear. I’ll gather them, and be right back.” 

So began Alcina’s search for her now oddly absent daughters. The library was her first stop, and to her disappointment, Bela was nowhere to be found. In fact, now that she thought about it, it was odd that none of the three came rushing when Lana had screamed. Their sense of hearing was rather… well, perfect. By all means, the summer months marked her girls as the apex predators, much like Alcina. They could hear their prey’s heartbeats from leagues away if they were on their best. Though she supposed they would have difficulty hearing if they were down…

In the dungeons…ah. 

Alcina descended a set of winding steps near the end of her hall, expression blank. She let her heels click against the stone steps, echoing into the darkness as it quickly gave way to torchlight. She heard it as soon as she stepped down the steps, of course- the whimpers. Muffled gasps and sobs- they often had to gag the misbehavin maidens. The sound of flesh being shredded, blood pit-pattering against the floor, the occasional laugh of her daughters, though she noted their aggressive, strained grunts more than anything else. Something about this one must have bothered them. 

Then it seemed her daughters caught wind of her approach, and the savage torture gave way to the sound of feet shuffling and general silence- save for the dripping of blood and the sobs. Before Alcina was a torchlit hall, much too filthy for her liking but not something easily cleaned. A row of iron-barred cells, adorned with various methods of…winemaking. Iron Maidens, Blood Eagle stands, simple meathooks for draining, some still adorned with the not-so-fresh, dried-out, wretches who mindlessly moaned and struggled on their hooks, shying away from her as she descended past. 

When she entered the cell furthest down the hall, she was greeted by a half-finished, incredibly sloppy attempt at a Blood Eagle- bless them. One shoulder blade exposed, while it seemed Cassandra- the bite marks were too deep and sporadic to be anyone else- had given up on proper ropework and given into her hunger. Nevertheless, they all looked incredibly angry at the sobbing, nearly in-shock maiden. Alcina regarded them silently, removing her hat and hanging it aside. She faced her daughters once again. 

“And what, praytell,” she started, voice possessing a dangerous edge, “was so important about this one that Cassandra abandoned Lana, while the rest of you have gone absent from our meal? I’ve taught you better than this…” 

Cassandra, upon her name leaving Alcina’s mouth, shot up and shook her head vehemently. 

“No, mother, t-that’s not…ugh!” She snarled, “I looked away for five minutes, mother- I could hear Lucrezia, she was showering- I couldn’t miss that-“ 

“Honestly-“ Alcina groaned, but Cassandra barrelled on, 

“And then I heard it- Lana’s door opening! I knew it wasn’t you or Bela or Dani, it was too quiet, so I came back…” in her explanation, she seemed to have dialled her frantically angry tone back a slight bit. Then she remembered their guest, a scrawny, brunette maiden, Viola, Alcina noted, with distaste.  Cassandra’s expression returned to one of great anger as she and her sisters stared hatefully at the woman, hissing and snarling, panting, buzzing… 

“And this one ” Cassandra spat, “was there, pillow in hand…she was going to smother her, mother, I know it! I knew she would! She had the pillow in hand, standing above her, watching, waiting! I called Dani and Bela, and and…” 

“Shh…” Alcina soothed, silencing her daughter with a large hand cupping her chin. She still buzzed about in righteous anger but was nonetheless silent. 

“Good…yes, that’s my Cassandra, hm? You were right to be so protective of your new little sister, hm?”

Cassandra’s gasp of joy from the praise was positively inappropriate. 

“W-What about me, mother?” Bela asked, “We came to help!” 

“Yes! We all helped! I bit her ear off!” Daniela cried. True to her word, she removed the half-chewed mound of flesh from her mouth. Alcina patted their heads, satisfying them. 

Alcina regarded the maiden. Chocolate hair, a plain, round face…ah, yes, a scar across her left cheek from when Daniela attempted to take up knife-throwing as a hobby. Her pride for her daughter’s actions became soured with the reveal of this maiden’s identity. 

“Cassandra, darling,” Alcina sighed, long and drawn out, “This is Marianne. She is today’s cleaner for Lana’s bedroom.” 

Marianne spit blood, crying in a raspy and irritatingly frightened shout, “C-Changing, changing her pillows- I wasn’t please it hurts it HURTS my lady I-” 

Alcina covered the sobbing maiden’s mouth with a gloved hand, muffling her cries. 

“Cassandra, and you three for that matter…you’ve tortured a perfectly good maid.” 

They hissed, the mood souring as they noted her mother’s displeasure. Killing maids was very common- but only when the maids were deserving. Opening windows, serving food improperly, covering their sneezes with their hands and not their sleeves… Alcina was never pleased when the maids were hurt undeservingly. It was a waste of labor. They’d have to replace this one, Marianne, soon enough. 

