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Chapter Text

You had never been the religious type—going to cowboy church every Sunday morning and eating at the Cici’s pizza for lunch never struck the fear of God into you, and it pissed you off to no end when you’d get lectured for it.

In this backwater Romanian village, a different “God” was present, but you sure as shit weren’t gonna worship some bitch called Mother Miranda. Your older sister’s name was Miranda, and she sure as the day turns into night weren’t no goddess. ‘Course, she became an actual fucking preacher’s wife, but that was beside the goddamn point—no Miranda in your mind was a goddess, and goddamn Luzia wasn’t going to change your goddamn mind ‘bout that. 

“It would be a wonderful chance to expand your customers, Y/N—”
“I’m fine with the number of customers I got, ma’am,” you interrupted, trying to finish this annoying-ass lady’s oil change without swearing. You saw her standing right next to where you were underneath her truck, her black hem dangerously close to a stray oil puddle.

Would serve you right, you thought with a smirk. You got the plug unscrewed and watched the dark liquid flow into the jug, sighing. No knight in shining armor was gonna come and save you from Luzia’s ramblings, huh? You were used to old women and their disapproval of your life, but the whole fucking point of coming out here was to get away from all that shit and make your life your own.

You wheeled out from under the truck, standing and walking over to your workbench, Luzia’s frowning face following you over there. 

You glanced over to her before turning up your CD player, the soothing Metallica guitar solo drowning out any words Luzia would say. You tell her every time she can wait in your kitchen while you work—you was in no obligation to listen to her bitchin’. 

‘Bout time she fucking listened. 

You checked the plug seal and was pleasantly surprised to see it was still in good condition—things out in this goddamn village always seemed to break faster than they did at home, but maybe that was ‘cause of the cold. ‘Course right now it was warmer than it had been in a hot minute—fucking climate change. 

You took a drink of beer when you grabbed your can of brake cleaner and sprayed off the seal before going back under, screwing the plug lightly back in before grabbing your oil filter wrench, cursing softly when the oil drips missed the pan. 

You finished up the oil change quickly after that, coating the lip of the new filter with oil to make sure it sealed correctly. You liked working on older vehicles better—the manufacturers back then actually gave a damn about the mechanics, it seemed. You remembered whenever you’d have to work on your ex-fiancee's Traverse—talk about wanting to break things. Luckily she did that for you—cheating on you with your best friend who you guessed was all that and a can of beans freed you from the everlasting torture that was that goddamn car, and you had never been happier to walk away. 

Your music turned down, and you immediately roll out from underneath the truck, glaring at—Luzia wasn’t near the radio…she wasn’t in the shop at all.

You sat up, looking around. A fly buzzed next to your ear and you swatted it away, standing up and hesitantly walking to your CD player. You turned it back up before turning around, a person who was definitely not Luzia standing in front of the truck, looking at the innards. 

A black hood obscured whoever they were, but you could tell they were a woman by the dress and curves unless a man who liked dresses and an impressive ass had walked in. You doubted it—the only men who ever talked to you were the men who wanted you to fix their tractors, and they didn’t seem the type. 

“Uh, welcome to my shop?” you said, trying to shake the nervous feeling you had in your gut.

“You’re a mechanic?” the woman asked, her voice deeper than you would have thought it’d be; she had no accent. 

One thing you noticed the second you stepped foot in this village was that everyone spoke English—it didn’t matter the street signs were Romanian or the fact that, you know, they were in fucking Romania—it was English with a bit of Romanian thrown in here or there. But it was perfect English; you remembered the English that was spoken at the airport—that sure as shit wasn’t this, and this was better than the shit you heard in your Texan town for Pete’s sake!

“I’d hope so, otherwise I’d just be some idiot in a car shop,” you joked, wincing immediately at how that sounded. “Sorry, I don’t think sometimes ‘fore I speak—”
“What are you doing to the automobile?” she asked, and you tilted your head. Weren’t it obvious? “I’m, uh, I’m changing the oil. Just gotta put the 6 liters in and I’ll be done. You need some help on your, uh, automobile ?” you asked, drawing out the last word. 

“6 liters?” she asked, and turned, red hair obscuring most of her face. 

You raised an eyebrow at that—you had just said that. Right? Goddamn, what’s it with people today? First Luiza—where the fuck is Luiza?
“Do you know where Luiza is?” you asked, grabbing your case of oil and walking it over to the truck. The woman shifted to let you pass, her gaze not leaving your hands the entire time. “She left the moment I appeared,” she said, and you looked over at her. Pretty face besides the blood covering her—your eyes widened, and the woman gave you a peculiar look. 

“Whatever seems to be the matter?” she asked, her voice too sweet to be anything other than a trap. 

You had been raised in a home built on trauma—if this girl wanted to getcha, she’d better invoke one of the seven things that made you get the sweats—spiders, clowns, abandonment, closets, steak knives, spiders again ‘cause they scare you shitless, and taxes.

‘Course, having blood covering her face and a wicked-looking tattoo on her forehead wasn’t not something that made you sweat. 

“I like your tattoo,” you said before looking back down at the engine, opening a bottle of oil, and pouring it into the tank. You pulled out your pocket knife and saw the woman visibly tense, but used it only to cut the bottle into a funnel so you could pour the oil easier. “I got some tattoos of my own—never got one on my forehead though,” you added thoughtfully, pouring another bottle of oil into the engine. 

“My sisters and I all have one,” the woman answered, her words stilted.

You hummed, pulling up one of your work-shirt sleeves to reveal your, well, sleeve. 

“Told the guy to go wild—Mom wasn’t too happy with the pin-up girl, but what’s the hell wrong with tits bein’ inked on your skin—think before I speak, sorry,” you hissed out, shutting your eyes.

The woman was silent for a moment before bursting into laughter, startling you. You looked over to her and couldn’t help but chuckle with her before grabbing another bottle and pouring it. 

Hopefully, the whole blood thing was just some weird-ass ritual shit they did on church day or something. Yeah, the Catholics did it—why couldn’t some bitches praying to Miranda do it?

For Whom The Bell Tolls started playing, and you nodded your head to the beat. 

Your most prized possession was your CD player and the disc collection hidden in your bedside table—you would throw yourself in front of the gigantic wolves that roamed the wolves for that CD player. You had amassed a collection that any music lover would faint at, and you weren’t about to give that shit up just for some podunk snowy-ass village. An entire drawer in your kitchen was full of batteries for that thing, and you always grabbed a few every time you visited the Duke for your car part needs. 

The Duke was…for a better lack of words, one big-ass dude.

You didn’t believe in the supernatural—there weren’t no werewolves, there weren’t no witches, but fuck was that dude magic. 

You made a mental note to get more oil from him next time he visited, along with ordering that part for the ancient Case you were working on for Leonardo.

The young woman moved and you looked over to her, surprised when you saw her hand held out to you. “Daniela,” she said, and you took her hand, giving it a firm squeeze and grinning when she squeezed just as hard. 

“Y/N,” you answered back, and she chuckled, her blood-covered lips quirking up into a smile. 

“I’ve never seen oil changed in a car before,” she said, looking at the makeshift funnel with an oddly sad look.

“You wanna pour the next one?” you asked, and she looked over to you quickly, excitement flooding her face. 

“You mean it?” 

You nodded, unsure why that was such a big deal to the girl. Putting oil back always seemed like the dullest part of an oil change—you’d rather sit through one of your father’s lectures than pour oil, and that man could make a five-minute lecture feel like fifty. His stammering ‘cause of the booze didn’t help much in that department, but you couldn’t say much bein’ as you had a beer with your toast this morning and hadn’t stopped since—

With that thought, you grabbed your beer and finished it off, setting the can on the ground and crushing it with your steel-toed foot before grabbing another bottle of oil and opening it. You handed it to Daniela and instructed her how to hold it to pour. 

“You wanna pour it sideways—yeah, that’s—that’s it, you’re doin’ it,”

Daniela turned to you the moment the last drop of oil was out of the bottle, a smile rivaling the sun aimed at you. You smiled softly back; you couldn’t remember the last time someone smiled at you like that. It was probably when you came home on leave the first time and your little sister had tackled you the moment you came to the door, still dressed in your combat fatigues. 

Your chest panged at the memory of your sister, and you looked away from the girl, frowning. “You can pour the rest if you want,” you said tiredly, and you could feel Daniela’s burning gaze on the side of your head but couldn’t bring yourself to look. 

You saw her grab another bottle of oil from the ground and took in a deep breath, turning back to your workstation and reaching for a beer that wasn’t there. 

“Fuck,” you muttered, screwing your eyes closed and rubbing the bridge of your nose. You didn’t want to be rude and go to your house, but you needed another beer. The thought of all you left behind was still a sore subject within you—you had hated it there, hated every single minute you spent awake and not boozed out—but fuck you missed your dad, missed Scarlett, and even missed Mrs. Johnson now, that church bitch. 

You opened your eyes to another beer sitting in front of you, unopened. Startled, you turned around to look at Daniela but she was gone, the only evidence she was here the now-empty case of oil. 

You didn’t know what to do but opened the beer and drink it, wondering if you were well and truly going crazy. 

Escape started playing, and you did exactly that: turning off the CD player, screwing the oil cap back on Luzia’s truck, and walking out of the shop, crossing the short yard covered in dead grass and entering your backdoor, not bothering to kick your boots off. Daniela was sitting on your couch, leafing through one of the many trashy paperbacks you had.

So, not crazy. That’s good. 

The better question would be how the fuck did the girl get to your house, grab a beer, bring it back to you, and disappear into the house again in under two, maybe three minutes. 

Alright, maybe supernatural beings were a thing .

Was Luiza like that, then? You didn’t think you—you remembered the way her eyes went wide at the slightest of sounds. The Duke nor Daniela seemed like jumpy people. You weren’t unless it was the Seven Scares, but even then weren’t terrified like she was. 

Made you wonder just what the fuck was going on at that church where people were covered in blood and old ladies looked one more fright away from having a heart attack. 

You know, it sounded just like another day at your old church more and more. The old lady party, not the blood part. Well—

“Are you only good with cars, mechanic?” Daniela asked, setting down the book and setting her hands in her lap like she had caught you sneaking in. You felt just like that, slinking over to your armchair and sitting down without a word. 

“What’s that s’posed to mean?” you asked jokingly. “I’m pretty good at’a lot of stuff,”

Daniela’s eyes widened a fraction, and she smiled apologetically. “You’re not the only one who speaks before she thinks. My mother says it's because of the number of books I read,” she said, chuckling. “My eldest sister Bela thinks it’s because my head got shook too much when I was reborn,”

Wait. Mother Miranda. Blood. Reborn. If there was wine, then that must mean…

“Is wine a special thing here?” you asked, and Daniela immediately sat up, her smile disappearing. 

“Yes…my family owns a vineyard,”

Catholics. Supernatural Catholics. Then why did they call their god the Black God—fuck, Y/N, you’re supposed to be better than your parents.

“I’ve never been a wine drinker but I can understand the importance of it here,” you said, taking a sip of your beer. 

Daniela raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”

You waved your beer around nonchalantly. “You know, the whole eat-the-body and drink-the-blood stuff—I grew up Cowboy but that don’t mean I’m a complete fool,”

Daniela stared at you with wide eyes. “You know what we do?”

You stared back, confused. “It’s a pretty common thing back in the States,”

“Do you know anything about plumbing?” she asked quickly, nearly buzzing with excitement. 

“I dabble here and there—” you don’t get to finish your sentence before Daniela springs up from the couch and crosses the gap between you in less than a second it seemed, pinning you between her arms. 

“You must come with me! Mother has been in a mood ever since her pool won’t drain, and you’re not a smelly man-thing she’ll kill!”
Must be a Catholic thing, you think with a nervous smile. “I could, uh, take a looksy for ya—”

You barely manage to set down your beer before Daniela jumped you, hugging you tight enough for the breath to be knocked out of you. 

Goddamn , the girl was strong. Strong and absolutely reeking of blood. 

You swallow down the bile that threatened to rise up your throat—that, that wasn’t a normal kind of smell. 

Okay, maybe they aren’t Catholics—but why would she agree to the—

Oh my God.

“Cannibal,” you breathed out, and Daniela looked up to you, confused. “You’re a fuckin’ cannibal,”

Daniela’s face grew confused and she got off of you, taking the dreadful smell of blood with her. “I…no, we’re not cannibals . I thought you understood that,”

“I thought you was Catholic, Daniela,” you tiredly said, and she narrowed her eyes, a smirk fighting its way onto her face.

Oh, so you think this is funny ?

“A Catholic is the last thing you’d ever find in this village, mechanic—”
“Fuck, y’all have got me fucked up. You’re gonna kill me, ain’t you?”

Daniela’s eyes widened and she shook her head vigorously. “You have my word that no harm will befall you from myself or my family, Y/N. We only kill those that deserve it,”

You screw your eyes shut and take in a deep breath, reaching blindly for the beer at your side. 

“You ain’t human?”

“Open your eyes, mechanic,” Daniela responded, and you did, seeing Daniela standing in front of you before dissolving into a cloud of—

“Fucking flies,” you breathed out, no longer completely terrified. There weren’t nothing scary ‘bout a woman made of flies. It scared you more when you thought she was just your everyday normal cannibal and that you had somehow settled in the most fucked-up village this side of Bucharest.

“Is…is every one of y’all like that?”
“My family?” Daniela asked, and shook her head no. “My two sisters are like me, but our mother is…something completely different,”

You hummed, grabbing your beer and taking a long drink of it. ‘Course she is. Would be fucking stupid to think all the family members were fly people.

Daniela watches you with a nervous expression as you sit there, finishing the beer and standing. 

“That was pretty cool,” you said when you walked past her into the kitchen, tossing the empty can in the trash and opening the fridge to grab another. Daniela’s body materialized in front of you, blocking your way.
“You’re going to get drunk,” she said, and you shrugged your shoulders. 

“Ain’t nothing wrong with that,”

“Is that why you’re not afraid?” Daniela asked, and you looked at her, eye-level with the woman. 

“I’m always afraid, kid. Drinking don’t fix that. I just gotta chose the thing that makes me shit my pants,” you said, reaching around her and grabbing a water bottle instead. “And you, Daniela—you’re an angel compared to some of the shit I’ve seen,”

Your mom running you off the road in your brand new Camaro was scarier than this girl, and that was the tamest experience you’d had ever had with that woman. 

Daniela snorted. “I’m sure that isn’t true—”
“Let’s just leave it at that, okay?” you snapped, opening up your water bottle and chugging it in one go. “It’s getting late,” you said, trying to let her know to get the fuck out of your house. 

Daniela nodded. “Yes, it is. Do you have any more work to do tonight?”

“Just personal projects now,” you said, walking over to your chair and sitting back down. You rarely spent a full night in your bed, your thoughts always a raging war you couldn’t fight. You normally woke up in your chair, a headache the only indicator of how much you drank the night before. 

“Like what?” she asked, sitting back down on the couch. You sighed internally—maybe it was a Romanian thing, not understanding your social cues. Or maybe it was just a Texas thing and you were being a dick for no reason again. 

“I’m trying to fix up an old ‘67, ‘68 truck I found out in the shop when I moved in. Tryin’ to rebuild the engine now,”

“Did you go to school for mechanics?” Daniela asked, and you scoffed, a smirk forming on your face. 

“I appreciate you think I’m smart enough to go to school—no, I taught myself most of it, with a little help here and there,” you said, and laughed at the woman’s flabbergasted look. “When all the cars you got are shit, you learn how to make them run good or then you got no car—’course, I couldn’t get no job as a mechanic ‘ cause I didn’t have no school for it, but that’s what the military’s for, I reckon,”

“The military? You don’t seem like a soldier,”

You chuckled. “What’s a soldier supposed to seem like, then?”
Daniela shrugged. “More… bravado , I suppose,”

“I don’t have any clue on what that means, Daniela,”

“You’re not as cocky as the other soldiers I’ve ever met,” she clarified, and you hummed. “Of course, they were always trying to kill us, but you don’t seem so cock-sure,”
“That’s ‘cause I’m not a man, Daniela,” you joked, and she chuckled, grabbing the paperback she was looking at earlier and opening it up again. 

Guess that means you have company the rest of the night, you think sourly. Company that doesn’t want you to get drunk?

“Do you eat anything other than people?” you asked, and she looked up at you. 

“I like cake,” she said, “cookies too, but they have to be chocolate chip or I won’t eat them, except my mother eats the chocolate off of them and I’m left with just a plain cookie, which I don’t appreciate but can never say no—sorry, I’m rambling,”
“You’re fine—my ex used to do the exact same thing, ‘course I think she was only being malicious there towards the end,”

A funny look appeared on Daniela’s face, and you internally cursed. ‘Course the cannibal was homophobic—

“I don’t believe my mother holds an ill towards me when she does it; I think she just has a sweet tooth she doesn’t want anymore to know about,”

The more information you learned about the family, the easier it was to swallow all the unnatural bits easier. 

“Well, I’d be more than happy to bake her some sweet treats if that meant not getting eaten the moment I stepped into her, uh, pool room , was it?”
Daniela jumped up and swarmed over to you, literally buzzing with excitement. “You mean it still? Oh, thank the Black God—I will help you bake so she doesn’t kill you for ogling at her,”
“Ogling? Listen, I know I’m gay but I ain’t a pig—”

“It’s not that—oh, I don’t know how to describe it without calling my mother ginormous, but that’s the only way you humans seem to understand it,”

You narrowed your eyes at her. “Your mother may be big but that don’t mean you can overexaggerate like that,”
“I’m not overexaggerating anything!” she defended, a pout forming on her face. “You’ll see what I mean in the morning—”
“The morning?” you interrupted, incredulous. “I don’t even know where you live!”
“Isn’t it obvious? We live up at the castle—you do know what a castle is?”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Of course, I know what a fucking castle is—I watched Beauty and the Beast almost every day as a kid!”

She held up her hands, an apologetic look on her face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to assume that you knew! I’m sorry, Y/N. Please, still help us,”
“You’re begging a shit-ton for me to fix your mom’s goddamn pool—why do you need it fixed so goddamn bad anyway?”
“Mother’s going on a rampage, killing the maids without any thoughts—my sisters and I are sadistic, but we only hunt to wound,” she rambled, and you threw your arms into the air. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Daniela! Maybe don’t tell the person you want to help you that!” 

“I’m sorry, but I really need your help! You would be rewarded handsomely—enough to get a brand new engine for your truck, liters upon liters of oil from the Duke, and buy enough beer to forget your name!”

You stared at her with unreadable eyes, unable to find any sort of response back. 

A ginormous woman was slaughtering maid after maid because her pool didn’t work, and Daniela expected you, a stupid-ass mechanic, to fix a problem you probably didn’t know how to fix if only to get fat wads of—well you would suppose it’d be better to say fat purses of lei but anyway—

“What will I need to bring?” you asked tiredly, only growing more tired by the bright look appearing on the girl’s face. 

“Oh, just the normal tools for pipes. Probably a gun too—no, scratch that, Cassandra would kill you. Just your tools—”

You sighed and stood up. There wouldn’t be any sleep for you tonight, so you’d might as well do something productive. “Would you like to help me work on my truck?” you asked, and Daniela nodded vigorously, rocking on the balls of her feet. 

“Then you come and fix the pool?”
You nodded. “Then I come and fix the pool,”

“You’ll need to pack a bag, then. It’ll take more than half a day to trek up there, and probably more than one day to fix it. I’ll help you?”

“Okay,” you said, answering all of her questions. 

Somehow you knew that your death would happen in that castle at that moment. 

That thought didn’t scare you as much as you would’ve hoped it did.

Chapter Text

Daniela was right—it was nearly noon and you still hadn’t reached the castle yet after nearly six hours of walking. She assured you it wasn’t much farther now, but goddamnit, you didn’t believe a word out of her after the night you had just had. Either half of the United States was zombies, or Daniela was full of shit. 

Armed with a backpack and duffel bag, you held most of your belongings. You didn’t have much, and this trip to the castle showed you that. Maybe you should buy more knickknacks from the Duke if you ever made it home. 

You had pulled Luiza’s truck out of the garage before locking everything up tight, writing a note to her explaining the situation. 

Knowing her, she had already started praying for your safety. You probably needed it—noises you knew weren’t natural kept happening in the forest beyond, making even Daniela stiffen up and glance over to you like she was making sure you were still there. 

“You should really widen up the road—be a hell of a lot easier to drive up to the castle than walk,” you said, and Daniela waved her hand around. 

“Mother doesn’t like change—and besides, there is a road to the castle, but it hasn’t been used in, well, in a very long time,” she said, her voice growing soft. “Our wine used to be so much more —it was sold in every bar, drank at every court—now, well,” she chuckled, “Mother cold tell you more than I ever could, mechanic, or Bela—they run the vineyard,”
“Does Bela like that?” you asked, and Daniela looked back at you, an eyebrow raised.
“Of course she does—it’s all she ever talks about,”
“Don’t mean she likes it, Daniela. You ain’t never asked her that before?”

She shakes her head, a glimmer of shame in her eyes. “I’d never thought she wouldn’t like what she did…she’s the oldest for a reason. All I do is read and bother the maids,”

“I have two sisters,” you said, and Daniela slowed down to walk next to you. “And a little brother, but I ain’t never met him,”

“Why not?” she asked, and you shrugged. 

“Left home ‘fore he was born—he’s a half brother, from my dad’s new wife. I ain’t never met her either,”
“Are you the eldest?” she asked, and you shook your head.

“No, Miranda was the oldest—I was the middle child,”

“Miranda’s your sister’s name?”

You nodded. “I gather that the name has a helluva lot more sway here,”

“You were protective of your sisters, weren’t you?” she asked, diverting from the previous topic. You looked over at her, raising an eyebrow. “I was, yeah,”

No matter what happened, you protected your sisters. 

You rubbed at a surgical scar on your wrist, remembering the only time you ribbed your dad for his drinking ‘cause he had missed Miranda’s band concert.

A broken wrist was easy enough to blame on a farm accident, at least.

“You remind me a lot of Cassandra—oh, I’ve brought back bad memories, haven’t I?” Daniela asked with a sigh, and you shook your head quickly. 

“No, that’s not it,” you lied. “I’m thinking of what could be wrong with your pool,”

Maybe a filter’s out—did old-timey castle pools have a filter?

“You’re a good liar, Y/N. You’re heart barely sped up at that one,”

You glanced over to her, surprised. “You can hear my heart?”

Daniela nodded. “I can hear almost everything out here—it’s quite a nice skill to have when you’re hunting,”
You hummed. “I would imagine,”

“The castle’s just up ahead, mechanic,” Daniela said, before letting out a groan. “I have never walked to the castle before—I almost feel sorry for you and your human legs,”

“Woulda been easier to drive,” you reminded her, and she rolled her eyes. 

“Yeah, you tell my mother that—I’m not going to be the one to drag you to the cellar,”

“Is your mother easy to piss off?” you asked, getting the feeling the cellar weren’t no club. You had a habit of pissing people off on accident and didn’t want that to be the reason you met your doom.

“Oh, very. Be sure to be on your best behavior, Y/N,”

Great.

The castle up close was…yeah, it was fucking huge . Beauty and the Beast hadn’t trained you for this . 

“Welcome to Castle Dimitrescu!” Daniela exclaimed, holding out her arms. 

You didn’t tell her that you’d never be able to say that word without looking like a total fucking idiot.

“Very…eh, gothic ,” you drawled, a tight smile on your face. 

“That is the main architectural design, yes,” 

You walked through a field of grapes, sighing in relief when you saw people working.

“The only men permitted on castle grounds are the fieldworkers,” Daniela said when she noticed your staring. 

“What kind of lesbian paradise is this?” you asked, only half-joking.

“Everyone in my family is sapphic, mechanic—you’re going to fit right in,”
Sapphic supernatural cannibals—wonderful. 

Hey, that’d be a pretty cool band name. Or at least a sick song title. 

One of the workers raised his hand in greeting, and you returned it.

“Do you know that man-thing?” Daniela nearly spits out.

You shook your head. “No, ain’t never seen him before,”

“Do you smell that?” she asked suddenly, before turning into her swarm and leaving you in the middle of the path.

“No, I don’t reckon I do,” you answered to no one, before continuing your walk up to the castle.

You noticed the scarecrows were hollowed-out corpses.

Cool. Sapphic supernatural cannibals who hung up the dead bodies they didn’t eat.

The front doors were a lot more intimidating when you were alone, you found out, but didn’t let that stop you.

You dropped your duffel and raised your hand to knock but the door opened on its own, a two-heads shorter woman peeking outside and startling when she saw you.

“Who are you?” she asked fearfully, craning her head to look past you.

“I’m here about the…uh, the pool? Daniela was with me but I don’t know where she flew off to—”

The woman grabbed you by your shirt collar, bringing you down to her level.

“ Do you want to die? ” she hissed, and you grabbed her arm, yanking it off of you. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” you snarled through gritted teeth.

“Y/N, sorry about—” Daniela’s voice appeared to your right, and you glanced over to see a sinister smile on her face.

“You know what we said about answering the door like that, Ioana,” she said, her voice that sickly sweet you had heard yesterday. “You have to be kinder to outsiders—hasn’t Mother taught you that lesson before?”

Ioana shook her head, pointing at you. “She disrespected you, Miss Daniela—”

“Do you honestly think I believe that, maid? The mechanic has been nothing but accepting,”

You stared at Ioana, unsure of what your role was in this scolding.

She looked between you and Daniela in horror before dropping to her knees, grabbing at the hem of Daniela’s black dress. “Please, please Miss Daniela—”

“Oh, stop groveling and get out of my sight,” Daniela snapped, and Ioana clutched her hands together in forgiveness, scampering. 

You waited until Daniela let out a quiet chuckle before looking over at her entirely.

“She’s terrified of you,” you breathed out, grabbing your duffel again.

“That means she’ll survive longer,” was Daniela’s reply. “Inside, quickly. Mother hates the heat being let out,”

The moment you stepped into the castle, you wished you hadn’t—the stale smell of blood invaded your nose, and you swear to God you heard a shriek and then insane laughter.

Maybe their mother was a fan of horror films? All your mom did before she ran off was read true crime novels and smoke. You could almost smell cigarette smoke if you looked for it. 

And it was so fucking warm —you dropped your backpack and duffel and took your flannel off, a blue one your dad had gotten as a Christmas gift but never wore. You ignored Daniela’s questioning look as you opened up your backpack and shoved it in, catching your hand on one of the screwdrivers you had shoved willy-nilly in it. 

“Ah, fuck!” you muttered, pulling your hand out and examining the scrape, blood already beading up. “Fuckin’ clumsy-ass fool,” you said as you zipped up the backpack, and flinched when Daniela’s hand roughly grabbed your shoulder. 

“You’re bleeding,” she said, breathless.

“Sorry—caught my hand on—woah!” you’re cut off by Daniela yanking up your hand, and— 

“Are you fucking licking me?” you yelled, ripping your hand away from her. “What the fuck?”

Daniela gave you a disgusted look, painfully swallowing. “Your blood tastes like shit,”

“Why the hell are you tryin’ my blood?”
“So Mother doesn’t have any ideas about drinking you dry?” she said, like she couldn’t understand why you had asked that.

“You didn’t say nothing about no goddamn blood drinking!” you spat, and she recoiled back, a hurt look crossing her face. 

“I thought that was implied—I’m sorry, Y/N—”
“Just drop it,” you grunted, shaking your head. “It’s fine—just…just don’t fucking do it again,”
“I promise—now, quick, before Mother comes—”
“Who is yelling in my Entrance Hall?” a woman’s deep, rich voice entered the, you guessed Entrance Hall, right before she walked in.

“Holy fuck,” you breathed out, now able to understand what Daniela had meant. 

You had always been the tallest woman, the tallest person , wherever you went. But bein’ 6’4 don’t mean shit when you only made it up to the bottom of that woman’s chest.

Daniela nudged you quickly, and you looked down, remembering Daniela’s words of ogling which were more true than you realized. 

“Apologies, Mother—the mechanic and I were merely discussing her terms of service,”

“What need do I have of a mechanic?” the woman asked, and you looked up, unable to stop. 

“Your pool, Mother—she said she could try and fix it,”

The woman was a foot away, a displeased look on her face as though she had stepped in shit. A large, wide-brimmed black hat was on her head, angled at that moment to obscure one of her—you ain’t never seen golden eyes before. You couldn’t remember if Daniela had the same eye color.

The woman’s eyes sharpened, and she flicked her eyes over to her daughter’s. “You picked the village idiot, not the mechanic, I’m afraid,” she said, breathing deeply and wincing. “Or maybe the village drunk—bring her to the cellar—”
“Now wait just a fat minute, lady!” you interrupted, making the woman’s eyes widen for a second. “I am the mechanic! And a damn good one, I might add, ma’am!” you said, ignoring the way rage was creeping onto the woman’s face. 

“Mother, please—Y/N, as she so eloquently put it,” she nearly muttered, shooting you a look, “ is a master of her craft! I’m sure she can figure out the issue with your pool!” 

“And what of her blood?”
“Terrible—”
“I’ll be the judge of that, daughter—let’s see just how you taste —” the woman spat, and—

“Holy fuck!” you yelled at the blades that had just ripped through the woman’s fingers.

“Shut up!” Daniela yelled back, grabbing your shoulder and rooting you to the spot with inhuman strength.

You heard more flies, and the insane laughter you had heard earlier appeared behind you, more hands grabbing you.

“Trying to hold out on us, Dani?” one of them asked, before giggling. “You know romance is dead, right?”

The woman sliced your already-injured palm open, and you exhaled sharply, the sting nothing compared to the sight of her bending down and sucking on the cut.

Okay, that mighta turned you on just a little , but you weren’t gonna think about that right now. 

She dropped your hand with a disgusted noise, and you started to feel self-conscious of your blood—it can’t be that bad—

“Almost as bad as man-blood,” she tutted, grabbing a cloth napkin from some hidden pocket in the dress and dabbing at her mouth. “You say she can fix the pool?”
“Yes, Mother,”
“I didn’t say that—” Daniela’s hand covering your mouth cut you off, and you have to stop yourself from biting it. 

You fucking hated having a hand over your mouth. You just hated being touched on your face period—brought back one too many bad memories. 

The woman regards you with a cold look before tossing the napkin on the floor, gesturing toward you. “For your hand,” she said, not bothering to see if you were going to grab it before turning. “Follow me,”

A person behind you shoves you forward and you stumble, catching yourself before eating shit on the ground. 

You grab the cloth hesitantly and press the soft fabric to your hand before grabbing your things and starting your trek behind the woman, ignoring the giggles of the women behind you and Daniela’s quiet pleas. 

So the women must have been her sisters, you reasoned when three clouds of flies passed you and formed next to their mother, who walked like she had long legs. 

Matching hoods and dresses with the rumored matching tattoo; you wondered if they were all red-heads when one of them looked back at you, her blonde hair matted with blood. 

Nope. Okay, just stop thinking ‘cause they probably can hear your thoughts. 

You remembered the way you felt when the woman was suckin’ your blood and blush—you can’t remember the last time you had felt arousal—a few years, give or take a night or two. 

Kinda fucked up that a gigantic vampire lady was one to poke at that bear but you couldn’t choose what your body did. 

Another glance back at you, this time from a brunette one. 

From the way the blonde carried herself, walking next to her mother, you’d have to guess that one was Bela. That meant the brunette was Cassandra, which would have been your guess anyway by the way she was the one between you and her family. 

The walk up the stairs was tedious, and you started to get nauseous. You had a bad feeling about this place, and it wasn’t just because you had had a little blood loss. 

The woman stopped at a door, and the tall one looked back at you. “I haven’t introduced myself yet—apologies, pet—”
“I ain’t your pet,” you interrupted, and the woman’s eyes widen fractionally before narrowing again.

“I am Lady Dimitrescu, and you will not interrupt me again—understand, mechanic ?”

‘Course the lady gotta be named the fucking worst name for you. 

“I understand, ma’am,” you answered, wanting the crowd of people to stop looking at you. 

You had never liked having an audience, a fact cemented in every time someone would laugh at you ‘cause of your accent.

They hadn’t laughed yet, but you could feel the word stupid being used to describe you in their heads. 

You could feel blood trickling out of the napkin and onto your duffel bag but held your tongue. Not the first time blood’s gotten on that thing. Won’t be the last. 

“My lady,” the woman said, and you cocked your head. 

“What?”

“I am not ma’am , I am to be referred to as Lady Dimitrescu, my lady, or mistress ,”
My lady it is. You ain’t ever gonna call a woman mistress—there was only one lady you would call that, and that was Geena Davis.

“Yes, my lady,” you correct, the words foreign on your tongue. You didn’t much care for that, but it’s better than fuckin’ mistress . Fucking rich folk and their rich-ass titles. 

“The pool is just behind these doors. After you, mechanic,”

You shouldn’t have expected a normal pool. No, that was far too much to expect from people who were, evidently, lovers of whatever the fuck the Evil Queen did in Snow White and the Huntsman except fucked-up . 

The smell of blood nearly knocked you down, and you surveyed the room to take your mind off of it. 

You could feel Lady Dimitrescu’s eyes drilling holes in the back of your head, but you ignored her to walk over to a statue, running your hand over the carved marble. A man riding a carved horse.

It was a pretty swanky room, ignoring the obvious things wrong with it. A fireplace crackled softly, between two more statues. One looked to be beggars, the other an old-timey lookin’ woman. The last statue was a woman in a hood holding a bottle of wine. They were all facing the wall, and you saw Lady Dimitrescu walk next to you without a sound.

“Do you fancy yourself a plumber, mechanic?”

You shrugged, looking over at a plaque hanging above the fireplace. “I don’t fancy myself anything, ma’am—my lady,” you corrected, and the lady hummed in response, running a hand over the head of the horse. 

You walked over to the plaque, avoiding the pool.

“‘Women are blind to male advances,’” you read, chuckling slightly. “I’d say that’s a false statement—I’ve always known when a man wanted in my pants,” you swear you heard a soft chuckle from one of the other sisters, “‘but the poor shall take their chances’—fuckin’ Shakesphere wrote this—‘to give their lord their bounty sown, so that soon the wine may flow,’”
The only answer you had was Catholicism, but you now knew that was an incorrect answer. Judging by the way Daniela burst out into laughter, you could tell she remembered the exact same conversation. 

She muttered out a quick apology, but when you glanced over at her you could tell she didn’t mean it, a large smile still stuck on her face. 

“Do you mind if I listen to music while I work, ma’am—my lady?” you asked, and the lady’s eyebrows raised in genuine shock.

“Well, I—you enjoy music?” she asked, and you shrugged.

“It helps me work,” you said, unable to put to words what exactly music was to you. It was all you had left—all the good memories with your family almost all had music involved, and even memories without music had a song or something like it merged into them.

You couldn’t listen to Joan Jett without thinking of your mother singing along with you in the car, the windows rolled down, nor could you listen to Waylon Jennings without remembering how your father would let you sit in the passenger seat when he got beer at the store so it had plenty’a room in the backseat. 

A bittersweet thing, but something you couldn’t part with just yet. 

“I suppose you may,” Lady Dimitrescu said before turning on her heel and walking away, stopping to glance back at you, a smirk on her blood-red lips. “I do hope you don’t disappoint me, little mechanic—I don’t think the villagers would appreciate you being hung up to dry,”

“You don’t have any idea what I can do,” you responded, and her smirk turned deadly. 

“We shall see,” she walked out of the room without another word, Bela and Cassandra right on her heels. Daniela waited until they had left the wing entirely before swarming over to you, squealing.

“You’re alive! I’m glad we caught Mother in a good mood—”
“Good mood?” you interrupted, “she told you to kill me!”

“Trust me, that was a good mood—she’ll be in an even better mood when you fix the pool, so chop-chop, mechanic!” she exclaimed, turning into flies. 

“Wait!” you said just as she exited the room through a grate in the wall. “Fuck,”

You didn’t know how the fucking pool worked, let alone drained . From what you could see, there weren’t no spigots in sight.

There had to be something about that riddle—fuck, you were horrible at riddles. 

You started your journey by unpacking your tools, setting your CD player up in the farthest corner from the pool, and smiling before putting in what you believed to be one of the best rock albums ever created. 

Welcome To The Jungle starts playing, and you tap your foot along the floor at the guitar riff, sorting out your tools. 

Basic shit—duct tape, your socket wrench, and, well, sockets , metric and fractional alike—you obviously brought your trusty monkey wrench that you had broken a man’s knee with one time, some epoxy that had seen better days, and some gloves ‘cause you know that shit heats up, and if shit’s really bad, some pipe cutters, a deburring tool, and a purse of lei for the Duke.

Now, how the fuck do you do this without touching and/or getting in the pool of blood?

“Women…women women women—how do women not seeing men make the pool drain?” you asked yourself, running a hand over the fancy-looking woman statue and raising an eyebrow when you could shift it slightly. You grabbed her by the arms and spun her to face the other woman—women gossiped, you reckoned, and didn’t notice the men wanting to fuck ‘em. Or, man, you mused when you saw the man on the horse, walking over and turning him to face the women. That left the beggars. You looked at the plaque again. 

“‘The poor shall take their chances to give their lord their bounty sown,’” you read, then chuckled. “Rich folk got horses—these bastards wanna eat his horse,” you said as you turned the beggars to face the horseman. 

A click, and then—nothing. That meant it wasn’t a pipe problem, at least. Now…

“How the fuck do I fix that? ” you grumbled, before taking in a deep breath, wincing at the copper in the air. 

You bent down to examine the beggars' statue, noticing a near-hidden latch in one of their robes. Undoing it, you tugged the marble cover away and saw an absolute jumble of gears, cogs, belts, and what was—

You pulled out the dead rat caught on a gear by its decaying tail, gagging at the smell and the way the flesh started to fall off. You dropped it to the side and checked all the mechanical bits for wear and tear before shutting the gearbox door, turning the statue all the way around again.

A rumble echoed in the room, and the blood started to disappear, the squelching noises of the congealed blood making you shudder. 

“Turn around bitch I gotta use for you,” you sang under your breath, It’s So Easy one of those songs you had to headbang to. You checked the other statues to make sure there weren’t no more dead animals hiding, and only found what you believed to be a human finger bone, which weren’t too bad ‘cept for the fact that seeing a human finger bone wasn’t one of the things you ever wanted to see. 

You tightened up some of the cogs with your socket wrench and when Mr. Brownstone ’s muted guitar started you couldn’t help but use the wrench as a microphone while your head was halfway shoved in the gearbox. “I used ta do a little but a little wouldn’t do so the little got more and more—”
“What is this god-awful racket?” Lady Dimitrescu’s voice boomed into the room, and you startled, banging your head into the top of the gearbox. 

“FUCK!” you snarled, pulling your head out of the box and clutching the back of it, swearing. “ Fuck , that smarts!”

You look up to see Lady Dimitrescu staring at you blankly, glancing between you and the CD player like it was Jesus and you were the Roman soldier. 

“Well turn the damn thing off then if you don’t like it!” you shouted, pushing yourself up off of the ground and stalking over to the CD player, shutting it off completely. 

“You fixed the pool,” she said, incredulous.

“What gave you that thought? Was it the rat, or the lack of blood in your blood pool?” you snapped, the beer you had drank that morning coming up. You swallowed it back down, not about to blow chunks next to the lady that held your life in her knife-hands. 

Her gaze went to the dead rat on the floor, and then to your pissed-off face, before bursting into laughter. 

It wasn’t melodic, nor was it pretty—a few snorts lined it here and there—but you would never be able to go another day without hearing it again. 

You weren’t poetic by any means—you failed freshman English three times before your teacher got enough pity to give you a C, but you would liken her laugh to that of a rooster, but a cool one. 

You started to walk towards the lady, your head throbbing.

A loud bang erupted from the pool, and you jumped, slipping. 

Your brain supplied you with a flashback at a party you had gone to when you were younger, drunk off your ass. You slipped in someone's vomit and gave yourself a concussion. 

Your head hit the ground first, knocking you out cold.

Chapter Text

You knew you were dreaming because the curtains in the kitchen were a different color—they were normally blue, but now were gray. It was always the curtains you and Miranda argued about—she wanted to modernize the house, but you knew that was her excuse to get rid of everything Mom and Dad had ever bought. 

But you loved the blue curtains, and so they stayed. Now they were gray, and Miranda was sitting in front of you, golden wedding band on her finger and eight weeks along with a baby she didn’t want. 

Now, you remembered the conversation you were about to happen happened at the party house you practically lived at—you only knew what the conversation was going to be just by the way you could taste the alcohol on your breath, a mix of beer and whiskey and cigarette smoke that only your dad could pull off, but now it was in your childhood home, the curtains gray. 

You ran a hand through your cropped hair, not knowing why Miranda just asked you the question that, in real life, made your feel a sick satisfaction that Miranda was feeling how you felt for years now, living in limbo only God knew how to get out of. In the dream, you felt nauseous, a panic rising into your chest and your mouth running dry. 

In real life, you were at the party house, just you and Miranda, the woman looking so out of place it had made you laugh before she told you why she was there. 

Now, in the dream, in your childhood kitchen, your mother sat with you, looking the way you had seen her before she had left—a rumpled sundress on and smeared lipstick that, even when you were high off your gourd with her and her friends, gave you the impression that she was sucking face with a man that wasn’t your father. When the words came out of your mouth, the sting of her hand on your face was all you needed to confirm it. 

“Running won’t change anything, Miranda,” you said, the thought of your one-way flight to Germany burning an imprint in your mind. “David and you…you guys talked about, uh, it? ”

“I don’t want it, Y/N. David wants a family but I don’t. I don’t want this fucking baby—” her voice broke and then the tears started. You stared blankly at her, in real life too drunk to understand. In the dream, you wanted to reach out and comfort her. Your mother laughed.

“I knew Y/N would be the disappointment, but you, Miranda—” she sighed, grabbing Miranda’s hand and rubbing her thumb across your sister’s knuckles. “It’s so much sweeter now that you’re here too,”

* * * * * * * *

You were sweating buckets when you sprung out of bed only to be pushed back down. No no no—

“I’m gonna puke—”

The strong hands holding you down let go of you and pushed a trashcan into your line of sight. 

You tasted blood and acid when you finally threw up, laying back down onto the too-soft bed you knew weren’t yours, and opened your eyes, your hair sticking to your forehead with sweat.

That woman—Lady Dimitrescu—stared down at you, a look between disgust and fear on her face that reminded you of—

You could only stare back, your chest heaving. The dream faded from your mind, but your body was still afraid.

It had been sixteen years since your mother had died, and you still were terrified of her. 

“You’ve been out for hours—I was afraid you were comatose,” Lady Dimitrescu’s rich voice said, and you shut your eyes. 

“I just needed some sleep, ma’am,” you murmured, rubbing at your temples. 

“My lady,” she corrected, and you huffed, looking around the room. You couldn’t see any of your things—maybe they were still in the other room?

“You should be thankful you fixed the pool—any other time and you’d be strung up and left for dead, little mechanic,”

“Gee, thanks,” you grunted, “that’s what I wanna hear the moment I wake up in—where the hell am I?”
“A guest room—you hit your head with remarkable force, and if you had died, I’d rather it not be in my Hall of Ablution—I don’t believe even the maids could scrub the floor of your dreadful scent,” she said, sitting down on a large chair you hadn’t noticed before.
You scoffed, leaning back against the pillow before shaking your head and getting out of bed on unsteady legs, grabbing onto the dresser across from you to keep you up. You hummed. “Mahogany,” you said, running your hand over the polished surface, and turned, leaning against the dresser to observe the woman that was either your captor or your savior—you hadn’t figured out what she was to you yet.

You noted that she was only a few inches taller than you when she was sitting. Her makeup covered up most of her skin but you could tell that her skin was bluer than it shoulda been. Three black roses were pinned to her chest, white dress trailing the floor, and a string of pearls lined her neck.

A prim-and-proper society lady, you thought with a huff of laughter. You had only been to one debutante ball, but you would bet money she’d fit right in there. 

You had to guess that she was, ignoring the obvious vampire shit going on, around your age, maybe older.

“How old are you?” you asked, before wincing. “Sorry, thinking ‘fore I speak ain’t really my forte—”
“Oh, I can tell,” she said, and it took you a second before you heard the teasing in her voice. “I’m 44. It would only be fair if you answered the same question, little mechanic,”

“I’m as old as you want me to be, my lady,” you joked, and she squinted, a flash of something crossing her face. 

She opened her mouth to speak but stopped, giving you a quizzical look. 

“Are you well enough to take a walk, mechanic?” she asked, and you raised an eyebrow. 

“If this’s the way you’re asking me on a date, my lady, it needs work,” you joked, and she immediately blushed, standing up. 

“I would hardly ask the likes of you on a date—”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, now,” you huffed, pushing off of the dresser and looking up at her. “I don’t date women taller than me,” you said, half-joking—you hadn’t dated a woman taller than you before.

The lady’s gaze hardened, and you raised an eyebrow. “I’m 6’4, lady—you’re the first woman I ever met taller than me,”

“Add my before the lady and I’ll continue with my previous point, mechanic,”

“Have you ever spoken to me before, my lady? You know I’m as forgetful as a fruit fly,”

Lady Dimitrescu huffed through her nose before gesturing to you and then the door. “Let us go, mechanic—I have much to show you, and little time for your nonsense,”

You followed the lady outside the room, the floors cold against your—

“Where the hell are my boots?” you asked, and the lady let out a growl of frustration. 

“Might you be silent for longer than twenty seconds, mechanic, and I’d show you exactly where your disgusting boots are,”
You huffed, listening to the prickle of warning you felt in your stomach. “You don’t gotta be rude about it,” you muttered, looking around the hall. The lady had very… expensive tastes, you could tell—you ain’t never seen this kind of shit outside of a museum, but you weren’t about to tell the lady that ‘less she think you’re calling her old and skewer you. 

You thought the lady looked exactly her age–you ain’t never understood the compliment where someone said you looked younger or older. Miranda would be 42 this year—

You stop your train of thought right then and there. You weren’t gonna think about what you had done, and you were gonna ignore the unsent letters burning a hole in your nightstand to her and Scarlett.

You weren’t here to beg for forgiveness, but that’d make the things you did a hell of a lot easier to swallow.

“Castle Dimitrescu,” Lady Dimitrescu boomed suddenly, breaking your train of thought, “is, well, I’m afraid I haven’t been taking care of it the way it needs to be,” she said, embarrassment lining her words. “And, as such, the castle has fallen into a state of disrepair,”

You elected to listen to her, pacing your steps so you were a couple of feet behind her. 

“You already have seen an example of such,” she glanced behind her at you and you nodded, “but it is only the surface of the issues we have—broken banisters, leaky pipes—the armory wall has completely fallen, rendering it useless for my daughters,” she said, her voice growing more frustrated. “One of my towers is crumbling, and my Hall of Pleasure’s door won’t shut anymore,”

“Sounds like a lot of work,” you said, getting an inkling where this conversation was headed. She huffed through her nose. “You have no idea, mechanic—there hasn’t been anyone competent enough to fix things since, well, since—”
“Me?” you quipped, and she hummed, opening a door next to you and ushering you in.

“This is our library, where Daniela spends most of her time,”
It was a very pretty room, but you didn’t like reading so didn’t understand the big whoop about it. 

“Daniela’s a sweet kid,” you said, running your hand over a wooden banister and swearing when you caught a splinter. “Ow,” you mutter, reaching into your pocket for your knife and frowning when you couldn’t find it. 

“Cassandra searched you while you were unconscious,” Lady Dimitrescu stated like that was a normal thing for them to do. 

You huffed. “Where is it now?”
“Where is what?”

“Fuck,” you swore, growing increasingly more frustrated with her. “My knife, lady!”
“That tone will get you nowhere but the cellar, little mechanic—I’d watch it if I were you,” Lady Dimitrescu spit venomously, her eyes flashing. 

“ You watch it, my lady,” you spat back, and barely saw the lady move before you were pinned to the banister.

You were used to being manhandled—sure, it was different when a 9’4 vampire did it, but you could still get yourself out of trouble. 

“I’ve had enough with your tongue, mechanic—can you still perform your tasks without it?”

“Depends on what you want me to do with it, my lady ,” you snapped back, and she recoiled, dropping you.

You land unceremoniously, your head knocking against the banister. You swear, clutching your head for what seemed like the thousandth time.

“The only reason I won’t kill you right now, mechanic ,” Lady Dimitrescu snarled, grabbing your jaw and yanking it up so you can stare at her angry face, “is because my darling Daniela wills it so—don’t make me a villain in my daughter’s storybook,”

Both your chests rise and fall with anger, and you swallow harshly, biting back retorts that would only kill you. 

“What the hell do you want from me?” you settled on, spitting the question out between gritted teeth. 

“More than you can ever give,” she spat, letting go of your jaw and letting your head hit the banister. 

At this rate, you weren’t gonna rule out a concussion was gonna happen in your near future. 

“Not what I meant,” you said, rubbing the back of your head again. 

“I offer you a metaphorical olive branch, mechanic, and a job offer you’ll never get again,” 

“The fuck does that mean—what the fuck do olives gotta do with this?” you grumbled.

Lady Dimitrescu snorted, before covering her mouth with her large hand. “It’s an offer of peace , little mechanic—I thought you were of Christain faith?”
“Tell that to Nancy,” you snarked, even though anger flared to the surface when you thought of that “god-fearing” woman and her pulling you aside to tell you you weren’t welcome at the church no more ‘cause your… ideals …were less than godly. 

“Who?” Lady Dimitrescu asked, snapping you back to the present. 

You shook your head. “It don’t matter anymore—you, uh, you said something ‘bout a job offer?”

She hummed, offering you her hand. “As the castle’s repairwoman, you would be required to fix all of the problems I have listened to and any that appear,”

You took it, hoisting yourself off of the ground. “I don’t remember a lick of what you said before, my lady,” 

Lady Dimitrescu sighed, before walking further into the library. She stopped at what looked to be a handle and pulled it, the skylight open above them starting to close before shuddering to a stop. 

“My Daniela loves this room—when it’s sunny, she loves to feel the warm breeze while she reads,” she said, a soft smile forming on her face. 

Your heart panged at the love she showed for her daughter—your mother ain’t never was like that. The only time she told you she loved you was when she was high, and that was after telling you she wished she swallowed. 