What to do now, Alcina pondered. They could, of course, cut her down, attempt to fix her up with the many Megamycete empowered artifacts that they had in Alcina’s laboratory. She could return to work in a week, perhaps, though with diminished capabilities. Oh, probably trauma as well. Man-Thing minds were brittle, after all. It was the just thing to do, as Marianne had been so unjustly punished for simply attempting to do her job. Certainly, a wrong worth righting. 

Although… that was quite a bit of work. Alcina leaned over, a small smile gracing her lips as she matched eyes with Marianne. The little woman had all the energy of a mouse in a glue trap, with the end slowly approaching. Whether or not Alcina spared her would hinge on her next words. So Alcina released her mouth. 

“Tell me, girl…” Alcina whispered, leaning close to her one still-remaining ear, “Are you a virgin?” 

Marianne’s pupils dilated even further, her mouth agape as she tried to force out her reply. Alcina’s tongue danced against the lobe of Marianne’s ear- oh how her heart was racing - ready to taste her blood to deduce her status. The Vampire’s tongue brushed the slightest drop from the bite wounds on her cheek. 

She was. 

As punishment for wasting a perfectly good maid, the girls needed to finish draining and preparing her blood for a bottle of Sanguis Virginis. Dinner with Lana would just have to wait, then. 

Sometime later, when the bottle was fermenting and Marianne was long forgotten by the Dimitrescu’s, another maid descended into the dungeons. She wore her nightgown, for it was incredibly late at night, with the lot of the castle hopefully silent. A single candle was her guiding light in the dank cavern of the dungeons, which rank so strongly of viscera that she thought she might lose her meager dinner.

“Marianne…?” she whispered into the dark, the reverberation of her voice reaching back to her ears from the darkness like the shadows were mocking her, “It’s Lucrezia…where are you?” 

The Dungeons of Castle Dimitrescu were the subject of hushed whispers, gossip, and nightmares to the servants who made their lives in the castle. It was rumored that the catacombs extended far beneath the palace for miles and miles, each packed wall-to-wall with the skeletons of all who had opposed the Dimitrescu family for millennia. Or innocents, who simply got in their way. 

In the century past, the catacombs had become a hellscape of mentally diseased, black-hearted psychosexual torture, which her mistresses so heartlessly referred to as “Wine Making.” God forbid her lover had found her way into this mess. Lucrezia wasn’t sure what she would do if she was. 

Finally having the courage to delve into such a depth presented a multitude of questions, the most pressing of which was what the fuck. The second, almost as pressing, was why the fuck was she there . The castle was a cavalcade of blood and death and the dungeons far worse. No one should dive into hell to seek divine answers. So why the fuck was she here? 

Lucrezia regretted wearing merely her socks for such an occasion. The stealthy steps were appreciated but the soft padding of silk against stone gave way to wet slaps as the aforementioned viscera soaked into the cloth and stained her feet within. 

What must have once been brownstone was now blacker than the shadows that surrounded her, stained with centuries of abuse. She came across the cells not long after, and her heart refused to beat. But Lucrezia owed it to the one woman who made life worth living, the kind maiden who showed her how to go unnoticed at Castle Dimitrescu, avoid the ire of its volatile mistresses, and even still reminded her to laugh and find love in this godless place. 

She peeked into the first. An Iron Maiden greeted her, mostly shut, though Lucrezia noted the gaunt, stretched, grey-fleshed foot of a helpless maiden within. Such a corpse could not have been Lucrezia, so she carried on. 

(She did not see the toes wriggle slightly, awakened by the noise.)

The second, an even more rotted corpse, dangling, still restrained, in a cage. The eyes were hollow and sunken, the flesh nearly having fallen completely off. Not her Marianne. 

(She did not see the corpse wriggle to seemingly get a better look at her, twisting in its cage.)

The third cell contained two corpses, much fresher to the point that she worried one may have been her lover- but only Marianne had gone missing earlier that day. The two were entwined in one another, resting on a razor-sharp pointed wooden horse. The less said about their state, the better. As if responding to their presence, the dead maidens fell to the floor, the impact being so loud that Lucrezia nearly dropped her candle. It was a wet, heavy, meaty sound and Lucrezia was certain she would lose her dinner- when she heard a gasp. 

It was faint. Lucrezia wondered if she had merely imagined it, but the echo did not lie and she knew what she heard. She followed the sound, immediately, whispering into the dark, voice weak, “Marianne?” 

(She heard the bodies on the ground moving- though she had assumed it was merely the internal organs settling on the floor.) 

There. The cell at the end of the hall. Despite the frozen, unyielding fear that gripped every piece of her soul, she approached it and looked inside. 

The Blood Eagle was a centuries-old piece of Viking literature, written in ancient pages as a fitting punishment for those who had committed grave crimes. 

Her eyes were closed. Her lungs were exposed. 

It described the removal of the shoulder blades, twisted out of position, and the removal of each and every rib from the spine. 

Marianne’s eyes opened. 

With the ribcage eradicated, one could expose the lungs to the open air, simulating the appearance of wings. 

Footsteps crept towards the maiden, and Lucrezia’s frightened eyes saw only teeth and darkness.