“But,” she continued, oblivious to the internal war you were fighting, “winter’s approaching, and my daughters—”
“Are flies,” you interrupted, flashing the lady an easy smile. “I can guess that the cold don’t do them no favors,”

The lady huffed, shaking her head with a small smile. “I need this fixed as soon as possible, mechanic,”

“What about the village? Who’s gonna fix their equipment while I’m up in this swanky-ass place fixing skylights?” you asked, even though you kinda liked the idea you could avoid Luiza and her badgering for the rest of your time on this earth. 

“They survived for years without a mechanic—I’m sure they can survive again,”

“I still wanna do my own projects…” you said, even though you were kinda leaning towards the lady’s offer. You quite like Daniela—she was a pretty good kid, and even though she had pinned you to a banister about six minutes ago, you kinda liked the lady too.
Lady Dimitrescu flashed you a sly smile. “Follow me,” 

You followed, unsure of where you were going. She passed by a closed door that you guessed hid the kitchen judging by the sound of the banging of pots and pans and a woman’s shouting that reminded you too much of your time cooking for a BBQ joint in your hometown. 

You shuddered; if you ever saw brisket again, you’d throw a fuckin’ riot.

Eventually, you made it to the double doors you had entered that morning, a time which seemed so long ago it was yesterday. You noticed claw marks running across the mahogany—did this woman like mahogany or what —and remembered the lady’s terrifying-ass hands. 

“There have been many who have tried to hurt my family,” Lady Dimitrescu’s voice startled you, and you glanced over to her quickly, her gaze also observing the marks. “I have done many things that would make me a monster to many, little mechanic,”
You shrugged. “I’ve seen monsters that even you’d be afraid of, my lady,”

“Have you ever seen a woman speared through her chest before?” the lady snapped back, “or perhaps you’ve seen someone been bled dry into a barrel to be made into wine?”

Memories of seeing your best friend impaled by a stop sign flash in your mind, and you take in a deep breath to rid yourself of the feeling of his blood on your skin. “You might be monstrous, my lady, but that don’t make you into one,”

The lady scoffed, pushing the double doors open and crossing into the evening air. “I’m afraid you’ve knocked your senses loose, little mechanic—Castle Dimitrescu is far more deadly than you realize,”
“I’ve gathered,” you said dryly, the gravel road uncomfortable on your bare feet. “Where the hell you taking me, anyway?”
“Silence is a virtue you mustn’t have learned,” the lady replied, irritation lining her tone.
“Yeah, well, riddles ain’t my fucking strong suit, lady,” 

“You faired well enough in the Hall of Ablution,”
“That’s…‘cause it was a puzzle ?” you questioned, not understanding what the lady meant. You got puzzles—that’s all mechanics was to you. But riddles—nah, fuck riddles ‘cause they fucking suck. 

“You irritate me,” Lady Dimitrescu snapped, and you laughed. 

You walked in silence until you heard—

“Adele?” you asked, incredulous. You heard I Miss You , your favorite Adele song, and looked over at Lady Dimitrescu, who looked anywhere but at you. 

“I told them not to mess with your things,” Lady Dimitrescu sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Apologies, mechanic—”
“It’s fine!” you quickly interjected, ignoring the tingle of fear in your chest. If they had scratched even one of your CDs…

Lady Dimitrescu’s strides lengthened, and you arrived at a shop much like the one who had lived in previously, except the outside was thatch and stone instead of shingles and brick. 

“Girls!” the lady yelled, and you heard an equally loud “Fuck!” before all three daughters swarmed out of the shop, looking guiltier than you had ever seen someone before. 

“Yes, Mother? We prepared the shop for the mechanic for you, just as you asked,” Bela said, her voice sweeter than it needed to be. “Nothing was harmed, I promise you,” she said, noticing the way you looked past her and into the shop. “Your music taste is…obnoxious, to say the least, but we decided that this woman would do,”

“Hi!” Daniela exclaimed the moment her sister was done talking. “Welcome to your new home! It took hours carrying everything here, but I think you’ll be pleased!”

“My new home?” you questioned, looking between Daniela and her mother. 

Lady Dimitrescu had the same look on her face. “Whatever do you mean, my darling? It shouldn’t have taken hours to move her—oh dear,” she said.

You walked forward, passing through the daughters and peeked through the cracked door, letting out an amused chuckle when you saw your bed shoved into a corner next to the Italian oak nightstand you had built in your free time the first month you had come here. 

“‘Oh dear’ indeed—Little Guys could learn a thing or two from y’all—ain’t too bad of a moving job,”

“I told you she only meant the bags!” you heard Bela shout, and heard Daniela splutter. 

“Don’t put this on me , fly bitch—”
“Girls!” Lady Dimitrescu yelled again, this one angrier than the first. “Daniela, do not call your sister such names! Bela, don’t yell at your sister, it’s rude,” 

“Ha!” you heard what you assumed Cassandra shout, “it’s not my fault this time!”
“Shut it, Cass!” Bela and Daniela yelled at the same time, and you let out a strained snort, unable to stop it. 

You heard something metal unsheathe, and ducked in time to see a sickle embed itself in the door right where your head had been.

“Cassandra Dimitrescu!” Lady Dimitrescu yelled.

“She laughed at us!” you heard the middle daughter scream and you gasped when you felt hands on you.

“Relax, Y/N,” Daniela murmured, “Mother will calm her down, don’t worry,” she pushed on your shoulders to make you go into the house. “I’ll show you around, huh? Get you a beer or something—”
“I think I need something a helluva lot more strong than beer right now, Daniela,” you croaked out, your heart still racing. You were gonna die, no doubt about that. “What the hell were you thinkin’, moving all my stuff?”
“Mother said she was going to ask if you wanted to work for us—no one’s ever said no before, and I understand that you’re a private person, so I managed to make my sisters help clean out this hut and move your things into it—there’s even running water, though you don’t mind if it doesn’t get hot , do you—and you can work on—I have to show you the garage!” she yelled, pushing you towards a closed door on the right side of the room, “and before you even ask, yes, I reorganized everything, and no, it’s not going to be like it was and you’re going to have to redo it,”

“You sure are comfortable puttin’ words in my mouth, kid—I’d watch it if I were you,” 

“Hush, Cassandra will hear you,” she said, pushing open the door for you. You walked inside, taking in a deep breath. 

“You brought my stuff,” you said, your voice dry. “I have a question, though—”
“I won’t be able to answer it, sorry—Mother’s calmed Cassandra down and I need to go and—”
“And bug her, got it,” you interrupted, trying to figure out why the hell the truck was a completely different one. “But can you—”

Daniela chortled. “Bug her, ha ! I’m glad you don’t disappoint, human! I would’ve really hated eating you!”

She swarmed out of the shop before you could even swear at her, walking over to the truck and running a hand lightly over the rusted metal door before opening it, humming when it started to beep at you. 

Well, it weren’t the truck you’ve been working on for a near year, which you were pissed about, royally so, but you guess it was something . 

You looked out of the open garage door, making eye contact with the lady. You shrugged, a small smirk on your face. “It’ll do,” you whispered, knowing she’d hear it. She smiled and gestured to her daughters. 

“Come along girls, let us let the castle’s newest repairwoman rest,” 

Water Under the Bridge started playing, and you laughed, shaking your head.

What the fuck was wrong with you?

You busied yourself for the rest of the day reorganizing your shop and house ‘cause Daniela was right in her assumption because why the fuck would put your propane next to your small welder you had paid a small fortune for from the Duke—you had wondered why the villagers didn’t like doing business with him until you couldn’t eat for a week. 

You checked your CD collection and smiled when you couldn’t spot a single scratch on them. 

It was past dark by the time you were satisfied with the state of things, and now you sat in your recliner, a half-drunk beer clutched in your hand like it was the only thing keeping you here. 

It was, in a way, but you weren’t about to admit that fact out loud. 

Five beers in, you could almost forget you were in a new place, dangers previously unseen now lurking in every corner. Almost. 

A knock on your new front door startled you, and you stood, looking over at the small clock on the wall and raising an eyebrow. It was almost two in the morning—

“You missed dinner,” Bela’s smooth voice said from behind you, and you jumped.

“Fuck! Fuck, you scared me,” 

“Such filthy language,” she teased, before laughing mockingly. “And you’re drunk, too—I don’t understand what my sister sees in you. She won’t shut up about you—‘oh, the mechanic isn’t afraid of us, oh, Y/N is so funny—’” 

Bela pulls out her sickle, holding it underneath your chin. You blink at her, trying to understand why she was threatening you. 

“I wonder…Mother would forgive me if I told her you attacked me first—yes, you were drunk, and when I came to inform you that you missed dinner, you attacked with that itty-bitty knife in your pocket, hmm? Cassandra was most pleased to find that on you, but Dani explained your uses with it, much to our disappointment,”

You chuckled, reaching up and pushing Bela’s sickle away from your throat with one finger. “If you were gonna kill me, you’d have done it by now—I wonder…” you said, mimicking her earlier words, “if you wanted to scare me , Bela, you’ll have to do better than that,”

“I’ll slit your throat and bleed you dry,” she hissed, and you chuckled, sitting back down in your recliner.

“Already heard that one—I’ll need some creativity or else I might just keel over for fun,” you snarked, and she snarled, rushing you and pinning you to the chair, a far cry of Daniela the night before. 

“How about I gut you and hang you with your entrails?” 

You chuckled. “Pretty good, but ain’t quite there yet. Try again?”

Bela let out a huff, stepping back. “Why aren’t you scared of me? Of any of us?”
“No, no, I’m plenty scared—don’t get that one wrong—like I told your sister, I just gotta choose the thing that makes me shit my pants,” you said, and she got a strange look on her face. 

“So four cannibalistic, blood-drinking women doesn’t scare you?”
You chuckle, shaking your head. “What is it with you women and wanting me to be afraid? Does it get y’all off? I’m, uh, I’m actually pretty curious,” 

“You’re drunk,” she deflected, and your eyes widened, letting out a loud laugh.

“No fucking way—”
“We did not have a conversation tonight, mechanic—dinner's at seven, breakfast’s seven in the morning , and lunch is at noon —tell anyone what was said other than that and I’ll slice your throat and stuff it with worms!” she snarled, turning into her swarm and leaving through a window you knew you closed. 

You chuckled. Now that was a good threat.

What time did she say breakfast was? You shrugged. It didn’t really matter—

You were never hungry anyways.

Chapter Text

You started getting ready for your day around six, unable to fall asleep after Bela’s visit. You were used to not sleeping, though, and could deal with the periods of time where even standing still made you start nodding off. 

You splashed water on your face and ran a hand through your hair, looking in the mirror and sighing—short hair had always been your way to revolt, but you hadn’t cared about your hair in years—in any case, you weren’t about to regrow your mullet in a death castle, that was for damn sure. 

Grabbing your shaver, you gave yourself an undercut, a ghost of a smile on your face.

“There you are, you old bitch,” you joked, running a hand through your long top. You could tackle that later; a cap would do the trick for now. 

You pulled on a white t-shirt that was more yellow than white now but you only retired your clothes when the holes became embarrassing, ‘fore grabbing a brown flannel and buttoning it up with shaky hands, rolling up the sleeves.

Backseat Freestyle was your anthem this morning, trying to wake yourself up enough to go along with the day. You grabbed a pair of oil-stained blue jeans and tugged them on, slipping your belt through them with the speed you only got when you had done the same exact thing for years.

Putting on your cap, you grabbed your socks and work boots, sitting down in your recliner and taking your time tying the laces. You swallowed back the beer that threatened to come up because of the movement; you weren’t about to blow chunks on the floor, let alone in your new house .

You still couldn’t believe it—you were probably gonna take the position anyway, but what if you hadn’t? Would Lady Dimitrescu have killed you? Unsheathed her black claws and pinned you to the door? You brushed a hand against the one stab wound you already had—Thanksgiving, 2012 was a fun time for drunk 29-year-old you until it wasn’t , a steak knife lodged in your stomach and your heavily pregnant hysterical sister being restrained by her husband and your dad. ‘Course, you knew you probably deserved it; shitty couldn’t even describe what you were like drunk—true, blackout drunk. 

You were like your father in that regard—being angry drunks ran in the family, you had known that fact since you were seven years old and always the one to hold an icepack to your mother’s face ‘cause you had the steadiest hands. 

You had hopped on that one-way flight to Germany the day you were released from the hospital and never looked back. 

You had been running for eight years now, never staying in a place longer than a few years or so. 

You hoped Romania was different. 

Well, you knew Romania was going to be different—you ain’t never worked for a 9’4 cannibal woman with three fly-women as her daughters before. Obviously, there was gonna be some differences. 

But, hopefully, you’d be able to face your sins and not tuck tail and leave the moment their ugly faces appeared. 

Speaking of ugly faces…

“Y/N!” Daniela’s too-cheerful voice screamed outside of your home, and you sighed, your knees popping as you stood.

“It’s too early for this, Daniela—what you want?” you called out, and heard her giggle before seeing her swarm in underneath the door.
“I came to fetch you,” she said the moment she reformed, a freshly bloody grin on her face. 

“Wipe your damn face off, girl,” you snapped, walking to your kitchen and tossing an already damp towel at her. “Fetch me for what ?”

Daniela huffed, scrubbing at her face. “For breakfast, mechanic—you shaved your head!” 

You shrugged. “It was getting too long—”
“Can you shave mine?” she demanded, pulling her hood down. Your eyes are immediately drawn to a nasty-looking scar on the side of her head. “Oh, please, Y/N? You look so dashing I’ll bet Mother will want to thank you personally ,” she drawled, winking at you; you rolled your eyes. 

“Bring a kitchen chair over to the sink—I’ll be there in just a sec,” you said, going to your fridge and sighing when you saw you only had a few cans of beer left. You hadn’t gone through this much beer in a while—it worried you, both that fact and the fact that you would have to replace them with whiskey until the Duke came by with his weekly delivery of beer and batteries and parts. 

Liquor made you angry, so you’d have to watch your consumption, especially with all these deadly women dead-set on scaring you. 

“Can you do the entire left side? The hair bugs my scar,” Daniela asked, and you sighed, slamming the fridge closed and walking over to the girl. 

“Your mother ain’t gonna kill me ‘cause of this?”
“I’ll make sure she knows it was my idea—besides, I’m grown; I can make my own decisions,”
“Don’t flinch or your gonna be bald, kid,” you warned, grabbing your shaver and turning it on. 

Swimming Pools (Drank) started to play, and you nodded with the beat, manhandling Daniela’s head to where it needed to be. 

“This is different music than you’ve listened to,” Daniela said, and you nodded. 

“I like all kinds of shit—your mother don’t seem to like rock all that much,” 

“Was that the stuff you were listening to yesterday? In the Hall of Ablution?” she asked, and you hummed. 

“Mother loves jazz—she was a jazz singer back before…” she trailed off, and you raised your eyebrows, carefully shaving around the inflamed scar.
“A jazz singer, huh? I like some jazz—ain’t really the thing to work on cars with, but it’s pretty nice,” you said, letting the conversation divert. 

Daniela chuckled, before frowning. “Mother doesn’t like singing anymore—she tried to get us into music, but we—well, I’ll admit we weren’t fans of the idea: I liked books more, Cassandra liked weapons, and Bela…well, she tried the longest for Mother, learned how to play the piano, but she never liked it enough to do it more than when Mother asked her to play,”

“I understand,” you said—your parents tried to get you into things you never had any interest in—softball weren’t your thing, neither was track, but coke seemed to be the one thing that got through to you, much to your future self’s dismay.

“I thought you loved music?” Daniela questioned you as you wiped away stray hairs.

“No, I do—but I understand that it wasn’t the thing that made you happy,” you said.

“You’re different than most humans,” she said, and you knew to take it as a compliment.

“That’s ‘cause I’m a mechanic, Daniela—we’re a different breed, so I’ve been told,” 

She giggled, and you stepped back from the girl so she could look in the mirror. 

The scream she let out made you wonder if her mother was going to come and kill you. 

“I love it! Thank you, Y/N!” she yelled, pulling you into a crushing hug. 

“I need to breathe, kid,” you wheezed out, and she let go, face reddened in embarrassment. 

“Sorry, sorry—I’m just so happy I could rip someone’s tongue out—not yours, of course!” she added when your eyes widened. “Now it’s breakfast time!” she cajoled, grabbing your shaver from your hands and depositing it on the counter before yanking you towards the door. “Oh, Mother’s going to be so pleased!”

— — — — —

Lady Dimitrescu was not pleased. If looks could kill, well, you’d have been dead a long time before but the lady was trying her hardest.

Daniela was oblivious to the tension, showing her sisters her hair.

“Oh, would you do mine next, little mechanic?” Bela asked you, and Cassandra nodded with her. 

“Mine too,” 

You chuckled nervously, glancing over at their mother. Her grip on her wine glass tightened, and your body screamed at you to run. You tugged on the brim of your cap, trying to hide more of your face. “Maybe some other time?” you asked, and they nodded, a pleased look on Daniela’s face.
“Oh, you can sit next to me, mechanic,” Daniela said, pulling out a chair next to her and gesturing towards it. “I don’t bite— hard ,” she added thoughtfully, and you smiled nervously, sitting down and thanking her with a head nod. 

“So, mechanic, how was your first night at Castle Dimitrescu?” Cassandra asked you, twirling a steak knife with the tip of her finger. 

You swallowed loudly, refraining from glancing over to Bela. “As well as any first night can go, ma’am,”

“Oh, ma’am —did you hear that Bela—I’m a ma’am !” Cassandra giggled, and you let out a sigh of relief when she set down the knife. 

At a slight movement on Lady Dimitrescu’s end, maids armed with carts entered the room, placing covered dishes strategically on the table before revealing them, steaming piles of—

“Are those pancakes?” you asked, your voice nothing more than a whisper. Goddamn, you can’t remember the last time you’d had pancakes —

“No, those are clătite ,” Daniela said, shoving a few on her plate, “put jam in them—you won’t regret it,”

You sighed—‘course there ain’t no pancakes in Romania. 

“What are pancakes ? Are they some poor American food?” Bela asked, shoveling a vast amount of bacon on her plate. 

“I don’t know how to answer that,” you said, watching them all fill their plates except for Lady Dimitrescu. She didn’t even have a plate in front of her—

“Not hungry, mechanic?” she asked, and your eyes snapped up to hers.

“I don’t normally eat breakfast, my lady,” you apologized, and she scoffed. 

“What do you eat then, little mechanic? As I recall, you didn’t have lunch or dinner yesterday. Are you trying to starve yourself?”

You chuckled. “No, it’s not—”
“The mechanic could be suffering from alcoholism,” Bela interjected, and the focus immediately went to her. “Well, she could!” she exclaimed when she saw the look on her mother’s face. “I read that alcohol ketoacidosis causes—”
“That’s enough,” Lady Dimitrescu whispered darkly.

“But Mother —”
“Bela Dimitrescu, come with me, now ,” she hissed, standing up from the table and walking out of the room. 

Bela glanced over to you before letting out a groan, swarming after her mother. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N…usually it’s Cassandra who’s crass, not Bela—”
“I’m right here!” Cassandra interjected, and you chuckled. 

“Bela had good intentions,” you said, before gesturing to Lady Dimitrescu’s wineglass. “Does your mother normally start drinking this early?”
Cassandra and Daniela share a look. “For as long as I can remember, yeah,” Cassandra said, swarming over to your side of the table and sitting on your other side. “ Are you an alcoholic?”
“Cassandra!” Daniela scolded, but you held up your hand. 

“Yeah, I reckon I fit a definition or two,”

You haven’t agreed to that fact in a helluva long time—the last time you probably agreed was when you went to your first AA meeting, thinking that that was gonna change you for the better. 

It didn’t, and now you were here, sitting between two blood-thirsty fly women and wondering what the hell was happening to the third. 

“I already knew you were,” Daniela said, and you glanced over at her. “Your blood, remember? You can tell a lot about a person by their blood—I could get drunk off of yours, and not in a good way,”
“What else can you tell?”

Daniela grinned. “Besides what’s evidently wrong with you, mechanic, I could tell that you’re in your late thirties, not a virgin, and have low blood sugar,”

“I have low blood sugar?” you asked, and Daniela raised an eyebrow.
“Eat a clătite , Y/N,” she said, pushing one of hers onto your plate. 

You shake your head. “I’m not hungry—”
“Eat the damn clătite or I will rip out your tongue and feed it to you,” she snarled, picking up her steak knife. 

You ate that thing like a goddamn burrito, before scoffing, pleasantly surprised. It weren’t no pancake but it wasn’t half bad. 

You didn’t feel any different, but at least you had something in your stomach other than beer. 

“I’m tackling the library today, apparently,” you said, standing up.

“Really? Can I…can I help?” Daniela asked and you chuckled. 

“Sure,” you said dryly, and she squealed in delight, getting up and tackling you into another crushing hug. “I’m gonna go and grab my toolbox to see what the hell’s wrong with it if you wanna—”
“I’ll go and grab it! Cassie, with me!” Daniela nearly yelled, grabbing her sister’s hand before swarming off, the middle child swearing loudly. 

“Wait in the library for me,” you finished lamely, “—cool, no, it’s cool; don’t even know what the fuck I’m talking about but yeah, go and grab my fucking toolbox for me,” 

You gazed at the amount of food on the table and knew that the Dimitrescus probably didn’t eat this normally, judging by the way the maids immediately went to clean it up. 

You didn’t remember where the library was, but you sure as shit weren’t gonna ask any of these bitches, their judgmental asses glancing at you before whispering to each other. 

You took off your cap and ran a hand through your hair, huffing as you left the dining room. You walked past what seemed to be a very heated conversation between Lady Dimitrescu and her daughter, them too involved in the conversation to notice you passing by. 

You eventually found the library by the sound of Daniela and Cassandra’s bickering, and pushed open the heavy mahogany door to see—

“Why is my welder here?” you asked tiredly, and Cassandra snickered when Daniela elbowed her. 

“I thought you said she would need it?” Daniela hissed, and you sighed. 

“Didn’t you say you wanted to know what it was? Now you do!” Cassandra retorted, before gesturing to your CD player and, thankfully , your toolbox. “Will this do, mechanic?”

You walked over and pressed play, Sherane a.k.a Master Splinter’s Daughter filling the room. 

“Yeah, it’ll do,” 

“What kind of music is this ?” Cassandra asked, a sour look on her face, and you chuckled. 

“Good stuff,” you said, turning it up. 

You opened up your toolbox and nodded; all your tools were still there. Good. You went over to the handle Lady Dimitrescu had pulled yesterday and tried it again, it not moving an inch. You looked up to the skylight and sighed—was it stuck on something?

You remember the dead rat from yesterday and didn’t rule it out. “Y’all got a ladder tall enough to reach the skylight?”
“We have an elevator up to the roof,” Cassandra said, and Daniela immediately shook her head. 

“The Samce , Cass—”
“We’ll protect her; besides, they’re dormant during the day, remember?” 

“What’s, uh, what’s a samce? ” you asked, and Cassandra shook her head. 

“ Samcă ,” she corrected, “ samce is plural. They’re—well, they fly, for one,”
“They also eat people, is what my darling sister is leaving out,” Daniela said, and Cassandra shrugged. 

“As I said, they’re sleeping right now—do you need on the roof or not , mechanic?” 

“I do,” you affirmed, and Cassandra looked over at Daniela. 

Daniela let out a loud groan before nodding and gesturing at you. “Follow us, and don’t wander,” 

“Yes ma’am,” you muttered, and Cassandra shot you a wicked look. 

“Or do ; I’m sure seeing you get eaten by a Samcă would be the highlight of my week, little mechanic,” 

“I’m sure,” you deadpanned, before shutting your toolbox and lifting it up. “Let’s go,”

The walk to the elevator was calm, the faint sound of Kendrick Lamar the only noise you could hear.

“So, mechanic,” Cassandra began, “what brings you here to Romania?”

“Followed a woman out here and decided I liked the snow a helluva lot more than I liked her,” you said, only slightly lying. You were gonna leave out the part where she roofied you with some laced shit and woke up in a stranger’s truck right outside of the village. 

Funny how things work out like that. 

“Do you normally follow women to different countries?” 

“Only the really sexy ones,” you replied, and Cassandra huffed, a small smirk on her face.

The elevator was shaky in its metal rising, and you clenched the handle of your toolbox until your knuckles were white. 

“Not a fan of heights?” Cassandra asked mockingly, but you answered truthfully.

“I used to hide on, uh, on my roof with my sisters whenever my parents were fighting—my, uh, mom would be higher than life itself and my dad would already be on his second bottle of Jack like it was water,” you scoffed, a sad smile on your face. “My, um, my dad found us out there one time after he beat my mom black-and-blue; I took the blame, I always did,” you breathed, and glanced over at Cassandra. “He told me it was too dangerous to be on a roof, that I could fall off,” you said, your voice cracking. “But a, uh, a broken arm and a fear of heights was a helluva lot better of a deal than seeing my sisters hurt too,”

“You would do anything for your sisters?” Cassandra asked, and you smiled sadly.

“I, um, I did a lot of unforgivable shit to them; I ruined their lives, just ‘cause mine was. But if I could get a chance, just one to do the right thing, it’d be a helluva lot more than I deserved,

The elevator stopped and you all walked out, Daniela opening the iron cage door with a key, a deep frown on her face. 

“This way,” she said, and you followed her, Cassandra walking behind you. 

You knew the story had been a mood-killer, but you weren’t gonna lie to fuckin’ lie detectors twice in a row!

You made it to the library skylight and sighed when noticed the blood splatter next to it. “What happened?”
“The Samce must have been hungry,” Cassandra said, leaning down and—

“Ugh,” you groaned, the fact that she just licked a bloodstain making you nauseous. 

“Male, early 20s; virgin—died six weeks ago,” she said, and Daniela hummed. 

“Hunter?” she asked, and Cassandra shrugged. 

“I’ll look around for any weapons—Dani, watch the mechanic’s back while she fixes the skylight,”
“Okay—be quick about it!” 

You could hear Money Trees playing from the library, and knelt down to look at the open skylight, frowning when you couldn’t see an obvious blockage. 

“Do people hunt y’all often?” you asked as you fiddled with what looked to be a covered gearbox, opening your toolbox and grabbing a Philips.

“Not as much as they used to,” Daniela responded, watching the open air behind you. “We used to not be able to go a full week without them breaking in; eventually they stopped, but that was only after Mother—” she stopped herself, and you heard her sigh. “Well, they stopped after that,” she diverted, and you hummed. 

Cool. Lady Dimitrescu could do something so deadly that weekly hunter attacks stopped. What wonderful news to be given. 

You opened up the gearbox and examined it, running a finger across the path you knew it must have turned until raising an eyebrow. 

“Has anyone fixed this recently?” you asked, examining a newer-looking chain that was put on the wrong way.

“No,” Daniela answered, “never in my lifetime,”

You hummed, pulling out the chain and looking at it closely. It was obviously never used. “When did the skylight stop working?” you asked, rubbing your finger on the chain. 

“Around six weeks—oh, shit,” Daniela said, turning around to look at the gearbox. “Do you think someone was trying to sabotage the skylight?”
You thought about it for a moment. “I think that someone didn’t expect you to open the skylight anytime soon, but wanted it to stay open when it did,” you said, gesturing to the bloodstain next to you.

“But how would they know about—I have to tell Mother,” she said, and yanked the chain from your hands, swarming down through the opening.

“Hope no Samce decides they want to eat me,” you muttered, before getting an idea. You pulled out one of the timing chains you always meant to take out of your toolbox and put it on with the screwdriver, a perfect fit against the cogs. 

“Cassandra!” you called, and the woman immediately swarmed to you, holding more than several rifles. 

“What’s wrong—where’s Daniela? Oh, I have to tell Mother—”
“She already beat you to it; the skylight was sabotaged, I think,” you said, before gesturing towards the timing chain. “Go down there and pull the handle twice, will you? I wanna see if this works the way I think it does,”

Cassandra let out a sigh before glancing around. “I’ll be quick,” she said, swarming into the library and setting the rifles down. They looked awfully militaristic for a bunch of hunters, you think.
She pulled the handle and a loud squealing emitted from the skylight before it started to—

“Fuck yeah!” you muttered, watching the skylight close. Cassandra watched it with a surprised look on her face before pulling the handle again, the skylight opening. 

“You fixed it!” she yelled at you, and you held up a finger. 

“Give it a second!” you yelled back and grinned when the skylight started to close on its own, the timing chain reversing its path. 

You could always take the chain off and put a new one on, but it at least closed the skylight for the moment and made sure it closed. 

You started to pack up your tools when the most terrifying shriek you’ll ever hear in your life made you stop in your tracks, and you immediately knew it was one of those Samcă the girls talked about. 

Not waiting for it to appear, you broke into a dead sprint, clutching your screwdriver like it was the Holy Grail and you were Indiana Jones. 

If you were going down, you were gonna take out that flying shitbag with you. 

You saw a large shadow appear over you and you swerved to the side just as—

“Holy fucking shit!” you yelled when you saw it next to you, and it whipped its head towards you, it’s—oh my God that’s a long as fuck tongue—hanging out of its mouth like a dog on a walk. 

You pushed yourself to go even faster, yelping when you felt its claws lightly drag against your face; you jammed your screwdriver into some part of its body, not looking. The elevator was right there—

It screamed, and you screamed right back, diving into the elevator cage and kicking the door closed behind you. 

You lay facedown on the roof, trying to catch your breath and calm down your racing heart. Blood trickled down your face, but you didn’t care—you were so fucked . 

It was barely light out, on the first official day of your employment, and you had already nearly been killed. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—

“Fuck!” you yelled, slamming the side of your fist into the hard ground to center yourself before swearing. No, not gonna start that again—you’re not going to do that to yourself again, Y/N.

You managed to push yourself up with bloody hands, getting into the elevator and making it start its wonderful descent down. 

Nope, you were never gonna go back up there; either one of the girls had to grab your tools or they were lost forever now. You were too high on adrenaline to care at the moment, anyways.

Fuck, if you ever needed a drink more than life itself, it was now. 

When you could see into the elevator room again, you were face to face with Lady Dimitrescu as you descended, her white dress taking up more and more room until you eventually stopped, opening the door and stumbling out. 

You looked up at her and gave her a half-hearted smile. “Got your skylight workin’ again, my lady—”
“You’ve been injured,” the lady interrupted, leaning down to take your face in her gloved hands. 

“It’s nothin’—you should see the other guy,” you joked, reaching up and grabbing the hand ghosting over your scratches. You had always had large hands, but Lady Dimitrescu made that pale in comparison yet again; your fingers barely brushed against her finger knuckles.

You pushed her hand down, ignoring the sight of blood on her gloved fingers—

“The tips of your gloves are gone?” you said, though it came out as more a question than anything. 

The lady let out a noise between a chuckle and a scoff, standing up straight. “And you have scratches that need to be medicated—are we playing the obvious game?”
“Well, obviously we ain’t—your fingertips are black?” you asked, and she scoffed. 

“Don’t you know it's rude to ask a lady about her body?”

“Oh, I wasn’t aware I was talkin’ to a lady ,” you quipped, before wincing—you were used to getting scratches on your body, but these stung a helluva lot worse than normal ones.

“Let me help you with your wounds, mechanic—”
“I don’t need no help, my lady—”
“Oh, fuck, Y/N!” Daniela yelled when she appeared in the room in a cloud of flies, startling you away from Lady Dimitrescu. Her sisters formed right behind her, both scowling. “Fuck, I’m so sorry—I didn’t think you’d get attacked— ”

“No, it’s my fault, Dani—I left her alone and—” Cassandra interjected, her scowl one of guilt, apparently.

You shook your head. “It’s no one’s fault—that Samaca or whatever woulda come out and tried to eat one of us regardless of who was there—”
“It’s Samcă ,” Bela corrected, and you took in a deep breath, the comment pissing you off more than it should’ve. 

“Whatever Y/N said doesn’t matter,” Cassandra snapped to her sister before turning her attention to Lady Dimitrescu. “She fixed the skylight, Mother! After finding an obvious attempt to sabotage it! And I found guns—lots of them, Mother—guns that the normal hunting parties have never had before—”
“They looked military,” you interjected, before shrinking when all the eyes went to you. “When, uh, when Cassandra brought them down, they looked like shit we had when I was in the military—may be some M4s or M16s or something—”
“Do you know how to disassemble them?” Lady Dimitrescu asked, and you nodded slowly, unsure why she would ask you—

“I require another job of you; make sure those rifles cannot fire, and you will be rewarded handsomely for your efforts to protect the Dimitrescu family—”
“Let me keep one of them,” you interjected, and smiled apologetically at the lady. “For my reward—I’d feel a helluva lot safer with an automatic weapon under my bed, and, besides, I’m Texan—we’re always supposed to be armed to the teeth, my lady—”
“Fine,” she acquiesced, before bending down and grabbing your chin again. “But your wounds get cleaned first,”

You huffed, rolling your eyes. “ Fine ,” you mimicked, and Lady Dimitrescu huffed, letting go of you. 

“Stay right here; Bela, where is the first aid medication?” the lady asked her daughter as she exited the room, the eldest right on her heel.

Cassandra gave you a funny look the moment she knew her mother wouldn’t be listening anymore and pointed at you with an accusing finger. “What have you done to my Mother? She’s killed people for far less than what you’ve said or done— fine —droves of maids have fallen over their feet to be taken care of by Mother, and you said fine ,” she said, mimicking your drawl very badly.
You rolled your eyes, going to pull your baseball cap off your head only to let out a loud groan when it wasn’t there—it must have fallen when you were running for your life—how silly of you to not think of that this morning!

“Goddamnit!” you swear, clenching your right hand into a fist. “God- fucking -dammit!” you yelled, breathing hard. You were fucking angry —so fucking angry you wanted nothing more to beat your head into the wall. Stupid ass castle and its stupid-ass deadly inhabitants—fuck, fuck!

“What’s wrong with her ?” you heard Cassandra mutter to Daniela, and you grabbed the nearest object and threw it at the wall.

It didn’t help your anger; you had been to enough therapists to know you were treading on very dangerous territory—but you couldn’t remember the ways they told you to calm yourself. 

You took in a deep breath, screwing your eyes shut and turning towards the elevator, resting your head against the cool metal. 

“You’re calm; you’re just fine, Y/N,” you muttered to yourself, taking in a few more deep breaths.

“Are you…are you okay, mechanic?” Cassandra asked, and you nodded, waving them away. 

“Yeah, I’ll be good. Sorry for throwing whatever the fuck I threw,” 

“Oh, just an irreplaceable family heirloom that Mother won’t be pleased to find shattered on the floor,”

You chuckled. “Of course it is,”

“Are you feeling under control, mechanic, or do I need to come back another time?” Lady Dimitrescu’s smooth voice said, and you huffed, a smile coming to your face. 

“No time like the present, my lady,” you said, and heard the lady chuckle before feeling her hand on the back of your head. 

“I quite like your hair—it suits you, little mechanic,” she said, and you could swear you heard Daniela cough out told you so .

“Thank you mighty kindly—I like your hat,” you replied, and the lady turned you around, a green bottle and rag in the hand that wasn’t on you. 

She smiled, before letting go of you and opening the bottle, you recoiling at the pungent smell that invaded your nose. 

“What the hell is that?” you asked, pinching your nose closed. 

“First aid,” Lady Dimitrescu responded, before pouring it onto the rag and pressing it to one of your cuts. 

You hissed in pain, but a strong hand on your head stopped you from recoiling. “The pain will fade; the scars, not so much,” Lady Dimitrescu said apologetically, but you shrugged. 

“I ain’t have no problems with scars, my lady—chicks dig ‘em, after all,” you joked, and the lady raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. 

“Your music choice today is appalling,” she said instead, and you chuckled. 

“I’ll be sure to bump it in your honor, then,” 

“There will be no bumping in my castle, mechanic,” Lady Dimitrescu warned, and you grinned.

“I don’t even think you know what that is , my lady,”

She let out a loud scoff and let go of you, letting your head fall back onto the metal grate of the elevator. “Sabotage the guns, mechanic, and I might allow you to live another day,” 

You chuckled. “Show me where the library is again and I’ll do just that, my lady ,” 

There was just something about hearing Bitch, Don’t Kill My Vibe playing loud as hell with you hot on Lady Dimitrescu’s heels that was, understandably, hilarious . 

“For the last time, mechanic, stop your incessant giggling or face my wrath,” Lady Dimitrescu seethed, and you bit your fist trying to stop.

Your giggles stop on their own when you lay eyes on the pile of guns on the floor, and furrow your brows—there were M4s, alright, but you weren’t prepared to see a fucking F2 in the pile.

“Holy fuck,” you muttered, going over and picking up the sniper rifle. “This is… goddamn ,” you whistled, running a hand over its wooden stock and checking the sight. “Fuck, this is a beast of a gun—yeah, I’m keeping it, no doubt ‘bout that,”

You grab one of the M4s, raising an eyebrow when you saw that it was, indeed, a Colt.

“These are American guns, my lady,” you said, taking out the magazine; “fully loaded,” you said, popping out the bullets in the chamber, flicking the switch to safety, and releasing the tension. “Great condition,” You separated the gun into its upper and lower receiver. “I’m gonna take the bolt assembly off,” you explained, showing the lady who was breathing down your neck, “and I’m gonna crimp the tube so that it still fires, but it’s gonna be pretty much a bolt action when they’re expecting an automatic,”

You put the gun back after the sabotage was done, a small part of your heart breaking ‘cause you just fucked up a really good gun, giving it a function check and grinning. “Can’t tell the gun’s fucked; they ain’t gonna know the shit they’re in until they’re actually shootin’,”

“Why are you helping us, mechanic? You’re human, too—shouldn’t you want to help them?” Lady Dimitrescu asked, genuine curiosity in her tone. 

You shrugged. “You patched me up; least I can do is make sure you ain’t killed,” 

“Oh, it’ll take a lot more than bullets to bring me down, little mechanic—”
“Be as that may,” you interjected, setting the ruined M4 to the side and turning to face her. “I’m fine being a betrayal to my kind if I don’t gotta change Luiza’s oil no more—fucking old bitch and her preaching,”
“You’re different, mechanic,” Lady Dimitrescu said, and you snorted. 

“Your youngest told me that this morning, too—is it the hair? Maybe its the alcoholism, as your oldest daughter put it this mornin’,”

You heard the lady sigh, and saw her bend down to grab an M4—it looked like a pistol in her large hands, you thought with a chuckle. 

“Show me how to take apart these monstrosities again and I’ll help you as an apology for my daughter’s crudeness,” she said, crossing over to a large couch and sitting on it.

Laughing softly, you followed, standing next to her so you were almost eye-level. “You take the magazine out and make sure the chamber’s empty of bullets,” you began, showing her what to do. The CD player wasn’t playing any longer, you noticed when you audibly heard the other woman swallow. “Then, you gotta—”
You walked the woman through the steps and smirked when she let out a triumphant noise when she crimped the tube with a force you would never be able to recreate. 

“Now put it back,” you said, before starting on your own gun, the motions bring you back to your Army days. You chuckled to yourself, remembering one of the best memories you had during training. “Fort Hood, Texas,” you began, already putting the M4 back together. “I was training to be a surgical tech before they realized I was a helluva lot better with engines than needles, but that’s a whole ‘nother story. That day, we was watching the artillery gunners so we could help them when they got heatstroke ‘cause all we did was drink beer the night before and not enough water— anyways , I’m losing the whole point—this artillery kid was having such a hard time figuring the whole thing out—couldn’t measure distance for shit ,” you said, chuckling. You grabbed another gun and sat back down on the couch next to Lady Dimitrescu who was still trying to put the gun back together. “Eventually, though, he figured something out—dumbass hit the goddamn water tower , caused this whole thing big thing with the brass just cause he thought he was better than he was—”
“A water tower?” Lady Dimitrescu interrupted, a confused look on her face.

“It, uh, it pressurizes water for distribution,” you explained, putting another sabotaged rifle in the pile. “The top portion of the water’s used for everyday shit, and the water in the bottom’s used to fight fires,” 

Lady Dimitrescu hummed, before letting out a frustrated groan when she couldn’t drop the pin back into the firing tube. 

“Here, let me help you—” you said, standing up and grabbing her hands to show her how to do it easier. Your fingers brushed against the tips of hers when you dropped the pin, the exposed skin cool to the touch. “There we go,” you breathed, your lips almost brushing against her neck. The lady let out a sharp gasp and you backed up a step, a concerned look on your face. “You good, my lady?”

She didn’t look up from the gun, quickly finishing the assembly and holding it out to you. “I have much paperwork that needs to be done, mechanic,” she said, standing and brushing off her dress. 

You did a function check and nodded, putting the rifle into the pile. “Don’t let me keep you, then,” you murmured, grabbing another rifle.

Lady Dimitrescu doesn’t move, and you look up at her with a confused expression. She looked down at you, both a blush and a conflicted look on her face before taking in a short breath and walking away, the doors closing the only way you knew she had left the room. 

Huh. Maybe you should have helped her more—you didn’t think her fingers were too big to do it…

Going over to your CD player, you restarted the disc, skipping to Backseat Freestyle and nodding your head to the words as kneeled next to it and started to disassemble the third to last rifle. 

You hummed along to the song while you worked, getting through that rifle and halfway through the next before sighing, setting down the in-pieces rifle, and standing up. You stretched your arms over your head. “Fuck, this is boring,” you groaned, cracking your knuckles. You walked around to pump yourself back up, running a hand over the spines of the books that lined the shelves, chuckling when you tugged out a very worn, very loved Twilight—hey, you mighta been strung out most of your life but you sure as shit knew what fucking Twilight was. You had gotten Scarlett that book as some gift or something, and remembered Miranda being absolutely livid .

You frowned, shoving the book back in its place. “When is this gonna get any easier for me?” you asked yourself sadly, tapping a rapid rhythm on Twilight’s spine to center yourself. 

When was the thought of your sisters going to not make you sad? You know you deserved it—deserved every shitty thing that happened to you just cause you couldn’t let your sisters be happy—but goddamn , you had changed—were trying , anyway! Why couldn’t your mind understand that? 

“Reading troubles, mechanic?” Bela’s smooth voice asked right behind you, and you jumped, banging your head into the shelf. 

“Fuck!” you swore, rubbing at what would undoubtedly turn into another bruise. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

Bela held her hands up and gave you an apologetic smile. “I’ve just come to, oh, shall we say, bury the hatchet , one way or another,” 

Oh boy.

“Okay…” you said, walking back over to your half-done gun and sitting down, trying to put it back together while ignoring the strange look Bela was giving you. 

“Why do you know so much about guns?” she asked, and you sighed. 

“I was in the military,” you said for what seemed like the hundredth time. You were gonna have to get all four of the Dimitrescu women in one room just to tell them simple things, ain’t you? 

“Were you any good?” she asked, sitting down next to you.

You chuckled. “Better than most of the men, that’s for damn sure,”

Bela smiled. “That always seems to be the case, doesn’t it?” 

You hummed, performing a function check and nodding to yourself before depositing it into the pile and grabbing the last M4. 

“You completed your job awfully quick,” Bela said, and you shrugged. 

“Your mom helped with some—with one of the guns; I think it frustrated her pretty bad though—she left after I had to help her put the bolt assembly back together,”

“Mother did seem quite flustered when she left the room,” Bela muttered, almost to herself, before watching you take apart the rifle and back together again. “How long were you in the military?”
“Two tours plus training; got my wrist broken falling down a set of stairs and had to get a metal plate installed, then—” you scoffed, pulling back the charging handle, “ that dream went down the drain, along with my sobriety,” you said, squeezing the trigger and humming to yourself when it didn’t fire. 

You flipped it to semi and aimed at a bookshelf, imagining an imaginary enemy. You squeezed the trigger and relished in the click.
“So, you are an alcoholic,” Bela said, and you chuckled, flicking the gun back to safety and resting it on the ground next to you, its muzzle pointing towards the skylight. 

“Depends on what you define one as, I guess—”

“A dependence on alcohol due to a physical and emotional inability to control your drinking,” she interrupted, and you chuckled. 

“You sound just like my therapists—you gonna ask me about my childhood now?” you joked, and she glanced over at you. 

“I might just—do you have a good relationship with your parents?”
“My dad’s an abusive drunk and my dead mom got me addicted to drugs—no, Bela, I ain’t reckon I do,” 

She held up her hands in surrender. “Okay, I’m sorry for prying—I just came to tell you I was sorry for my comments at breakfast, and to give you this,” she said, pulling out an envelope with the word Mechanic written in cursive on it. 

You nodded, tapping the woman’s knee with the letter. “Go and tell your mother that I’m done with the guns,” you said, and Bela nodded. 

“Be more careful, mechanic—I’d hate to see you killed this early in your employment not by my sickle,” she warned before swarming off. 

You chuckled, standing and grabbing the F2 you earmarked for yourself before exiting the library, semi-remembering the path back outside. It was slightly windy, but nothing too bad—nothing like Texas. If you could say one thing about this god-awful place, it was that Romania was nothing like Texas. 

You kicked your boots off, slid the sniper rifle underneath your bed for safekeeping, and looked at yourself in the mirror. Your jaw dropped. “What the fuck…” you murmured, running a hand over the closed scratches on your face, the light scars trailing from your ear to the bottom of your chin. 

You might have been forgetful and kinda dumb, but you sure as shit knew that scratches didn’t close this fast.

For what seemed like the thousandth time, you had the thought that you were going to die, bloody and broken and fucking deader than dead . 

You ripped open the letter addressed to you and let out a breath you hadn’t known you were holding.

Little Mechanic,

Here is the list of the things I wished to be fixed; I understand that you are forgetful, and don’t wish for you to make simple mistakes that can and will cost you your life. 

-Banisters: You will need to place an order with the Duke for the wood: he comes every Tuesday residing in the room right next to the entrance.

-Piping issues: You fancy yourself nothing, and yet you fixed my pool; a leak plagues the kitchen, and I believe Olimpia would be grateful.

-Armory: My darling Cassandra’s favorite room; a hole was blown into the wall (no, I do not know how, yes, I imagine it was done with some kind of explosive my daughter has been known to acquire.) Fix it, and you will be rewarded with your life and possibly a sickle.

-Hall of Pleasure: the door mechanism has rusted, and will not close fully any longer. 

-Tower of Worship: the stonework is crumbling and in desperate need of new flooring. (Under no circumstance will you enter the tower without myself or one of the girls present; it is far too dangerous to be alone.)

These are the issues that I am fully aware of; of course, there will be more, but I believe you can do it. Don’t prove me wrong or you’ll wish I had killed you the moment I laid my eyes on you.

A. Dimitrescu

You sighed softly, rereading the lady’s careful cursive and laying it on your nightstand; you’d recopy it into something you could lose tonight.

On the first official day of your employment to Lady Dimitrescu and her three daughters, you had been threatened with death more than several times, had almost been killed by a Samcă , had wounds that were previously open-close into scars, sabotage guns for an apparent group of hunters, and it wasn’t even two in the afternoon yet!

“Still don’t miss your sorry ass, Luiza,” you mutter, before shoving your boots back on your feet and walking out of the hut you called home now. 

You were going to die; the question was now what was going to be the death of you. 

But first, you had to get one of the daughters to bring your welder back.

Chapter Text

A week had passed. A full, seven-day stretch of time that was filled with drunken nights and hungover days as you worked for the lady of the castle. 

You had already removed the broken banisters from the various staircases around the castle; there was 23 total, separated into six different styles; you had marked down which banister went where with your trusty pencil and swore at the most intricate of the designs: carved flowers that you could only pray to recreate from the staircase in the Main Hall. How exactly the banisters broke, you were at a loss; only Lady Dimitrescu and her fly daughters would know, you guessed. Maybe the maid with the broken arm would know too, but she looked over her shoulder with terrified eyes too many times for you to bring it up. 

The only gratifying part of the experience was that you had the option to work on them whenever you saw fit, which was, at the moment, never .

Besides, the Duke still had to deliver you the wood; mahogany, also known to you now as the lady’s favorite wood; you sharpened your chisels and carving knives in preparation for the hardwood. Thank God for whetstones and strapping.

So, you were trekking up to the castle with your trusty CD player and your toolset Cassandra had brought down from the roof for you, though your cap was lost forever, she said.

You didn’t care all that much anymore: you just pulled up your remaining hair into a bun and mischievously hoped the Duke would have a cowboy hat in stock the next time you saw him.

Pushing open the heavy doors with your shoulder, you tried to remember the way to the kitchen but couldn’t.

Damn you and your drinking, Y/N.

As you wandered around the sections of hallways you were in, Bela materialized next to you, her hands held behind her back.

“I can hear your confusion from my room, little mechanic,” she said, before grabbing your toolbox from you. “Where do you want to go?”
“The kitchen—” you didn’t get to finish your sentence as she turned into her swarm immediately. “Fuckin’ hell,” you muttered as you jogged after her. 

The kitchen was barely past the double doors you had entered, you found out sourly. 

Inside, only one other person was there; an older woman frying bacon in a pan, her hair tied up into the tight bun only old women could do, you figured. 

She turned slightly to look at you, out of breath and slightly sweaty, before going back to her bacon.

“You must be the mechanic the scullery girls told me about,” she said, a displeased air to her voice. 

“All good things, I hope,” you joked, but she just sighed, wiping her hands on her apron and turning to look at you fully. 

You kept your face stoney even as your gaze trailed across the scars running across her face.

Claw marks , you realized, a pit in your stomach forming when you realized just whose claws they had to be. 

“They say you can fix my kitchen, mechanic—can you?” she asked, and you gave her a half-hearted smile.

“I’ll sure as hell try, ma’am,”

“I suppose that’s better than nothing—do you see my issue, mechanic?” she asked, and you looked around, frowning when you saw the exposed pipe in the wall leaking a dark liquid and dripping into buckets already full of—

“Is that blood?” you asked, already knowing you were correct. 

“When the Hall of Ablution drains…” the cook began, and you let out a sigh, going over to the buckets and pinching your nose when the smell hits you.

“Has it always…” you trailed off, waving at the pipe.

The woman seemed to understand what you meant, nodding and grabbing one of the buckets of blood. 

“As long as I’ve worked here, mechanic; the misses should collect the blood shortly,”
You scoffed, shaking your head slightly. Of course they would. 

“Do you mind if I listen to some music while I work? I understand if you don’t—”
“Just keep it down, mechanic,” she interrupted, and you smiled at her before setting up your tools, popping in your favorite Great Van Fleet album, and pressing start. 

You sure as shit weren’t no plumber—most of the shit you had done required holes to be dug and lines being laid—you weren’t going to go into detail the time you tore up some bitches gas and water lines ‘cause she didn’t pay you and went on a vacation instead, but you knew how to tear up some shit. 

You didn’t know where to start with this.

Grabbing your plumping wrench, you try to tighten up the pipe but the slickness of the fresh blood stops you. 

“Oh, fuck this,” you swear, dropping your wrench and pulling off your oil-stained denim shirt and tossing it a good distance away—you weren’t about to get blood on your favorite overshirt, that’s for sure. You didn’t want to get blood on you, period, but an undershirt didn’t really matter—ain’t no one gonna see it anyway. “Could I get some towels or something?” you asked the cook, and she muttered something in Romanian before disappearing from the kitchen for a few seconds to come back with a laundry basket full of them, white and fluffy and probably not for blood. 

“Thank you,” you said, taking the basket from her and heading back over to the blood pipe. You wrapped the too-nice towel around the pipe, wiping off the new blood, and gagged when the blood spurted from a now revealed hole, getting all over your face and—

“Oh, some of it’s in my mouth,” you gagged, spitting on the floor and letting out a string of curses that made the cook let out a cackle-turned-cough. 

Putting the wrench back on the semi-dry pipe, you pull an empty bucket over to you and drop to your knees, loosening the pipe instead of trying to tighten it. You would try and get as much of the blood out as you could so it wouldn’t get in your mouth next time—you remembered your epoxy and hummed to yourself, before getting soaked Carrie style as the blood burst from the broken seal.

You didn’t make a sound this time, blinking it out of your eyes and standing. Your anger was flaring, but you tried to tamp it down. 

Goddamnit, you were gonna need to find a shower—you had a fucking basin in your new hut, and that weren’t ‘bout to get the amount of blood that was on you off of you, now was it?

You watched the blood pour into the bucket, and wondered just how many gallons of blood was in that pool?
Were they gonna pour this blood back into the pool, or were they…

Better not think about a massacre, Y/N. Really don’t think you can stomach the right answer.

“—when I got down on my knees,” you sang softly to yourself trying to ignore the pit in your stomach, “gotta get your lovin’ baby, your lovin’s all I need,” 

The blood finally stopped pouring, and you crept hesitantly over to the pipe, before sighing in relief when you saw the blood was only trickling over the sides now and not spewing. 

“Stupid little shit pipe,” you muttered, removing the broken pipe completely before wiping it off.

“You curse a lot, mechanic,” the cook said, and you looked up at her, giving her a half-smile. 

“My name’s Y/N, if you want to refer to me by that instead of my title, ma’am,”
“Olimpia,” she responded, before giving you a strange little grin. “Though I quite like being called ma’am—the scullery maids aren’t as polite as you, I’m afraid,”
“You gotta table I can use?” you asked with a smile, and she gestured haphazardly around.
“Help yourself, mechanic,” she said, dicing an onion. 

You position yourself at a table far away from the food, setting the pipe down and finding the hole. “Looks like someone punctured it,” you said out loud, running your finger down the inch-long hole. 

“Miss Bela enjoys cornering her prey in the kitchen—says it’s one less trip for her and her sisters,” Olimpia answered, and you huffed. Of course. 

You went over to your toolbox and grabbed your epoxy and hardener, before looking over to the hole in the wall. You ran a hand down the broken pipe and noticed it didn’t travel to anything in the kitchen. “Whoever piped this castle was a fucking idiot—they could’ve at least put this somewhere near the Hall of Ablution,”

“I’ll be sure to let my brother know,” Lady Dimitrescu’s rich voice said from the doorway, and you jumped slightly before turning around to face her. 

“You have a brother?” you asked, leaning against the wall. 

“Not by blood, thankfully,” she responded, before raising a well-groomed eyebrow as she took in your appearance. “It seems you found the leak,”

You chuckled. “I did—tell me, my lady, is your brother always this pisspoor with his work?”
“Why? Afraid I’ll replace you if I say no?” Lady Dimitrescu asked, her tone playful. 

“You’d be a fool to do that, my lady,” you responded, and heard Olimpia gasp softly. 

Lady Dimitrescu strutted over to you, bending down so her mouth was even with your ear. “Heisenberg is a child playing with a toy hammer compared to you,” she whispered, her voice deeper than it was previously. 

You smirked softly. “You don’t know how I use my hammer, my lady,” you whispered right back, and she huffed quietly, a small smile playing on her crimson lips. 

Every day, the Lady found you, her banter playful when it was just the two of you. You had both gotten comfortable with each other—well, as comfortable as a piece of meat could be in the presence of lions.

Miranda had always said you had a death wish.

“Indeed,” she said, loud enough for Olimpia to hear. “My daughters will collect the blood in just a moment—Olimpia?” she asked, and the cook snapped to attention.

“Yes, my lady?” 

Lady Dimitrescu walked away from you, running a gloved (bare?) finger over the butcher block counter Olimpia was working on. “Do make sure tonight’s batch of sweets doesn’t disappoint—my daughters were quite displeased by last night’s apple pie,”

Olimpia bowed, a look of fear crossing her face before it steeled back again. “Yes, my lady,”

“Oh, one more thing, mechanic,” Lady Dimitrescu said, turning back towards you. You raised an eyebrow, your smirk widening as you saw her eyes traveling across your tattooed arm until they disappeared underneath your bloodied sleeve. “You do know you are permitted to use the staff showers—I think I can speak for the rest of the castle and wish for you to use them . You smell terrible,” 

Your smirk fell into a glare, and the lady chuckled at your expression before exiting the room. 

Without another word, you glance at a dumbstruck Olimpia and grab your epoxy kit to fix the pipe. It wasn’t a permanent fix, of course, but it would last until you could get a new pipe from the Duke. 

You and Olimpia worked in uncomfortable companionship, Flower Power playing its cheerful tune. 

You hummed to the song as you mixed the epoxy together, trying not to get it on your skin. You remembered the burn the chemicals had—you didn’t need a refresher any time soon.

“This music is…interesting,” Olimpia finally said, her voice thick. “Different than what we have back in the village,”
“Girlfriend I had at the time really digged Greta, got me into them,” you said, applying the goop to the puncture. 

“The scullery maids seem quite taken with you,” Olimpia said, and you glanced over at her to watch her chop up unidentified meat. The kitchen staff was the only staff you interacted with—you’d be a liar and say you didn’t flirt just a little with ‘em—hey, you were only human; getting bitches was something you were good at, and to hell with vampire cannibals if you wouldn’t get one lay during your time here. 

“They make a mean sandwich,” you joked, propping up the pipe so the epoxy wouldn’t drip onto the table while it dried. “‘Course, they don’t do it correctly—they put the pickle on the side instead of in it,”

Olimpia chuckled softly. “That’s the proper way to make a sandwich, mechanic,”
“The proper way to make a sandwich, ma’am, is to put everything you have in the fridge and slap it in the fucking sandwich,” you chuckled to yourself, walking over to the woman. “When I was little, at the farm, my dad would toss cheap bread, some shitty meat he got at the corner store, cheese, pickles, mustard, and salt and vinegar chips in the cooler along with his beer and we’d scarf that shit down like rabid dogs,” you said, and she glanced over at you. 

“Must be an American thing,” she said with an air of disdain in her voice. 

“Oh, no ma’am, that’s wrong. It’s a Texan thing,” you corrected, before turning around and turning on her sink—

“Oh, fuck me,” you swear, watching the pink-tinged water come out of the faucet. “I guess the blood got into the water pipes,” you mused, and Olimpia made an unconcerned noise. 

“There’s always been blood in the water, mechanic—maybe with this pipe fixed, it won’t be an issue anymore,”
“I doubt it,” you said with a sigh, but turned the water off anyway. “But hey, maybe you’re right,”
“I’m always right,” Olimpia deadpanned, and you chuckled, turning back around to face her. 

“What’re you making, chef?”

“ Sarmale ,” she said, and you looked at her stupidly. 

“Pardon?” 

She sighed. “Cabbage rolls that Lady Dimitrescu likes—I’m hoping this will keep me alive one more day,”
“You in the habit of dying?”
“Why do you think my face looks like this?” she snapped at you, before sighing. “Apologies, mechanic—you would think a few years would soften the sting, but it doesn’t, not really,” 

You chuckle. “I think time only makes you more aware of it,”
Olimpia glanced over at you, a soft look in her eyes that you hadn’t seen before. “Sometimes the maids come to me and request a meal—most of the time I ignore them and tell them they’re lucky they’re getting fed,” she said, and you chuckled.

“Seems like something you’d do,”

“ However ,” she said, shooting you a biting look, “I might listen to one such request if it came in the next twenty seconds or so,” 

You raised an eyebrow, a soft smile forming on your face. “Oh, that’s hard to say—what’s your favorite food, chef?”

“That doesn’t matter—”
“What’s your favorite food, Olimpia?” you asked again, gruffer. 

“ Cartofi cu carne de porc ,” she said, and you let out a huff. 

“I do not speak Romanian, ma’am,” 

It was her turn to sigh. “Learn it, Y/N—it’s a pork and potato stew. My maică used to make it in winter,”
“I love stew,” you said, before nonchalantly pointing back to the wall. “I’m gonna see what else I can tear up—”
“Mechanic!” Daniela’s excited voice rang out in the room, and you were tackled, just managing to protect your head from yet another injury—constant headaches affected your nights, and you knew it was a mix between trauma and drinking.

“Dani, what have we said about tackling?” Cassandra asked tiredly, pulling her younger sister off of you.

“Ugh, you’re no fun,” Daniela groaned, but grabbed your arm and tugged you off of the ground.

You let out a sigh. “I’m gettin’ too old for this shit,” you muttered, brushing off invisible dust from your shoulders. Bela stood a few feet away from her sisters, a sly grin on her face.

“I wasn’t aware blood was a part of your uniform, little mechanic,” she said, and you huffed, glancing down at your ruined clothes. 

“You know anything ‘bout the sickle-sized holes in the pipe?” you quipped back, and her grin fell into a tense frown. She grabbed a bucket of blood and exited the kitchen, her lower half a swarm of flies. 

“Trippy,” you said as you watched her. Daniela giggled, grabbing a bucket and doing the same. 

“It’s fun! You can get to places so much faster than walking!”
“ Obviously she knows that Dani—” Cassandra huffed, walking over to the semi-fixed pipe and glancing back at you. “My uncle has spare pipe in his factory—I can ask him to bring some by when he visits next week, if you want,”
“This the same uncle that piped your place—sorry, bad choice of words—is he the uncle that piped the castle?” you asked, and she raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, that would be him—are you two familiar?”
You shake your head. “No, me and your mom was talking ‘bout him earlier and she told me he did all the plumbing,”
“My uncle is a master of metal, mechanic,” she said, before chuckling. “He’s also a master at moonshine—perhaps I’ll ask him for a few bottles as well,”

You grinned and gestured at the last two buckets of blood by the wall. “You need help carrying one of these?”
“I’d rather you not get killed down in the cellar, mechanic, but thank you for the offer. I’ll send a maid to bring you to the showers—Dani’ll grab you a fresh pair of clothes,”
“Do I stink that much?” you asked, half-joking. 

“I feel for even the cook, mechanic,” Cassandra answered, before grabbing the last two buckets and swarming off, leaving you and Olimpia alone once more. 

“You do smell pretty bad,” the cook said sadly once she was gone, and you huffed, pulling up your shirt only to gag. 

Yep. Definitely blood. 

You walked over to the hole in the wall and examined the pipes visible, congealed blood sticking to them. You wrinkled your nose, pulled out your pocket knife, and scraped off some of the blood, grabbing the pipe and tugging on it. It came out without much protest, a large goop of blood inside the pipe falling to the floor and splattering your workboots. It was gonna be hell scrubbing them clean later. 

You did the same with the surrounding ones until a pile of pipes that went nowhere surrounded you, leaving a now empty gaping hole in the kitchen wall. 

You peeked your head into the darkness, faint outlines of boxes and chains barely visible.

“Was this a storage room?” you asked Olimpia, and she huffed. 

“It could be the dungeons for all I care—your pipes are making a mess of my kitchen!”
“You gotta flashlight?” you asked, glancing back over to her. 

She cocked her head, an eyebrow raised. “A what?”
“A—fuck, you got matches or something?”
She rummaged around in one of her apron pockets, pulling out a Zippo, its iron case scuffed and scraped from years of abuse. 

“Here—I have another in my quarters,”
“You smoke?” you asked, a mischievous lilt to your voice. She rolled her eyes. 

“You don’t? ” she bit back, and you raised your hands in surrender.
“Thank you for the lighter, Olimpia,” you said, grabbing the lighter from her and flicking it open, striking the wheel and watching the flame appear, the warmth nice against your cool skin. 

“You don’t plan on going into the dark hole, do you?” the cook asked, and you chuckled. 

“Someone’s gotta—besides, I gotta see if there’s actually issues with the plumbing, besides pipes that run from nowhere to pipes that are rooms away from the actual one,”

Olimpia grumbled something that sounded awfully like “stupid Americans” before turning back to her work. 

You huffed, turning back around and peeking back into the hole, the lighter giving off a fair amount of light. It was a storage room, after all.

“Why is there a giant cage in here, Olimpia?” you called out to her, already knowing the answer. You could practically hear her shake her head in annoyance. 

Walking around the small area, you noticed it lead down a set of stone stairs. You lit torches hanging on the wall as you went, your steps echoing in the inky darkness that was sure to haunt your dreams later. 

You heard deranged giggles, and it took a moment for you to realize that was Daniela’s deranged giggles. You chuckled, walking towards the light in both metaphorical and physical tunnel.

A soft groan emitted from behind you, and you turned quickly, about to pull out your pocket knife.

A shriek came from your right, and you dropped your lighter, the fire blowing out and leaving you in darkness.

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered, getting down on your hands and knees to search for it. Something metal brushed against your fingertips, and you grabbed it before something grabbed you back.

“Fuck!” you yelled as it yanked you up before light flooded your face and Bela’s stoney face looked down at you, Cassandra and Daniela behind her.

“What in Miranda’s name are you doing down here?” she demanded angrily, sheathing her sickle and dropping you. 

“My fucking job!” you spat out, pushing yourself off of the ground. “The fuck’s wrong with you? You think fucking with me is funny?”
“We weren’t fucking with you—the Moroaice are active today, and—” another shriek cuts Bela off before sharp teeth dig into your shoulder. You yelp, pulling yourself away and hissing when your skin rips further. You spin around and come face to face with one of the most terrifying things you’ve ever seen. 

This must be a maurice, you think calmly before screaming, slamming your fist into its ugly face and scrambling back into the three sisters.

“Oh, hell!” Cassandra cursed, pulling you behind her and staring at the Moroaicǎ .

It let out a low growl, and raised—holy fuck it had a sword—

Cassandra’s sickle was lightening fast, cutting the Moroaicǎ’s head off with a speed you hadn’t seen before. 

“Get her back upstairs—I need to deal with the other ones,” Cassandra hissed, and Daniela and Bela grabbed you, the eldest sister’s fingers digging into your ruined shoulder. 

You shout out in pain, tugging their hands away from you before falling promptly on your face. Blood gushed out of your shoulder, and you had a moment to fear it had got your artery before pushing yourself back up. You weren’t about to die in a damp dungeon with three bickering bug sisters your only company. 

You staggered away from them, using the torches as a guide to the stairs.

“Y/N, wait!” Daniela called out from the darkness, but you shook your head, knowing that if you stopped know you weren’t gonna be able to continue. 

Seven days had passed from the first attempt on your life—if you survived, would another seven days go by before your throat was ripped out by another creature?

You saw the kitchen’s entrance, saw the white dress covering the hole. You could hear nervous chatter behind the buzzing in your ears. You realized Daniela held onto you know, whispering something you couldn’t hear. 

You tumbled out of the hole and into the kitchen, falling onto your knees. You looked up and up and up until you saw Lady Dimitrescu’s pretty face looking down at you, and you smiled weakly at her.
“I think I can reroute the pipes so they run in your dungeon instead,” you said, your voice thick with pain.

The lady blinked, and only Daniela’s grip on you stopped you from faceplanting when you passed out.

Chapter Text

When you were twelve, your appendix ruptured. You didn’t think anything of it at first; you were used to pain, used to sucking it up and going on with the day. 

A week later, you got peritonitis. You wished you had just told someone that it hurt, that you could barely walk, barely talk, barely make it through the day, so maybe you wouldn’t have spent far more time in the hospital with a feeding tube up your nose than you’d have liked. 

That was all you thought of as you laid in bed, a constant throb in your bandaged shoulder you had refused pain meds for. 

You weren’t going down that route again any time soon, that was for damn sure. 

“Fuck this,” you cursed, sitting up and hissing when you pulled at your fresh wound.

You tugged on a loose muscle shirt you hadn’t worn in years and made your way into the garage, flipping on the light and taking in a deep breath.

“There you are, you little shit box,” you said to your new best friend, slowly making your way over to it and popping the hood. The engine was fucked, obviously. You brushed off the air filter cover, sneezing when it floated into your nose. 

Using your noninjured arm, you grabbed your toolbox and started to take apart things that 

looked fixable so you could work on them later.

Two hours in, you had a menagerie of parts, but the throb in your shoulder had turned into the type of pain that made you grind your teeth together as you worked. 

You fought against the urge for a beer, already a few shots of whiskey in your system.

Hey, it weren’t no pain pills. It just worked. 

Your CD player was, presumably, still in the kitchen where Olimpia and the scullery maids, presumably, were scrubbing your blood from the floors, so that meant an acapella singalong for you tonight, you figured with a pained chuckle. 

Cleaning off some rubber bushings, you leaned against your workbench singing under your breath. 

“...and if you don't love me now, you will never love me again,” you sang, your deep rasp not exactly suited for Fleetwood Mac, but you didn’t care. You loved singing, even if you didn’t have a good voice for it. You were much better apt for Judas Priest and Rob Zombie, but that didn’t mean shit when you listened to good music.

Another hour past, and with it any chance of you getting any sleep. You knew sleep was needed for healing, if Lady Dimitrescu’s long winded rant when you woke up in her bed again told you anything. 

If you were gonna wake up one more time in that lady’s bed, it had better be after some mind-blowing sex, or, hell, even a sleepover where you drank wine and gossiped—yeah, the mind-blowing sex was the better option, in your opinion. 

Lady Dimitrescu was attractive, you had to admit to yourself again. You had always been a tit kind of gal, and you had no complaints about hers. Her ass was pretty good too—the lady pretty much had the whole package, besides the whole pin-you-to-the-wall-and-threaten-to-drink-your-blood-thing.

We all had our hang-ups.

You didn’t like to get touched all that much by your hook-ups, much preferring to give pleasure instead of receiving, but you wouldn’t lie and say the thought of the lady on her knees hadn’t crossed your mind before. 

An hour later, you were face down on your bed with the bottle of whiskey next to you and tears you were fighting pooling in your eyes. 

Wasn’t life wonderful?
You couldn’t remember when daylight broke, couldn’t remember when you heard Lady Dimitrescu’s deceptively quiet footsteps approach you, nor the feeling of your shirt being pulled off you and your bandages changed. You couldn’t even remember the soft words whispered from crimson lips against your temple as your shirt was tugged back on.

All you could remember was that when you were twelve, your appendix ruptured, and you didn’t think anything of it, and you got so much fucking worse because you had always been conditioned to believe that showing weakness meant getting a busted lip from your mom and welts from the leather belt from your dad, and tearful eyes from Scarlett and a shake of the head from Miranda. 

When you were twelve, your appendix ruptured because your family didn’t care enough about you to realize you were sick.

A large hand on the small of your back brought you back to the present, and you turned to look at the lady, a ghost of a smile on her face. 

“Your hands are cold,” you croaked out, and she laughed, moving her hand up your back and making you shiver. You weren’t sure it was just the cold.

“Apologizes, mechanic—my hands are never warm, I’m afraid,” she said, before removing her hand and placing it on her lap. “I’m not sure what to do with you,” she sighed, and you raised an eyebrow but let her continue. Was she gonna kill you now and save something else the trouble?

“You’re quite accident-prone, mechanic,” Lady Dimitrescu said, and you huffed softly. 

“I don’t think getting attacked by supernatural creatures counts as ‘accident-prone,’ my lady,” you corrected, and she chuckled. 

“I don’t think slipping in blood counts as an attack, mechanic,” she mused, a soft smile on her face hardening. “If you were any other person in my employ, you would have already been left to hang in my cellars,” 

“What a comforting thought, my lady—”
“ However ,” she continued, her eyes narrowing at your quip, “with almost eight days of work, you have managed to fix issues that have plagued my castle for near decades ,”

A large hand reached out to grip your chin, squeezing lightly. “You’ve surprised me, mechanic—I believe Daniela told you you would be handsomely rewarded for your fixing of my Hall of Ablution, no?”
“Something along those lines,” you murmured, watching the lady lean in towards you, her breath almost warm against your face. 

Your eyes opened as the lady’s large hand shook you awake, her eye narrowed with irritation. “Have you been asleep the entire time?” she asked, and you just stared at her, unable to know the answer to that question when the feeling of her breath on your face had felt so real a moment ago. She let out a loud sigh from her nose, and stood, her fingers ghosting over your covered calves. “Your work for this castle has not gone unnoticed, mechanic— however ,” she said, her voice almost a hiss. “I expect you to know not to trespass into places you know you have no business in. Am I understood?”
“Crystal, my lady,” you croak out, watching her light her cigarette in its holder and take a long drag before exiting the cabin.

Shutting your eyes, you remembered the time you were twelve and your appendix ruptured. 

When you opened them again, you were sitting up, propped up on pillows, with Daniela laying on the bed next to you with her nose in her book and Bela standing at your gas stove top, stirring a pot of something . The garage door slammed open, Cassandra walking out like she owned the place.

You guess she did , but that's beside the point.

“Stop slamming shit, kid,” you barked out, and all three of them jumped, a sheepish look appearing on Cassandra’s face.

“You’re awake,” she said, and you nodded, swallowing until you realized you couldn’t. Daniela reached over without looking up from her book and handed you a glass of water, patting your hand when you grabbed it from her. 

“How long have I been out?” you asked, setting the glass on the nightstand.

“Three days, give or take,” Cassandra said, and when your jaw dropped she shrugged her shoulders. “You have a huge chunk of your shoulder missing, not to mention the pints of your blood now staining the cobblestone,”
You reached up and touched where the Moroaicǎ had nearly killed you, wincing when you felt a gaping hole where there used to be skin and muscle.

“You’re not healed quite yet,” Bela said, before pouring whatever mixture she had been making into a bowl. “And won’t be for quite some time—the healing process would go a lot faster if you didn’t do any late-night tinkering, you know,” she said, giving you a pointed look as she gave you the bowl of what you now knew was plain broth.

Hey, you weren’t complaining—you hadn’t eaten in a hot minute if what these girls were telling tell you was true. 

“I’m not going to sit around not doing anything,” you warned, letting the hot liquid cool down before taking a much-needed sip. 

“We expected you to say as much,” Daniela mused, before placing her bookmark in between the pages and glancing over at you. “Y/N, if you are going to be up to the shape you were in, you have to rest—that means taking care of yourself, a fact that seems to have slipped your mind some time ago,”

“I take care of myself,” you lied, your temper rising to the surface. These girls didn’t know shit about you—

“I read a book once,” Bela began, and you, Cassandra, and Daniela all groan. “What? It was a medical journal, by one of those man-thing authors Mother despises but still lets me read. He discussed the seventeen symptoms of PTSD—”
“Can we not talk about this, kid? I’m tired, getting pissed off, and I have a massive hole in my body that’s not supposed to be there,” you interrupted, and Bela looked over to her sisters. 

“Insomnia, hyperarousal, avoidance—”
“Hold the fucking phone, kid; I am not aroused—”
“It’s fight or flight, dumbass,” Cassandra snapped at you, rolling her eyes. 

“Fuck off,” you snarl, and she chuckles, running her hand across the kitchen counter.

“I understand what Mother finds so irritating about you—if you were any other human, I’d have ripped your spine out and used it to golf,” 

“That’s horrible, Cass,” Daniela said, a large grin on her face. “I’m totally using that,”

“Ladies,” Bela scolded, gesturing back to you. “Y/N, you might be suffering from PTSD—”
“Ain’t the worst thing to have,” you bit back, unconcerned. You had several therapists tell you that already; if you had to do one more session of prolonged exposure therapy you would kill yourself, and you weren’t kidding.

“It’s killing you, mechanic,” Bela warned, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “You need to talk to someone—”
“I don’t think you have licensed therapists running around your little killer castle, Bela,” you interrupted, waving her away. “Can we just drop this? I know I’m fucked up—I’ll rest, sure, but I’m not bred that way, y’all,”
“You’re the only servant that hasn’t wanted a week of rest for an injury,” Daniela mused, and you huffed. 

“That’s 'cause I ain’t weak—” you stopped yourself, letting out a sigh and dropping your head back onto the wall. When you were twelve, your appendix ruptured and you got worse because you thought you were weak if you showed pain because that was how you were raised.

“Another week full of complete rest, little mechanic,” Bela said, standing up and placing her hand on your forearm. “Then you may work, lightly work,” she corrected herself, squeezing your arm before stepping back. “Let’s go, girls—a maid will bring you your meals, along with help you clean and dress your wounds, mechanic,” 

You felt Daniela’s head on your shoulder and fought to not knock her off of you before she swarmed away to stand next to Cassandra. “There are lots of car manuals in the library—I understand you don’t like reading, but I’ll have them sent to you anyways,”

“I hope you’re able to shoot that gun underneath your bed in a week, mechanic—I expect you to show me how so I may massacre my enemies in style,” Cassandra said, before swarming out of the house, her sisters on her tail. (flies?)

“Cool,” you responded to all of their sentences, before letting out a loud sigh and glancing over to your dresser, pleasantly surprised to see your CD player sitting there, the disc case open and ready for you. 

You slid out of bed and popped in Rumors , immediately in a better mood now that there was music. You didn’t go straight back into your prison, instead, you went over to the mirror over the basin and let out a low whistle when you saw yourself. Blood was everywhere on you, matting your hair and streaked down your face. It looked like someone had wiped most of it off of you while you were unconscious though, so that was neat. Wetting a wash rag, you scrubbed at your face, forgetting what you were doing for a moment when you noticed the scars on your face again. 

They did kind of add an allure to you—you knew scars were sexy, so maybe they loved a whole chunk of meat ripped out of you doing probably irreversible damage to your body. 

Hey, weren’t no different than how it was back in the States, anyway.

You dunked your head into the basin, scrubbing your hair clean before giving up halfway through, your shoulder starting to ache.

You glanced over to the pair of scissors sitting next to you and raised an eyebrow. The lady had liked your haircut…but you wanted it shorter still. If you were going to butch out, you might as well go all out. 

It was easy enough to grab the scissors and cut off enough hair that you only felt mildly nauseous instead of extremely. You remembered the first time you cut your hair short—the sting of disapproval from your family still stuck in your mind, along with the muttered slurs that passed you in the high school halls. 

You washed the remaining blood out of your shorter hair and combed it back, unable to feel anything other than fear for the moment.

That was alright, though—it would pass, just like this wound would heal and you could get back to working until your fingers bled and you couldn’t tell what day it was anymore. 

You didn’t know how long you stared at yourself in the mirror until a knock on your door and a glance out the window told you it was already dusk.

The maid opened the door, a pretty little thing with copper hair and a nervous smile carrying a silver tray of food and bandages. She reminded you of Scarlett, in a way. The thought wasn’t comforting. 

“Miss Y/N?” she asked, and you sighed, gesturing to the small table next to you. 

You fucking hated fancy titles but didn’t want to fight with her. She looked close to tears as it was. 

She leaned down to curtsy, before setting the tray down where you pointed and standing at attention. “Just let me know when you wish for your wound to be cleaned, ma’am,” she said, and you chuckled, gesturing to your couch.
“Take a seat, then. I ain’t gonna be much longer,” you said, glancing back at your reflection one last time before looking at the food sat next to you.

“Stew,” you said, chuckling softly. 

“The cook was going to make duck, but changed her mind a few hours ago,” the maid apologized, but you waved her away. 

“Tell her I’m thankful, would you?” you asked, and she curtsied before sitting down on the couch, smoothing out her dress skirt. 

You forced yourself to eat even though you didn’t feel hungry, not going to waste a single morsel of the food Olimpia loved so. 

Six minutes pass, and you were done, grabbing the bandages, that first aid shit Lady Dimitrescu tortured you with ten days ago, and a kitchen chair to go and sit in front of the maid. 

“Thank you for helping me,” you said, and the maid make a noise in the back of her throat. 

“It’s my job,” she responded, letting you tug off your shirt before pulling the old bandages off of you. She let out a soft gasp, and you chuckled. 

“That bad, huh?” you joked, but the maid didn’t answer, pouring the first aid over the wound and ignoring your hiss of pain. 

“The pain will fade, miss,” she said before grabbing the bandages and wrapping them around your shoulder. “Is it true that you survived a Moroaicǎ attack?”
“Is that not common?”

You felt the girl’s fingernails dig into your bandage before letting go just as quickly, brushing her skirt down again. “Those who go down to the basement rarely return,” she muttered, a glint of envy in her eyes. “You’d be the third person I know to survive a Moroaicǎ , and the first able to speak about it without bursting into tears,”
“Listen…” you trailed off, moving your chair so you could look at her. “What’s your name?

She sighed. “Alexandreina,” she said, and you huffed, a strained grin on your face. 

“Yeah, I ain’t gonna remember that. Listen, Alex, we’re gonna get mighty comfortable with each other for the next week or so, so I’d rather not have any of, uh…” you waved your hand between the two of you, “... this going on—you get me?”
She looked at you with critical eyes, her blue eyes narrowing. “What is this this you speak of?” she asked, and you shrugged. 

“It seems like you wanna throw hands or something—”
“What?” she asked, her eyes widening in concern. 

“Not like, actual hands, kid—Jesus, it’s like you live in a castle full of cannibals!” you said, and she scoffed softly, a small smile playing on her lips.

“When do you gotta be back at the castle?” you asked, and she glanced out the window before glancing back at you. 

“Not for another hour or so—the servant curfew is at ten,”

“Up for a game of Texas Hold‘em?

******

You knew it was a dream because the curtains were gray, and your mother sat in front of you, holding a faceless baby that you knew must have been Miranda’s son Elijah. You had never seen him, only going off of what people who knew them told you. Elijah Daniel Johnson, the light of Preacher Daniel Johnson, and his wife, Mrs. Johnson.

You always got pissed when they referred to your sister like that—her name was fucking Miranda , not her fucking title. You didn’t understand why a woman’s name was taken from her when she got married.

“Isn’t he so cute? My first grandbaby! If you hadn’t been eating pussy instead of sucking dick I woulda had one sooner but you can’t change the past, now can you?”

“Why is he here?” you asked, staring at your nephew with disdain and fear. 

“I get so lonely here, all by myself,” she explained, before standing and walking around to where you were. She placed Elijah in your arms, the baby stirring but not waking up. “You never visit anymore—I was afraid you had finally killed yourself,” 

“I’m okay—”
“Of course, those Dimitrescu women are probably gonna beat you to it—really, Y/N, cannibals? You really know how to pick ‘em,”
“Learned from the best,” you shot back, and she laughed, the one from her chest that you had always loved to hear when you were younger. Her laughing meant she was in a good mood.

Her laughing meant she was high off her ass, too. 

You adjusted your grip on Elijah, never good with children let alone a baby. “How are they?”
Your mom shrugged. “How should I know? I’m dead!”

“Then why are you still here?” you demanded, handing the baby back to your mother. 

She took him, cooing softly as she ran what you knew was a soft hand down the side of his face. “God has His reasons, my darling,” 

You stood up, your chair slamming from underneath you. “Fuck that! Fuck God, fuck ‘His reasons,’ and fuck you ! You did this to me! And you aren’t even sorry?” you asked, your voice cracking. 

This conversation actually happened, two months before your mother died. It was outside her boyfriend-not-boyfriend’s house, the dilapidated swing seat in the front always making you nauseous. She was wearing a gaudy blouse with purple flowers, and a pair of too-tight jean shorts on her pale legs.

You hadn’t had pants on at all, too strung out from a binge to really care. No one decent came out here anyway.

“I didn’t do anything to you, Y/N,” she snarled, jamming her finger into your chest. “You did this to yourself; I always wanted the best from you, but when you decided that wasn’t for you, I supported you. I’ve always supported you, baby!” she cried, but you didn’t let her hug you like you always did. 

“I didn’t want this life! I fucking hate you! I love you but I hate you!” you cried, turning from her to rub at your always-cold arms.

The punch caught you off guard—they always did. You clutched your tender jaw as you look back at your mother, her chest heaving with rage.
“Watch your fucking mouth,” she hissed, muttering a slur that made your blood boil. 

You didn’t remember pining your mom to the ground, only remembering the feeling of a knife at the base of your throat from boyfriend-not-boyfriend. You collected your things, tugged on your pants and grabbed your backpack, and walked to your childhood home, Miranda’s SUV in the driveway.

You knew it was a dream because the curtains were gray and you felt tears on your face when you collapsed on the floor in front of your sister, Elijah clutched in her hands and her face a barely concealed mask of fury. 

“Get the fuck out of here!” she roared, the echoes of all the times she told you that rattling your ears. 

Your dad walked into the kitchen and to you, his bread brown and a light in his eye you didn’t remember. 

“Better listen to your sister, kiddo—you really messed up with this one,” he said, before reaching out and pulling you up. 

“I don’t know what to do,” you sobbed, and he chuckled, tugging you into a hug you hadn’t experienced in nearly twenty years.

“Get clean, go to rehab—and for God’s sake, darling, let your shoulder heal! No child of mine is gonna get killed by no foreigner!”

********

Your eyes shot open, gasping for breath. It was still dark, but the heat in your room was almost unbearable. 

You got out of bed, tugging off your shirt and stalking over to your sink, turning on the faucet and dunking your head underneath it. 

The cold water woke you up, steadying you so you could look around without the thought of tears in the back of your eyes. 

“Fuck,” you muttered, rubbing a calloused hand down your wet face. 

You pulled off the heavy quilt you used to cover up and tossed it in a corner of the room, laying back down on your now bare bed, not even caring about the water pooling around your head. 

You sat up, going over to your dresser and pulling out your unsent letters, before going over to your kitchen counter and grabbing Olimpia’s lighter. You grabbed the trash can and took the bag out of it, tossing the letters beside one into it. You flicked the lighter open, striking the roller and watching the flame jump out and dance in the darkness. You lit the letter addressed to Scarlett on fire before tossing it in with the rest of your apologies, watching as they curled and darkened with the lick of the flame. 

You went over to your dresser and grabbed a sheet of paper, trying to remember how to fold an origami frog. 

Eventually, it came back to you, and the rest of the night, which wasn’t a lot, you had slept longer than normal, was spent cranking out those stupid little frogs that jumped. 

That’s how Alex found you, sitting on the floor with a mountain of frogs around you. 

She felt your forehead, swearing when it was hotter than it needed to be. Removal of the bandage showed the red skin around it, but you waved her off. 

“Go back to bed, Scarlett,” you muttered tiredly, squeezing her hand when she reached down. 

Strong arms grabbed you, and the cool morning air felt wonderful.

When you were twelve, your appendix ruptured, and you got peritonitis.

Chapter Text

You knew that you woke up in Lady Dimitrescu’s bed just by the way the silk pillows framed your face. Opening your eyes confirmed it, Lady Dimitrescu’s golden ones staring down at you, her lips pursed and brow creased. 

You opened your mouth to ask her what time it was, but a large gloved hand covered your mouth. Bitch.

“We have much to discuss, little mechanic,” the lady began, “and I don’t need you to interject every other sentence. Do I make myself clear?”
You refrain from rolling your eyes, nodding instead. Her hand was removed, and she hummed, grabbing her cigarettes from her—

Okay, you didn’t have the biggest tits, but you were sure that a pack of cigarettes was uncomfortable between them. 

“Are you dying, mechanic?” she asked monotonously, and your eyes widened.

“I fucking hope not—why?”
Lady Dimitrescu rolled her eyes, opening up her cigarette case and grabbing one, placing it in her holder and lighting it. “ Because , mechanic, you aren’t reacting to the first aid as most do—it acts like alcohol or peroxide to most wounds, but you…”

You reached over hesitantly to your wounded shoulder, and when Lady Dimitrescu didn’t stop you, you pressed down on the bandages only to feel skin underneath your fingertips. 

Holy fuck, that’s not normal. 

“Of course, you still scar,” she continued like she hadn’t just thrown you the biggest curveball since Doc Gooden. She reached over to you and tugged off your muscle shirt, revealing your near bare chest if not for the bandages. “But it seems that most of the damage has been healed,”

You swallowed harshly, letting your head fall back onto the headboard, and heard an unsheathing noise. The bandages fall off of you, and you open your eyes to watch the lady’s claws retract, the lady grabbing her wrist and making a noise similar to the one you make when you stub your toe. 

At least wait for the second date before ripping the clothes off of you, woman.

“Does that hurt?” you asked, covering your chest with the silk sheets, and she nodded. 

“It’s dulled over time, but the ache in my wrist never subsides,” she sighed but looks back over at you with a critical look. “But we’re not talking about me, little mechanic—”
“I don’t like talking about me, my lady—I’d much rather talk about the most beautiful woman in the room,” you added when you saw the lady’s face darken.

Her eyes widened fractionally before she rolled them and glanced away. You could swear you saw a faint blush on her face. “How long have you been drinking, mechanic?”
Your grin fell almost immediately. “I could ask the same question, my lady,” you responded, more bite in your words than was probably necessary. 

“At least I don’t smell like cheap liquor,” she snapped back, before taking a deep drag of her cigarette.

“Don’t you know smoking kills?” you asked her gruffly, to which she responded with a haughty laugh. 

“I think the drink has gone to your head, mechanic—”

“Is the air thinner up there, bitch, ‘cause I didn’t fucking ask—”

The lady’s hand shot out, grabbing you by the neck and standing. You dangled over the bed now, the tips of your toes just barely brushing against the pillows.

Your dad’s hands around your throat, Scarlett was crying in the background, Miranda was screaming at him to stop—

Her hands didn’t squeeze all that hard, but the anger in her eyes was so similar to your father’s that you couldn’t stop the tears from welling up in your eyes. You squeezed them shut. 

“Stop,” you croaked out, more to yourself than her. You couldn’t cry, didn’t cry—there was no crying in your family, it was a weakness—

She dropped you, your head hitting against the headboard with an audible bang. You heard the door open before slamming closed, and when you opened them Lady Dimitrescu was gone, only the smell of her cigarettes remaining. 

You didn’t wait for her to come back to kill you, grabbing your discarded muscle shirt and pulling it back on, ignoring the phantom pain of the lady’s hand around your neck. 

“Fuck,” you muttered, rubbing where you knew a bruise was gonna be in the morning. “Quit pushing her fucking buttons, dude,” you told yourself, before looking around the room. 

The bed was huge, obviously, along with the furniture. A step-stool you knew was for maids sat in the corner, and even that thing had three steps. 

You got out of the bed, waiting for your legs to get unwobbly before going to the door, peeking your head out and sighing in relief when you didn’t see anyone in the hallway. 

Now…where the fuck were you?

You crept out of the room, the feeling too much like the one you felt after a one-night stand and were trying to leave without alerting anyone in the house. 

You padded with bare feet down the hall, freezing when you heard the telltale sign of one of the Dimitrescu daughters approaching. You looked around quickly and bolted into a room, shutting the door behind you. The swarm faded, and you let out a quiet sigh, before looking around the room and sighing. 

“Hello, Hall of Ablution,” you muttered, looking at the empty pool with contempt. This helped you slightly, however —

You didn’t remember how you got here in the first place, on that life-changing first day. 

You looked at the pool closer, seeing—

“Is that a fucking staircase?” you asked, going down into the still-slightly bloody pool and shuddering at the feeling on your naked feet. 

Sure enough, it was a fucking staircase. 

You shrugged. What did you have to lose? Your life? Apparently to the lady you were dying anyway, which you didn’t stop to ponder because you knew if you did you wouldn’t be able to go on. 

At least you could see where the pipes lead. 

The stone was slippery with blood, and you let out a loud sigh when you saw the blood pooled on the floor, up to your ankle. 

Great. One of the pipes must have burst, and the drainage system, if there even was one, had failed. 

Who the hell was their uncle anyway? You had words for him when he showed his idiot face. 

A ladder trip down and you splashed in the blood, groaning in disgust. You walked into the almost pitch-black room, the only sound being your movement in what you were going to think of as water. 

You heard a low moan in front of you and froze, the thought of your shoulder still fresh in your mind. 

You flexed subconsciously, and continued on, knowing either you were going to die or it was. 

You took two more steps before the Moroaicǎ jumped out at you. You yelled, clocking it in the jaw and when it stumbled back into the wall, you grabbed the rusted sickle from its hand and dug it into its head. It hissed in pain, but fell to the ground, the blood splashing all over your clothes.

Fuck.

You pulled the sickle out of its head, testing its weight before continuing on, a faint light flickering in the distance. 

You made it to what looked like a normal distillery, almost, if not for the blood. A hiss sounded behind you, and you barely dodged another Moroaicǎ’s sword, the tip ripping through your shirt and practically tearing it off of you. 

You shouted, swinging your sickle into its neck and ripping its head nearly off of its body. “I liked this shirt, bitch!” you shouted, kicking its dead body in anger. 

You heard more groans in front of you and grabbed the sword from the dead Moroaicǎ next to you. Three more of the ugly fuckers appeared in front of you, and you swung the sword like a bat to keep them at bay before impaling one, yanking it over to knock the other two before bolting over them. They shrieked at your back, but you didn’t stop running, something sharp entering your foot. You hissed in pain but kept going, not stopping until you reached what looked to be a dumbwaiter, and you grabbed the rope and pulled like your life depended on it. 

It did. 

You made it onto a balcony, the warmth on your face a welcome feeling. You sat roughly down onto the cobblestone floor, pulling out what looked to be a necklace made out of rat bones. Cool. 

You pushed yourself up, limping over to—

“You have got to be fucking kidding me!” you shouted, looking into the lady’s chambers. You walked to the door, balancing on a wooden board that didn’t look like it would last much longer, and pushed it open, stalking angrily into the room. The door opened, and Lady Dimitrescu rushed in, before stopping, taking in your appearance. 

“Your basement’s flooded with blood, my lady,” you said, before tossing the rat bone necklace at her. She caught it without much issue, her eyes widening slightly when she no doubt remembered which person she slaughtered who owned this.

“Where did you find this?” she asked, her voice hard. 

“Oh, I found it at the store—where the fuck do you think I found it, lady? It jammed itself in my foot when I was running from those fucking Maracas or whatever the fuck its name is—”
“I told you not to go where you had no business in!” she shouted, and you let out a loud scoff. 

“ Maybe if your fucking basement wasn’t filled with fucking deadly creatures I could actually work down there—”
“You insolent child !” she boomed, leaning down so she was nearly eye level with you. “Why are you making this so difficult ?”

You grabbed the back of her head roughly, tugging her down towards you so you could stare into her golden eyes. “Listen here, lady,” you breathed out, your voice rough from anger. “You wanna know when I started drinking? I was ten , dying of dehydration in the blistering heat ‘cause my dad was too drunk to do anything other than drink some more—the only thing we had in the cooler was his beer, and when you’re thirsty enough, you’ll drink anything ,” you snarled, ignoring the sound of the lady’s claws unsheathing.

“Let go of me if you value your life, mechanic,” she hissed, and you laughed, entwining your fingers in her hair and pulling her closer.

“Or what? You’ll impale me with your claws? Filet me? I don’t think I’d do well as a New York Strip, darlin',” you whispered, a headache threatening to overtake you. “When I was fifteen my mom introduced me to her friends, pimped me off to a few of them so she could get another hit of whatever drug they were doing—doing coke off of a woman’s tits is a helluva lot different when you’re the woman underneath the powder, you get me?”
You felt the lady’s claws underneath your chin, the sharp points digging in and drawing blood.

“Your sob story of a life will not make me spare you,” 

You chuckled, pushing her hand down with your free one. If you were an outsider, this would look like a fairly intimate moment—faces nearly mashed together, chests heaving, hands almost held. 

But it wasn’t, and instead, it was an angry vampire being manhandled by a blood-covered woman who didn’t fear anyone but herself and the crushing fact that no matter what she did she would never change.

You leaned over, your lips brushing against her ear. “If you wanted to kill me, you would have done it already,” you whispered, before letting the lady go, stepping back quickly as she straightened. 

She did not speak, and neither did you, too busy trying to calm your racing heart and wait for an attack in the next breath. You were bluffing, obviously—you didn’t know much about the lady besides comments here and there, but you knew grabbing her and yanking her around like a puppet was a sure-fire way to get killed. 

You let the blood from your chin drip onto your tattered shirt.

The lady’s gaze sharpened, and you could see her chest begin to rise and fall unsteadily before turning. 

“One more chance, mechanic—I will not hesitate the next time. Now get out of my castle,” 

A fly landed on your bare arm and you knew it must have been one of the daughters—you left without another word, not a complete fool.

It would buzz harshly when you turned the wrong way, and with the help of the daughter, you made it back outside, the sun beating fiercely down onto your skin. 

A loud crash sounded from your cottage before a large swarm of flies crowded around you, nipping at your skin to make you move faster. 

“What the fuck?” Cassandra immediately screamed in your face when you made it inside, before backhanding you into the wall. “You have no need for a tongue anymore—”
“Cassandra, enough,” Bela’s strong voice stopped her sister’s grab for her sickle, and she backed off, her face full of fury. “You jump to conclusions far too easy for a woman always wielding a deadly weapon—from what I could understand, Mother pushed the human to a precipice she didn’t know how to get down from—"

You squinted at them, holding out your hands in disbelief. “Hey, the ‘human’ is right here, kid—”

“She grabbed our mother—how do you not see that she needs to be gutted?”

“Mother could have broken free of her grasp at any time in the conversation,” Daniela interjected quietly, and the two sisters stopped to stare at her immediately. 

“Are you saying that our mother allowed herself to be manhandled by the mechanic? Are you out of your mind—” Cassandra began, but Bela shushed her with a handful of flies.

“Dani makes a good point—it’s not like the mechanic’s stronger than her—right?” she asked you, and you shook your head.

“Mother is not a bottom, Bela—”

“Hey, let’s not talk about this anymore, okay?” you interrupted, holding up your hands in surrender with a soft blush on your face. “I may have made a slight error with your mother, but you can be sure as a cow chews cud that I won’t do that again,” 

“What?” Cassandra asked angrily. “What the fuck is cud ?”

“Cud, noun: partly digested food returned from the first stomach of ruminants to the mouth for further chewing,” Bela answered, and you raised an eyebrow. 

“Ew,” Daniela said, sticking out her tongue. “So, like, vomit?”

Bela shrugged, before looking over at you. “You’re the expert here,”
“Uh, no, it’s not vomit…” you trailed off, not knowing what cud was exactly either. 

“Why the fuck are we talking about vomit?” Cassandra shouted, pointing at you with a fury like no other. “This bitch, who, by the way, doesn’t have a giant hole in her shoulder anymore, just fucking, like, seduced Mother into being a bottom and we’re just okay with that?”

“Hey, I can tell you first off that I did not seduce your mom—she hates me, okay? She made that fact pretty clear when she stared at my chest—”

“Shut the fuck up!” Cassandra screamed, pulling her hood back to grip her hair, tugging on it hard enough you were afraid she was going to tear it out. 

You feel cold hands grope at your back before hearing Daniela gasp.

This is mildly terrifying.

“Holy fuck, it’s gone! Bells, come over here and look at this!”

“This is definitely not how it’s supposed to look right now—it’s not even supposed to look like this three weeks from now—”

A rough hand grabs your chin and opens the closing wounds of your cuts, before letting go. You hear Bela suck her fingers with an audible pop that makes you nauseous. 

No, this is severely terrifying.

Shit, you needed a drink. You stumbled away from the girls and limped your way to your fridge only to pale when there wasn’t anything in it. 

“No, no, no,” you muttered, looking around like the beer was playing hide and seek with you. “Where are they?” you asked, then asked again louder when the girls gave you a confused look. 

“What do you…oh!” Daniela said, her face brightening. “You mean the beer! We threw it away—you can’t drink while recovering from such severe wounds—”

“What the fuck do you mean?” you yelled, before limping over to your bed and looking for the whiskey you knew you had left there, you had to have—

“We got rid of the whiskey too—I don’t understand why you like it. Too burn-y,” Daniela said with an easy smile, shuddering at the thought. 

You watched her with barely concealed anger, your headache only getting stronger. 

Instead of lashing out verbally, you decided that your nightstand needed to be redecorated; you grabbed the lamp and threw it across the hut with a roar, doing the same with anything else in your reach. How could they do that? Didn’t they know? You needed to drink—it was like breathing at this point. You hadn’t not had alcohol in your system since…since—

Your name was Y/N, and you were an alcoholic. You could function in public until you got home, and then you drank until you couldn’t remember your name then you woke up the next day and functioned in public and then you drank until you couldn’t remember your name then you woke up the next day and—

You had only ever gotten the 24-hour chip before crashing and falling face-first in the metaphorical pool of alcohol you were so fond of. 

You took in a deep breath, rubbing your face and swearing. You can’t get angry, not right now. There were a lot of variables unaccounted for, such as:

1. Three vampiric sisters stood a few feet from you, one of them ready to rip every organ out of your body.
2. A equally angry (bottom?) vampire lady was in the castle, ready to rip every organ out of your body but sexily.
3. How the fuck did you heal such a severe wound in a matter of days? You didn’t think you were dying—’course, drug and alcohol abuse killed you slowly until it didn’t, but you hadn’t had too many overdoses!

Okay, maybe you can get angry right now—no matter what, it seemed like death was the only thing in the cards for you. You could rush Cassandra, no, Daniela—she wouldn’t swarm out of your grasp that fast; shove her in the icebox or something—how did the fridge not hurt her? Was it sustained chill that wounded them, or perhaps it was just a disliking? Lady Dimitrescu seemed to worry about it, so you knew it must have hurt them a lot.

You blink back angry tears before falling to your knees, the wound in your foot becoming remembered when it’s exposed to air. An infection was very likely—the blood in that basement couldn’t’ve been clean, along with the dirt and grime of the castle floors and grounds. 

You could just let that kill you—it would be a helluva lot simpler to get gangrene and lose your foot/life than get speared by a tall-ass lady with a huge rack. 

Oh, you were going to throw up. 

You got up and dove for the trashcan full of…ash? Nothing came up except bile, the burn making you even more nauseous. You wished you had thrown up in the toilet—the coolness of the seat always helped your burning head. 

“Uh, Y/N?” you heard Daniela ask, but you didn’t respond, staring blankly into the trashcan. You could see remnants of—

The letters. Oh, fuck, what did you do to the letters?

A soft hand grazed your arm and you looked over only to see no one there. “Kid?” you asked hoarsely, and saw someone approach from your other side. You turned and furrowed your brows when only air greeted you. 

“These must be withdrawal symptoms—I have to go read up and see what we can do,” you heard Bela say, and you shook your head. 

No, you weren’t going through withdrawals—no, you couldn’t have been; you had done this before…

You needed a beer to stop your headache, but you made no move to get up off of the floor and find one. You could walk to the village and march up to Luiza’s house saying you had been kidnapped and she’d give you the best drink of whiskey you’d ever had in your life. 

“Okay, so maybe I won’t ask uncle to bring his moonshine,” you heard Cassandra mutter before she made a pained noise. “Hey, what was that for?” she hissed, and you could nearly hear Daniela shake her head. 

“Let’s just focus on her right now, okay? Do you think we need to fetch Mother? She has more experience with this sort of thing—”
“No!” you interrupted, pushing yourself up and using the fridge next to you to stay upright. “No, I don’t want her here—”
“Too late, little mechanic,” Cassandra’s sadism is evident in the way her face lit up when yours fell. You could see a large shadow approaching the hut, and felt the soft hand on your shoulder again even though both the present Dimitrescu daughters were right in front of you. 

You heard an airy laugh you hadn’t heard much of as an adult and your frown softened.

“Hey, Scar,” you murmured, and the hand squeezed you in agreement.  

“You look like shit, Y/N,” she whispered, and you chuckled softly.

“I’m sorry for what I did to you,” you apologized, beads of sweat dripping off of your face, and felt the hand leave your shoulder just as Lady Dimitrescu entered the cottage, her hands gripping the sides of the doorframe while she bent inside. 

“Leave us, daughters,” the lady demanded, but they didn’t move, looking between you and the lady like either one of you was about to start throwing punches. “I said leave us, girls—tell a maid to bring us a pot of ginger tea and my herbs when in an hour, please,” 

You chuckled, the lady’s proper diction something you’d never get used to. 

Lady Dimitrescu’s eyes were a blazing gold when they finally landed on you, a sneer on her redder than normal lips. 

Not that you knew what her lips looked like normally. Of course not. 

“I don’t need your help, Carmilla,” you muttered, pushing yourself off of your post and pulling off your shirt.

“I feel a strange sense of pride that you know who that is,” the lady mocked, walking over to you with her body bent over. You realized she was taller than the roof of the cottage, and your heart panged for her. Just a little. You were still pissed, as was she if the flaring of her nostrils and the dark look flooding her eyes had an indication. 

“I’m not that stupid,” you muttered, letting out a sigh when her cool fingers splayed against your neck and shoulder. Goddamn , her hand was huge. 

“I must disagree, draga ,” she said, feeling your forehead. “Only an idiot would do what you have done,”
“Your middlest daughter agrees,” 

Lady Dimitrescu chuckled. “Daniela tells me that you were a middle child, once upon a time,”

You nodded, allowing the lady to sit you down in a chair. “You ever have any siblings? Actual blood siblings?”

She hummed, moving away from you to wet a rag at the sink. “I had a brother, before he died,” 

“What did he die from?” you asked, knowing that condolences weren’t needed. 

“Porphyria—a blood disease. The same one I had, now that I have a basic understanding of modern medicine,”
“Had?” you asked, and she shook her head, sponging off your head and letting the water trail down your face to your shoulder bones. You were a lot skinnier than you should have been.

“I was cured some years ago, though you may see the obvious side-effects of such an experimental procedure,” she said, before standing as straight as she could. “Now, let’s discuss your wellbeing. You’re going through what is known as withdrawals, which I should have expected but didn’t prepare for—”

“I know how withdrawals look, my lady—this ain’t anything like that,

"I can smell it,” she said, her voice calmer than you thought it ought to be. “I can smell how desperate you are, how much you’ll beg just for a sip,”

“I don’t beg,” you snarled, and she laughed, leaning down to cup your jaw. 

“Oh, you will, once the hallucinations start,”

Hallucinations? No, no, you didn’t want anymore—

“Scarlett,” you said, and Lady Dimitrescu’s eyebrow raised. “She—I heard her voice—I…”

“Let’s get you more comfortable, hmm?” the lady said, picking you up with almost no effort and depositing you on the hard mattress you had grown to hate. 

“No, I don’t want to be more comfortable—” your argument died in your throat when the lady removed her hat and heels, shrinking down to a mere-oh-two inches-shorter-than-she-was before sitting down on the edge of the bed, you praying the wood held up. 

“I’ve gone through this before, too,” she said, almost too soft for you to hear. “I sang, professionally, for a few years. There are a lot of drugs in the music industry,” she said with a sad chuckle, glancing over at you with a shy smile on her face. “Being a sheltered, noble girl, I had never heard of them, had never heard the warnings; I had only heard of these glorious things that were supposed to bring you up and up—I tried them. Couldn’t stop after that. A few lines of coke and a glass of red wine before a show was all I had, for a time,”

“Someone pick your fancy?” you asked jokingly, your voice coming out strained. 

She chuckled darkly. “Something like that—she promised me health, eternal beauty—things I was too daft, too  naïve to believe would happen without consequences,” 

“But you stopped,” you affirmed, and she nodded. 

“So did you, it would seem,”

You nodded, before chuckling to yourself. “Why didn’t you stop drinking, then?”
Lady Dimitrescu shrugged, something you never would have thought her capable of doing. “I cannot get drunk anymore, draga , but one must taste test their wares, no?”

“I’ve only tasted oil on purpose once, my lady, and that was for a dare,” you argued playfully, and she laughed. 

“Yes, well, wouldn’t you agree that wine-making and mechanics are two different trades?”

You grinned, letting your head rest against the headboard while you looked at the lady and she looked at you, her crow’s feet crinkled with her smile.
A thought crossed your mind.

“Your wine’s darker than any wine I’ve ever seen,” you ventured, and she nodded, her lips pursing. “I’m gonna guess that’s there’s blood in it,” you said, and she huffed.
“Does drinking copper everyday sound appealing to you, mechanic?” she asked, and you chuckled, shaking your head. 

“I don’t believe it does, my lady,”

A shadow moved across the left side of your peripheral vision, and you turned, frowning when nothing was there. 

“Something the matter, mechanic?”

You waved her off, before covering your mouth as a bout of nauseous violently arrived. You went to slide off the bed, but a strong hand on your waist stopped you until Lady Dimitrescu was in front of you with your trashcan in her hands. 

Fuck, blowing chunks in front of someone attractive was always an embarrassing experience for you.

Girlfriend #11 did not like vomit in her shoes—who would have thought?

When you sat up, stray hairs stuck to your sweat-covered face, Lady Dimitrescu brushed them aside and took off her gloves, showing you how the black covered her fingers until trailing off in veins. 

“They lighten up once they get to my elbows,” she said, and you smiled weakly at her, glad you got an answer to your unspoken question.

You grabbed her wrist lightly, not putting any pressure on her tendons. You weren’t sure if the claws were like a feline situation or not—it would be just your luck to get impaled by the lady when she didn’t even want to. 

“You’re like Wolverine,” you said distractedly, imaging the way her claws took up space in her arm and trailing hot fingers across her cold skin. 

“Who?” she asked softly, closing her eyes while you rubbed her arm. You were eye-level with her in this position.

“He’s a superhero—was my favorite when I was a kid—had all of his comic books, watched all of his movies,”

“He has claws?” she asked fondly, and you nodded. 

“‘Course they came out of his knuckles instead of his fingers, so I guess you got him beat on originality,” 

She stared at you for a moment before bursting into laughter, leaning closer to you almost subconsciously. “Were they metal, like mine?” she asked, and you nodded, before furrowing your brows. 

“They weren’t, in the beginning. They were bone until his bones got turned into metal by crazy scientists,”

She raised an eyebrow. “His bones were turned into metal? How would you even go through with that—”

“I’m sorry,” you interrupted, the thought of what you did this morning or afternoon or whatever still fresh in your mind. “I ain’t—I’m trying to be better , not…not—”
“Like me?” she assumed, a sad look on her face. “I must apologize as well, my mechanic—my actions towards you have been most unjust—you irritate me, but that is not an excuse,”
“Pretty words for a pretty face—does Bela get her smarts from you?”
Lady Dimitrescu chuckled. “I’m afraid so—why? Does the thought of an intelligent woman frighten you?”
Your eyes twinkle, but you steel yourself into frowning. “You callin’ me stupid, my lady?”
Her eyes widen. “Oh, no, certainly not—I could never do what you do; I’ve always been smarter with books—not saying that you can’t read or anything, I’m just—”
“Relax, my lady—I’m just jokin’ with ya,” 

She huffed, a small smile on her lips. “You are very good at that,”
You chuckle. “You learn how to keep a poker face in a family like mine, my lady—”
“Please, call me Alcina. In private, of course,” she interrupted, and you raised an eyebrow at the faint blush growing redder on her pale face. 

“Oh, so the pretty face has a pretty name? Alcina, huh? Is it Romanian?” you asked, and she shook her head.
“ Libretto of L’isola di Alcina,” she said, and you chuckle, an impressed look on your face. 

“I have no idea what the hell you just said but I am living for it,” 

She laughed. “Do you know who Handel is? What music he created?”
“Uh, yeah,” you half-lied—you knew he was a classical bitch—what exactly he did, you had no fucking clue.

“He wrote an opera seria in 1735 with my name—my parents were fond of Handel, always listening to his records—my name seemed obvious to them. I don’t disagree—it is a beautiful piece of music—I learned how to sing most of the soprano parts in them,” she said, a faint blush on her face. 

“Sing one to me,” you said, and she quickly shook her head, embarrassment flooding her face. 

“Oh, no, I couldn’t—it has been decades since I’ve last sang any one of those pieces—”
“With the amount of alcohol I’ve drank, I ain’t gonna remember a single lick of this conversation, my—Alcina—please? As a woman going through withdrawals, I think I get to hear one sonata or whatever the fuck opera music is called,” 

She shook her head, but the smile on her face showed you got through to her. 

“You swear not to laugh?” she asked, and you nodded vigorously, regretting the movement immediately when your head started to spin again. “The only piece coming to mind I’ve only sung with piano, draga—”
“I could not care less if God Himself came down from heaven with a golden piano—I just want to hear you ,” 

She let out a huff from her noise before shifting so she wasn’t on her knees anymore. Seeing the lady sitting cross-legged on your floor nearly made you chuckle from how improbable it seemed. 

“I won’t sound good—I haven’t sung in quite some time—”
“ Please , Alcina,” you said, the only time you’d ever beg for the lady.

She straightened, looking over your head, before tapping out a rhythm on her knee and clearing her throat. 

“ Tornami a vagheggiar, tel solo, vuoi amar…”

Alcina had one of the most beautiful voices you had ever heard in person, and you had the pleasure of seeing Adele in concert once. You wouldn’t have thought she could sing as high as she did; neither did she, by the way her eyes widened when she hit a note that you would never even been able to attempt. 

Something tugged inside your chest, but you ignored it, too engrossed in the lady’s performance. 

The lady’s voice was the last thing you heard before you fell asleep, your hand still lightly clutching the lady’s arm. 

*********

You knew it was a dream because the curtains were gray and Daniela stood in front of you, her face clean of blood and tattoos and in an outfit so unlike anything she’d ever wear you guffawed—her hair was up in an old-timey hairdo, a fluffy pink dress on and 

“Mother seems quite smitten with you, mechanic,” she said, her voice higher, more girlish. 

“I would hope so—I’m quite a catch, so I’m told,” you joked, and she laughed, so unlike her normal, maniacal one. 

You knew that this was Daniela, albeit a younger one. You didn’t know where you had seen her before, but you knew you had.

A different laugh filled the kitchen, and you sighed, ignoring the feeling of your mother’s hand on your shoulder. 

“My darling, whoever told you that was a bigger liar than me —hello there, dear, I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced,” your mother said, holding out a hand to Daniela. 

You knocked it away before the girl could grab it. “Enough, Mom—she ain’t real, no more than you are,”
“Oh, so my borderline-schizophrenic daughter does have a tongue—and here I thought this pretty little lady would’ve cut it out by now~” your mother drawled, her accent thicker than it normally was. 

“I’m through with you,” you said, standing up out of your chair and facing her. 

Her hair was matted, blood covering the left side of her face and trickling from her nose.

You had never seen her like this before.

You stumbled back into the table until there wasn’t a table anymore; until strong hands grabbed you and set you back up straight.

You turned and Lady Dimitrescu— Alcina —stood before you, a loving smile on her face as she grabbed your neck and yanked you up, slamming you into a wall that wasn’t there before.
She sang to you while she crushed your windpipes, you choking on imaginary blood until you—

Chapter Text

You sipped on your fifth cup of coffee that morning while jotting down notes in your new notebook, one of the gifts Alcina and the girls had given you while you recovered. 

Alcina…goddamn, you still couldn’t get over the fact you could call her that.

Daniela had wiggled her eyebrows when you told her what her mom did, and you rolled your eyes. “Weren’t nothing by it,” you told her, even though you were unsure about the whole thing. 

“In the decades I’ve been here, no servant has been told to call her by her first name. Ever ,” she replied, before cackling and diving onto the couch. “ We’re not even allowed to call her by her first name,”
“That’s ‘cause she’s your mom, kid—if I had ever called my mom by her first name, the crows would be pecking at my insides,”
“Can I ask you something? About your mom?”

You shrugged. “Shoot—ain’t nothing too hard though—”
“Do you hate her? The way you describe her…”

You pursed your lips, pausing in whatever you were doing at the time. This was always a difficult question for you, one you normally got angry about and never answered. 

But none of that fury rose, and you let out a long sigh. “I don’t know,” you answered honestly. “I hate what she did to me, to our family. I hate her for her addiction, I hate her for what things I…what things she did to me to further it. But there’s—there’s some part of me…I don’t know—it’s like…like I do love her, but—”
“Ambivalence,” Daniela interrupted, and you looked over at the girl, her golden eyes full of pity and questions you weren’t going to be able to answer. She grinned at you. “Bela isn’t the only one who reads the fucking dictionary,”

The part of your heart not hardened by grief panged with an emotion you hadn’t felt in years.

You understood that you loved the kid, that somehow she had wormed herself into your life so intricately she would never leave.

She reminded you so much of Scarlett that it made you nauseous.

You chuckled. “Don’t let your mother hear your potty mouth, kid—I like having skin attached to my body,”
“Just skin? Would you let Mother strip you of… other things ?” Daniela quipped, her voice sultry. 

You groaned, tossing something at her. “Yeah, in her dreams, kid—where are those car manuals I was promised?”
The car manuals had been on your counter since the second night of your confirmed withdrawals, and you still were confused about the lady. 

You weren’t going to lie—you played bitches like no tomorrow. It was just who you were. 

You didn’t want to play Alcina, if only for her daughters’ benefits. They had grown on you, even the most aloof sister Cassandra still checked up on you at least once daily. 

“To make sure you haven’t died or something stupid like that,” she’d always say when you brought it up. 

You tapped your pencil against the page, before doodling out a quick flower while you thought about what to do next. 

You had been practically sentenced to house arrest for your recovery, and you had never been so fucking full of nervous energy. You had probably worn down the floors with how much you paced before bed. 

Your nightmares hadn’t stopped, not one bit. They only got worse, in your opinion. Booze wasn’t an option for you anymore and neither was working ‘til you passed out. 

So you had been journaling, writing down things that you needed to do whenever you got back on your feet, or little stories that came to you, or beginnings of songs you’d never finish writing. 

A loud knock on your door made the lady’s presence known, and you glanced over to the window only to let out a sigh when you saw the sun nearly completely hidden by the castle. 

“Door’s unlocked,” you called out, adding a dog to your doodle. You could only draw flowers and dogs. 

Good band name. 

You heard the door open and heard her approach you at the dining table, setting down a covered platter you knew held your dinner.

You still didn’t each much, but still tried, for both your and Alcina’s benefit.

“ Mici ,” she said, and you craned your head to look up at her.

“ Gesundheit ,” you replied, and she chuckled. 

This was how it was every night—she’d bring you your dinner, say the name in Romanian; you’d play dumb and pick at the food. 

You were picking up on a few phrases, here and there. Basic shit that would get you through the airport, maybe. 

“ Arata bine ,” you said with a little grin once she removed the platter lid.

She laughed, sitting down at the chair across from you. You had to reinforce the chairs in your house, the only bit of work you managed to do before Bela caught you, hammer in hand and a sawed-up 2x4 next to you. 

Hell, if the lady was gonna break any of your furniture, the bed was right there . 

“How was your day?” you asked her, picking up what looked to be a semi-egg roll-looking thing, and pulling it apart. 

Hmm. Pork. You held it out to the lady. 

“Normal,” she replied, taking the offered half of the mici but not eating it straight away, letting it cool down in her gloved hand before popping it into her mouth. “How was yours?” she asked, her mouth full of mici . 

You let out a soft sigh. “I’m going stir-crazy in here, Alcina—when are you gonna let me get back to work?”
“It’s only been two weeks—I just want to make sure you’re going to be okay, draga,” Alcina reprimanded softly, and you groaned, leaning your chair back on its hind legs.
“I’m gonna be fine—I’d be even finer if I could go and work in my garage—”
“Y/N, you have to rest!” she interrupted, and you raised an eyebrow. That was the first time she had said your name. 

You kinda wanted to hear it again. 

She realized what she said, a faint blush dusting her cheeks. 

“Oh, don’t be gettin’ shy on me now, darling—I won’t tell if you don’t,” you joked, winking. Her blush grew, but she smiled softly and looked down.

“You make me feel young again, Y/N,” she nearly whispered, her voice deep. She glanced over at you with her golden eyes. 

Something in your chest aches and your heartbeat quickens. You let out a shaky breath, chuckling softly while the feeling in your chest grew more noticeable. 

It was like nausea but didn’t hurt all that much.

“You don’t know what you do to me, Alcina,” you breathed out, your voice raspier than it normally was. 

The air was charged with something ; your hair rose on your arms and your breathing was quicker. So was hers. 

A loud bang outside made you jump and just like that , the moment was over. 

“Where the fuck are you, Lady Super-Sized Bitch?” a man’s loud, gruff voice shouted from outside, and Alcina immediately stood up, swearing under her breath. 

She stormed to the door and swung it open, anger radiating off of her. “Heisenberg!” she shouted, and you heard the man laugh loudly. 

“Fancy seeing you outside your castle, Dracula! What, run out of maids to drain?” 

“Enough of your impudence—”
“I don’t have time to chat—Miranda’s got me busy with experiments, unlike you ,” you heard the man say pointedly, and Alcina let out a loud huff before fully exiting the cottage, leaving the door open behind her. 

“You were supposed to be here hours ago, child ,” Alcina hissed, and Heisenberg laughed. 

“What the hell were you doing in there anyway?” he asked, and you knew he was referring to the cottage. 

“One of my workers is injured; I actually care about my employees—”
“Draining them of blood and forcing them to work under the threat of death ain’t care , Godzilla—”
“You know where my study is—I’ll be there in a moment to finish this discussion,” Alcina snarled, waiting until Heisenberg presumably left before walking back into the cottage. Her eyes held an apology, but you just laughed and gestured to the castle. 

“Just let me know if you need me to whoop his ass for you,”

A small smile appeared on her face before she walked over to you. She leaned down and gently kissed your cheek, light enough so her lipstick wouldn’t smudge. “Do forgive me, mechanic—my idiot brother’s never been the most couth of people. I’ll send a maid down later to check up on you,” she murmured in your ear, and you hummed, your throat tightening.

“See—” you cleared your throat, your voice thick. “See you tomorrow?”

Alcina smiled softly before nodding, a small blush dusting her face. “Always, my mechanic,”

It was too quiet when she left, the idea of eating the mici unappetizing without her there. But you ate it still; you needed your strength, they all told you. 

That foreboding sense of doom you hadn’t felt in a while started to appear in your chest but you shook it off until you couldn’t.

You knew what would make it go away but you were too strong to do it. 

“Fuck, Y/N, don’t be stupid,” you muttered to yourself, standing and pacing back and forth, back and forth. 

A knock.

You knew it was Alex by the way she only knocked a few times before pushing the door open, uncaring of if you were decent or not. 

Poker seemed to be the thing that brought Alex to your side, even though she always lost. Never challenge a Texan to Texas Hold ‘em. 

“How are you feeling, mechanic?” she asked, and you plastered an obviously-fake smile on your face. 

“Like a million bucks,”

Alex scoffed, before going over to where you kept your poker set and cards. “If you win, I’ll drop it. If I win, you’re gonna tell me exactly what’s going through that thick-headed skull of yours,” 

“Better drop it now then, kid—I ain’t never lose,”

Sitting down poise in the chair meant for the lady, Alex didn’t give you many options than to sit down across from her and deal cards. 

It wasn’t your best game, but you were sure you were gonna win. Four-of-a-kind is probably the best you could do right now.

“Raise,” you said, pushing more of your lei into the middle of the table. 

Alex got a strange look on her face before matching your raise, grinning. 

“Check,” she said, and you agreed, sliding your cards out in front of you. 

You watched her do it slowly, before letting out a yell of frustration. “What?” you yelled, “A straight flush? Bro, no fucking way!” 

Alex shrugged, pulling the, rather large, pile of lei towards her. “What was that thing you said the fifth time we played? Sucks to suck?” 

You rolled your eyes, searching her for any signs of cheating. When none were visible, you sink into your seat. “That was half my fucking paycheck,”
She laughed. “Mine too—so, Y/N, let’s discuss the reason why I beat you,” 

“Because I bet you shucked your cards whenever I glanced away, bitch,”

“Then I guess you don’t want a rematch—”
“Hey, I ain’t never say that!” you quickly interrupted, and Alex laughed. 

“Tell me what’s troubling you and we’ll play again,” 

You shake your head. “Ain’t nothing troubling me—”
“You and I both know that’s horse-shit, pardon my language,” she interrupted, and you huffed. 

“Guess I’m just feeling shit I haven’t felt in a while, I guess. I’ll be fine—just gotta keep myself busy,” 

Alex nodded. “I understand—the lady and you seem to have gotten close,” she mused, a knowing look in her eyes, and you raised an eyebrow at her. 

“I mean,” she continued, shuffling the deck of cards, “her personal maid, Marion, told me that your all she talks about sometimes—‘the mechanic has handsome tattoos, her haircut suits her, she loves music, the way she laughs—’”
“Me and the lady are just friendly with each other,” you interjected, and Alex laughed. 

“She’s into you, Y/N! Has drinking really addled your brain that much?”

You rolled your eyes. “I think you got dropped when you were a kid or something—come on, let’s play,” 

You lost the next three games, too busy mulling over the maid’s words. 

No, Alcina couldn’t be…there were too many variables unaccounted for.

But you like being around her and you weren’t going to lie and say there wasn’t something between you. 

Just friends. Yep, that’s all you were.

Alex left after an hour of your torture, nearly your entire stash of lei in her pockets and a content grin on her face. 

You sat in your chair for a moment more before standing, walking over to your CD player and flipping through the open case next to it. You put in a CD you hadn’t listened to since you were 29 and first bought it at the records store you frequented almost as much as the bar.

Scarlett and you had listened to it one night, stargazing at your old family home, the curtains blue. 

She was freshly 19, one year nearly down in junior college. She had saved up a lot of money since she was a little kid since you told her that she had to make sure she could go to college. You and Miranda helped her. She had over 6,000 dollars in her bank account, more than enough for the junior college she was going to. She didn’t apply for financial aid or do any scholarships because she knew she had enough. 

You had taken that 6,000 dollars when you were high off your ass and running away from every problem you had ever caused. 

You blinked away tears that threatened to fall. You did what you did—you couldn’t change what you did, but you could try and apologize the only way you knew how. 

The nearly double of that was stored away in a suitcase underneath your bed, ranging from euros to rubles to lei. 

You opened up the notebook Alcina and her daughters had gifted you for beating something you didn’t deserve to beat, and penned out a letter you knew just what to say now. 

The Duke came to the castle in the morning, his face joyful and the rings on his fingers glinting in the candlelight. The large suitcase was uncomfortable to drag with your sore muscles, but you made it to the castle and deposited it in front of him, holding out the too-many-times-folded letter to him. 

“Make sure they get it,” you said monotonous, before exiting the castle and going back to your cottage. 

The weight in your chest hadn’t lifted, but you understood. All you could do was try, try to be a better person. 

You sat in your recliner and slept without dreams for the first time in years. 

Chapter Text

A faint chill bites through your thinning flannel, the fact that fall was just around the bend comforting to you.

The only thing you’d miss would be the girls visiting you almost every day, chattering about something or another that you knew should make you queasy but don’t.

They hadn’t told you yet, but you knew. You’d be a fool to not understand the cold killed them.

You were working outside, something that you had just been granted the ability to do after almost a full month of recovery. 

Your nightmares hadn’t stopped, but they did lessen depending on how much you had worked that day.

Last night had not been one of those nights; insomnia is a helluva lot harder to deal with without alcohol, that’s for damn sure. 

So you decided to do something easy, something you could stay at the cottage for. Carving banisters was the sort of monotonous work you hated normally, but right now? That shit was gold compared to flipping through yet another magazine. 

It was after lunch right now; Olimpia had made some kind of stew that you knew could benefit immensely with some Jiffy cornbread. 

You had been working on the banisters since you jolted awake around three, you think. 19 were done—the last four were the worst: the ones from the Main Hall, with flowers and intricate designs and a fucking pain in your ass. 

But you weren’t gonna complain too much—it was work, and work was what you did best.

Work kept you from thinking, and thinking was your fucking downfall. 

You were listening to Miranda’s favorite album when y’all were young, something you hadn’t ever been able to do since then.

It made you emotional, listening to it, but you wanted to. You needed to.

You sharpened your chisels and carving knives once more before diving back into your work with a vigor you hadn’t had in years.

A breeze blew past you and you shivered, the chill something you ain’t never gonna get used to here.

With winter, came snow. With snow came a freeze. And a freeze, well—you bet your entire fucking paycheck that those pipes you haven’t gotten around to changing’ll fucking burst .

But that was later—for now, you worked on these fucking banisters and ignored the anxiety building in your chest. 

You let The Very Best Of Bonnie Tyler repeat over and over again while you worked, the album your anthem for the day.

You completed two banisters and had gotten halfway through with the third when Alcina appeared for your evening visit, the large book of poems she was reading clutched in one hand and a burlap sack in the other. 

A grumble of your stomach told you you had forgotten dinner, as did the look on the lady’s face.

“You told me you would eat, mechanic,” she scolded, tossing you the sack. You caught it with a good-natured huff, looking up at her from your sitting position. 

“But look how good these banisters look! You think I should be a carpenter instead of a mechanic?” you joked, and she chuckled. 

“Even a carpenter must eat, mechanic,” was all she said before disappearing into your cottage and bringing back out her chair. “It’s a nice evening, isn’t it?” she murmured, cracking open her book and finding the page she had dog-eared the night before. 

“It is,” you agreed, opening up the sack and pulling out a tin-foil-wrapped meat thing that Olimpia knew you liked. 

You ain’t ever remember what it was called, though.

“Perfect for stargazing,” Alcina said, almost absentmindedly while she read.

You chuckled, a fond smile forming on your face.

“My sisters and I loved to stargaze when we was younger,” you said, unwrapping your food and taking a large bite. “There was this one trailer out in the middle of the fields for hay storage but we ain’t never use it; we’d grab a few blankets and a flashlight and lay out there whenever our parents were fighting,” you said, before laughing to yourself. “We liked to make up constellations; mine always was stupid: talking dogs, triangles that had names, shit like that,”
Alcina chuckled, looking up from her book and to the darkening sky. “Daniela loves the stars; whenever she was reborn, all she would want to do was stand out on the balconies and watch them,”

“I’ve heard that word before, reborn . Daniela said something about it, back when I thought y’all were Catholic,”

Alcina huffed softly, glancing over at you with a fond look. She stared at you a moment longer before turning back to her book, tracing a long finger along a page. You wondered if she could get paper cuts. “If you couldn’t already tell, my daughters aren’t mine, biologically speaking,” she said, her voice soft. “I’m afraid both my mutation and my blood disease left me incapable of having children. Even so, motherhood rarely crossed my mind; to be a mother meant to love a man, and just like having children I was incapable of it,” she let out a long sigh, dog-earring the page she was on but not looking up from it. “The first few years of my mutation were spent alone in this castle, learning how to deal with my mutation, the thirst; I started taking maids and workers around 1947, I believe. You must have heard stories about the Reapings while living down in the Village, I would presume,”
You nodded, scooting your chair closer to her to hear better. Her voice was lowering as she spoke like she was ashamed. “Yeah, I heard a little bit about it. Heard that no one ever came back,” you said, and she huffed, glancing over at you with shadowed eyes. 

“Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela were three of the many maidens reaped from Luisa's village and adjacent; they caught Mother Miranda’s eye, and we subjected them to experimentation, the details not something you wish to hear,”

“No, probably not,” you joked, and she chuckled.

“It took six days for them to wake, and when they did, I knew immediately that those girls were mine, and that they wouldn’t have to go through what I had alone,”
You smiled softly, reaching over and lightly squeezing her wrist. “You’re a good mom, Alcina,”

She huffed, but let your hand slide down into hers, her cold fingers intertwining with your warm ones. “They’re my everything; I don’t know what I’d do if anything ever happened to them—”
“Don’t think that shit, Alci—if anything wants to get them, they’re gonna have to go through me first, and you know how fucking stubborn I am—”

Her lips were cold on yours, and you pulled back in shock, your heart racing. 

The lady’s pale face grew even paler, and she stood immediately, stuttering through an apology you didn’t hear.

You just stared up at her, your eyes wide and heart hammering. To Love Somebody was playing, its main chorus starting up.
“Alcina…” you whispered, but she shook her head, covering her face with both of her hands. 

“Forgive me,” she said thickly, walking away faster than you had ever seen her walk before, leaving the basket and her book and your heart in your throat.

The old you wouldn’t chase after her. Love wasn’t something the old you did, not something the old you ever wanted to do. 

“Alcina!” you shouted, standing up out of your chair to watch her form retreat even faster. You stood there, unknowing of what you should do.

You huffed, grabbing your banisters and tools and retreating into your garage. 

You started to put your tools away, thinking of what to do next. 

Do you let her cool off the rest of the night, giving her the impression that you didn’t care about what happened, or do you rush into the castle, either giving her the impression that you cared a lot about a little kiss or that you were rushing in to enact your revenge? 

“Fuck,” you sighed, resting your head in your hands. “I don’t know what to do,”

The least you could do was return the book, right? Maybe the lady liked to read in the bath or something—you took in a deep breath and nodded, going back outside to fetch the book.

You went inside your cottage, mulling around for an hour or so until you could figure out exactly how you were going to achieve your return.

You tugged off your dirty clothes and freshened up, not wanting to smell like wood and sweat and look like more of a country bumpkin than you were while stuttering to the lady.

You decided on a more casual look; an old band t-shirt paired with the only pair of nice jeans you had. A spritz of cologne you hadn’t worn since you stopped smoking, a little pep-talk in the mirror, and your trusty pocket knife shoved in your pants pocket later, and you were on your merry way to the castle, book and basket clutched in your sweaty little hands. 

You dropped the basket off in the kitchen, Olimpia and her maids already retired for the night. 

It was the quietest you had ever heard it before; normally there was chattering, either from the Dimitrescu family or the maids. But the hallways were dark and not a soul was in sight. 

You tried to remember your way to the lady’s chambers, or, as known to you, the most familiar room in the castle.

As you crossed by the library, however, you heard something heavy drop to the ground, hushed voices following.

Pulling out your pocket knife, you hoped that it was just a maid or Daniela.

A quick peek inside told you that you were a little punk ass bitch for hoping that.

You took in a deep breath to calm yourself and calculated how long it would take you to find and warn the lady without the hunters knowing. 

Too long, you realized when you couldn’t remember the exact path to get to her chambers.

Fuck you and your drinking.

You were armed with only a knife, against twenty or so men armed with what they believed to be automatic weapons but weren’t.

Taking in a deep breath, you hoped the lady’s supernatural hearing would be able to hear this far away as you slammed the door open and stabbed your knife into the thigh of the man closest to the door, knowing that this was going to be the last thing you ever did so why not go out with a fucking bang? 

He let out a blood-curdling scream, dropping his gun right into your open arms.

You prayed that you remembered how to shoot an actual fucking rifle and pointed it at the hunter who was already drawing a bead on you. 

You were expecting a bolt action; he was not, by the way he didn’t aim as precise as you did. His shot went wide, yours went right in his chest.

Two down, a shit-ton more to go. 

You shot up, sprinting out of the room, and slammed into a cream vase, shattering it into a million little pieces. Swearing, your eyes widened when you saw a pipe bomb staring right back at you. 

Holy fuck, Cassandra. 

You barely managed to get out of the line of fire when you sprinted around a corner, bullets ricocheting against the walls. 

Swears and yells of confusion filled your ears and you felt proud for a split second until you saw the motherfucking pipe bomb appear in front of your eyes.

You had two choices, but you didn’t even know them. 

“Holy fuck!” you yelled, rushing to the bomb and tossing it back to the hunters the way you learned in basic training.

The only thing you were missing was the foxhole, which was confirmed by the sting of splintered wood entering your body, the ringing in your ears, and smoke burning your eyes. 

You ducked back into your concealed spot, wiping the blood from your face and checking your gun before peeking back into the hallway. 

The pipe bomb had managed to take out a few of the men, but the Dimitrescu family had found the survivors.

You would never get the sight of the lady skewering a man through his chest out of your head, nor the way the daughters’ ripped into the throats of the hunters with their teeth, something you knew must have hurt astronomically. 

How do you feel safe in the presence of predators, you wondered, watching Daniela laugh manically while Bela ripped the head off of one of them.

You didn’t feel the man behind you until his knife was against your throat, the feeling of his scratchy beard against your neck.

“Drop the fucking gun,” he growled, pressing his weapon harder into your neck until it drew blood.

You took in a quick breath before slamming your head into his, ignoring the feeling of his knife slicing even further into your skin while you pulled away from him and into the open hallway, spinning around and slamming him with the butt of your rifle. 

He collapsed, and you dropped your gun, panting hard. 

“Y/N!” you heard Alcina scream, and glanced over to where you knew she was, giving her a weak smile before the pain overtook you.

You fell to your knees, watching the blood leak from your neck onto the once-polished floors.

At that moment, you knew you weren’t going to die that night.

Feeling Alcina’s hands on your body, the sting of a first aid coated cloth held to your neck, you knew that the Dimitrescu family was going to be the one to kill you.

Chapter Text

You knew you were in a dream because the curtains were gray, but you were all alone.

The kitchen, for the first time in your life, was empty of your mother. You reached up and wiped away some of the fresh blood from your neck, wincing at the feeling of your fingers pushing into the wound, the inner meat of your throat spongier than you thought it would be. 

You didn’t know what to do, all alone in the dream kitchen. You tapped out a rhythm onto the table while you waited for something to happen, a rhythm that had no rhyme. 

You went to your first concert when you were 16; Red Hot Chili Peppers at the Frank Erwin Center in Austin. You hadn’t told anyone where you were going; who fucking cared? Your mom was high all the time, your dad drunk. Miranda was busy with her perfect little life and Scarlett was better off without you. You hitched a ride with your best friend Mikey and had one of the best times of your life. Both of you got drunk, got so high you really didn’t know where you were.

Mikey said he was fine, that he could drive.

Scar Tissue was the song playing when he ran into the stop sign that impaled him by his throat. You watched him choke on his own blood, too fucked up to do anything but scream.

Blood flowed from the slice across your neck but you didn’t choke, didn’t even scream.

It covered your hands, your clothes. Dried blood was underneath your fingernails and in that moment you didn’t know if it was yours or Mikey’s.

You walked away from that accident scrapped up and without your brother. 

So you drummed away at the kitchen table, Otherside playing in your head and out. 

Where was your mom?

You heard keys rattle, heard the familiar sound of your mom struggling to find the door handle. It was a scrapping, thudding noise until the click of the door opening was heard, the curtains gray.

“Hey, kiddo,” your mom said, bloody and nearly your mirror image in that moment. Your dad did always say you looked the most like your mom, a fact you hate.

You open your mouth to respond but no noise beyond a gurgle leaves you. She chuckled sadly, walking over to where you were sitting and placing her hand on the side of your head. “Those men certainly did a number on you; hear, let me help you, baby,” she murmured, walking away from you to the sink, where she grabbed a rag and wet it, the light blue turning dark in the water. 

“Went to visit your father today,” she said, turning off the faucet and going back over to you. She pulled up another chair and started wiping away the blood from your neck. “He looks happy; his son is a carbon copy of him,”

You pursed your lips, moving away from her slightly. She tsked, pulling your chair closer to her with her foot like she used to do when you were a kid and she was helping you with your math homework.

“Stop being difficult, baby; you know how much it irritates me when you fight with me,” your mom scolded, dabbing at the edges of the wound. “Was gonna visit your little sister when I was done with you, but it seems she don’t want to see me ever again; Miranda too,”

You huffed. Of course they didn’t. You didn’t, either. 

“Then why were you waiting for me, sweet cheeks?” your mother asked, chuckling softly. “Ain’t no harm in saying you miss me, baby,”

“I don’t,” you rasped, the blood finally cleared from your throat. “I just want to wake up,”

Your mother smiled sadly, cupping your cheek with her pale hand. “37 years ago I swore I would protect you from anything that wanted to harm you, but I failed to realize that I was gonna be the one to cause you so much pain. I deserve your hate, Y/N. Deserve it more than life itself,” 

You scoffed, glancing over to your blood-covered hand. You weren’t ever gonna get used to the smell of it. “Yeah, well, you’re fucking dead. Ain’t much else you can atone for, is there?”

“Never forgive me, darling. If I told you that, I should just die again and again. But you have to not let my mistakes, let your mistakes, control you for the rest of your life. Don’t give me any more power than you already have, Y/N—I am dead, gone, never to return. You must learn to live , my darling, because I certainly didn’t teach you how,”

Californication played in the forefront of your mind, your fingers drumming against the wood table that had always sat in the kitchen for as long as you could remember.

“I deserve to live,” you said, because it was true. You did —the question was, were you? You knew you would wake up, most definitely in the bed of Lady Dimitrescu, but would you still want to? You reached up to touch the slice on your neck, already a lump of scar tissue that everyone would stare at.

You just wanted to go home.

********

Per the journal of Lady Dimitrescu, you had been comatose for a little over one week without any inkling of when you would wake up. Per the hushed whispers of the maids and servants, it was rumored the lady had given you the Cadou like she had been given and her daughters after her so you would survive, most attached to your quick wit and charm.

That was not far off; however, it was not Lady Dimitrescu, nor was it this week, that you had been exposed to the Cadou, or, rather, spores from the Megamycete.

But that would be touched upon later, in a very different scenario, resulting in the lady’s claws being shoved into your chest and screams exiting your hoarse throat, your voice never the same after the most recent attack against you.

Per the late-night dungeon discussions the Dimitrescu daughters were having, the hunters you had only wounded during the initial fight already tortured and eaten, they mourned the loss of you because they didn’t know what you knew, what they should have known—after all, all but Cassandra had tasted your blood, tasted the rot that was slowly overtaking you.

But who could blame them? Those who always taste the rot coating their tongue must taste it everywhere—why do you think Lady Dimitrescu uses the bitter taste of cigarettes, why the wine is so sweet?

Your hands, callused and tough from years of hard work, palm at Lady Dimitrescu’s silk bedsheets, your nightmare everlasting.

Per the tears Lady Dimitrescu sheds, she clutches the battered and bloody book of poems you meant to deliver, the message of which the lady got immediately. 

That is why she sits, why she journals your condition, any changes.

That is why the maids and servants gossip, for they don’t know how life would be, how drastic it would change, with you gone.

That is why the daughters work, why they ripped the tongue from the man that slit your throat and fed it to him.

That is why, when you finally wake up, you will be thinking of the Red Hot Chili Peppers, watching the lady clutch your confession in her hands, her handmaid pouring a large glass of wine while glancing up at you every so often, with a few lazy flies watching for your recovery, full of flesh, and laugh .

Chapter Text

You stood in the middle of the busy airport, your passport and ticket clutched in your hand so tight you thought you might accidentally crumble them to bits and never be allowed to leave. Foreign languages you would never know were shouted around you, unsmiling people pushing past you to get to their own climax of their story; what that might be, you didn’t know. A man with a large mustache chased after a little girl laughing shrilly that reminded you of Scarlett—your heart tensed, and you took in a deep breath, the air harsh without the constant haze of cigarettes in your lungs. Like most of your…vices, you had given them up to start your life anew ; what a bullshit idea that was. You didn’t do it cold turkey, obviously. An extensive check-in to a German hospital saved you from your drug withdrawals, and even when you fell off the wagon again in France with that goddamned cocaine, you had your sobriety chips shoved deep into your suitcase, your reminder not to fail.

Alcohol…you couldn’t drop drinking, no matter how hard you tried. It was too good—you could stop the harder things; heroin, meth—all easy to kick before you left the States. But drinking? The only thing that got you through life was not being fully conscious of it. You scoffed, looking down at your ticket—one-way, Romania. You were waiting for that woman—Ana or whatever the fuck she had told you back at the hotel room. Besides Ana being the best lay you had had in years, Russia was getting boring—you had already done so many things and gotten all the money that you wanted. 

It was time for a change—you heard your name called, and looked up. Ana stood a few feet away, an almost sinister smile on her face and her blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail so tight you worried for her hairline. 

“Ready to go?” she asked, her voice curt, like it always was.  

You glanced down at your suitcase once more, before nodding. “Yeah, I’m good. Romania, here I come,”

**********

“The difference between the two, however, stems from the time period, and what the musicians were trying to…oh, trying to show with their music. With Bach, he wanted to…” you nodded along to Bela’s musical ramblings, ignoring the dull ache of your body while you fiddled around with the door in the Hall of Pleasure—something that was both not a hall and did not look pleasurable; Bela had to come with you to show you the mechanism of the thing, and to keep you company since apparently you had to be babysat wherever you went now. 

It pissed you off—the hunters hadn’t shown up to kill you ; you had just been in the crossfire. But now they treated you like an invalid, just because you fought for your home. 

You stopped your work for a moment to mull over what you just thought about. Home. Castle Dimitrescu, home? You shook your head—the faster you could complete your tasks here, the faster you could go back to your dreary mechanic shop in the village and drink yourself to death. 

“...and not to mention just how Debussy—”
“Bela, I can’t concentrate—can you bug off for a fucking minute?” you snapped, not looking up from the gearbox located next to the door. Your voice sounded like it was just about to leave you—another thing you could attribute to the great and powerful Lady Dimitrescu, the damage to your vocal cords. 

“...of course,” Bela responded after a time, curtly. She swarmed out of the hall, and you looked through the open door for a moment, a faint flicker of guilt passing through you, before going back to tinkering. 

Maybe an hour went past—you didn’t really know the time anymore—but the mechanism was fixed. Rust and wear-and-tear alike had made most of the gears unable to slot together. With a file and some replacement parts, it was good as new when you removed the mask from the statue and put it back in. 

Picking up your toolbox, you swallowed hard at the strain against your still-sore muscles and left the hall, making your way through the still-unknown hallways. 

Eventually, you made it outside; the air was frigid, but you didn’t really mind anymore. Just another sensation. 

You kicked off your boots the moment you walked into your cottage; the ground was nearly frozen solid, but the habit of taking them off because of the muddy path was hard to break. You walked over to the kitchen and stared for a moment before shaking your head and going to your chair, and sitting down. You reached over to grab the book you had been reading, one you had bought with your own money because you didn’t want anything to do with the Dimitrescu family for the moment, but an envelope sat on top of it interrupted you. You stared at it for a moment before picking it up gingerly, the cardstock rough in between your even rougher fingers. 

The name of the sender made you swallow harshly—Scarlett. Scarlett sent you a letter. Your name was written on the outside, the loops of your sister’s handwriting too familiar to you. Nausea crept to the surface, and you took in a deep breath. 

It was time to face the fire, you knew, but dammit, it was gonna burn you alive. 

Your hands shaking, you reach into your jeans pocket for your trusty pocketknife, returned to you by Cassandra the moment you were up and able again. 

“I, uh, cleaned it up and resharpened it for you 'cause it was dull as shit,” she had told you, her voice almost bashful. It hadn’t been, but Cassandra didn’t need to know you knew that. That was before they wouldn’t leave you alone, back when you were pissed at the world but wouldn’t take it out on anyone but yourself.

You were such a shitty person, Y/N.

Flicking open the honed blade once stained with blood, you opened the envelope as gently as you could.

Unfolding the letter was the hardest part, you realized, and you shoved the piece of paper back into the envelope and sat it back down on top of the book as fast as you could. You couldn’t read it here—you didn’t know what it contained, what sharp words would cut into you like the shrapnel that left countless scars did all those weeks ago.

You knew where the library was now, obviously. Why shouldn’t the spot that almost took your life also be used to read the letter that would?

You stood, shoving the letter into your back pocket, and shoved your boots back on. When you opened the door, inky darkness greeted you. How long had you been mulling the letter?

You shook your head. It didn’t matter—what mattered was you stepping out of your prison, shutting the door behind you, and making your way back up to the castle.

You passed a maid polishing a candlestick, one you had never seen before. You nodded at her politely, and she half-curtsied back. You could feel her eyes tracking you while you continued on your way—you took in a deep breath to calm the rising anger you felt because of it. 

Bullet holes still marred the hallway, but you had fixed the structural damage caused by Cassandra’s pipe bomb. You couldn’t bring yourself to fix anything else yet; at least Alcina understood that. You hadn’t spoken to the woman besides common pleasantries since the first week of your recovery; everything just made you so angry right now—you didn’t want to say something you would regret and would get you pinned up against a banister, claws in chest. 

You slipped into the library as quietly as you could, just in case someone was in there.

There was. 

Alcina’s back was to you, wearing what looked to be a robe instead of her usual gown; you didn’t think she had noticed you yet. She was messing with something in the corner of the library, her back hunched to an uncomfortable level. 

“Damned thing,” she muttered, her voice carrying in the eerily quiet room. 

Your interest peaked, but you weighed your options. You liked fixing things, but the thing was something the lady wanted to be fixed and you didn’t want to deal with her quite yet. 

She let out a sigh and straightened, clutching at the small of her back. “Fuck me,” she whispered, and you couldn’t help but smirk a little. 

“Need any help?” you asked with your gruff voice, and she gasped, whipping her head around to look at you. 

“Black God, Y/N—you startled me,” she said after a moment, before stepping to the side and revealing what she was tinkering with. 

You chuckled; a record player, of course. You walked up to the object, ignoring the woman who looked down at you with an intensity that burned the top of your head. 

Billie Holiday’s Solitude sat on the little table next to it, the vinyl in pristine condition, of course. 

You examined it and huffed when you wouldn’t move the needle arm. You went over to your stash of tools in the library for the skylight and grabbed your little tube of motor lube. 

“Haven’t used it in a while, huh?” you asked, lightly applying the lube and nodding to yourself when you could move it. 

“I haven’t had to—your music is almost always playing,” she responded, and you hummed, that faint flicker of guilt coming to bat, before putting your lube back and wiping your hands on a cloth. 

You put the vinyl on the player and let the needle drop, the scratchy sounds of East Of The Sun (West Of The Moon) entering the library. 

“It’s sad, what happened to her,” Alcina said after a moment.

“Pardon?” you asked, looking up at her only to see she was already watching you.

“Billie—a target of the FBI, an addict; she wasn’t dealt a fair hand,”

You scoffed, looking back at the vinyl and watching it turn. “Ain’t no one dealt a fair hand, my lady,”

Alcina tutted. “That pessimism won’t help anything, draga mea ,” 

You took in a deep breath to tamp down your rising emotions, the letter burning a hole in your pocket. “I think it’s all I got right now, Alcina,” 

A large hand was rested softly on your shoulder, but you were unable to feel the extent of the chill from the lady’s hand because of the scars from the Moroaicǎ attack.

“Come, sit with me,” she said, and you let her guide you to the loveseat you had sat on all those many months ago, sabotaging the weapons that still nearly killed you. “Do you…wish to talk about it? I’ve been told I’m a great listener, but you might not wish to talk…” Alcina trailed off from her rambling, and you huffed softly, wishing a flicker of even a ghost of a smile would cross your face. 

“If you had the option to get closure from something that had been haunting you for years, would you? Even if it wasn’t what you hoped it would be, even if the closure hurt even more than the original wound?” you asked, your voice no louder than a whisper. 

“I suppose it would depend on what my original wound was , draga ,” she responded, and you sighed, pulling the letter out from your pocket.

Tears welled up in your eyes. “I ruined my baby sister’s life, is one of them,” you choked out, voice thick, before taking in a deep breath to calm yourself down. “I stole her chance at freedom, and because of that I deserve every bad thing that happens to me,”

Your voice is bitter, more bitter than the lady had ever heard it before.

“You deserve happiness, just as much as the rest of us,” was her response, and you laughed: a choked, coughing sound that you knew pained the people who had to listen to it almost as it pained you to do it. 

“Didn’t think you had it in you to be funny,” you said, and she tutted, but didn’t retort.

You stared down at the letter with dread, a dread you hadn’t felt since…since before you had come to the castle, you realized.

You picked it up, pulled the physical letter out of the envelope, and set it onto the lady’s robed lap. 

She stared down at you and you stared up at her, emotions both of you were unfamiliar with showing on your faces.

“Read it to me,” was your simple command; it was all it took to snap Alcina out of her trace, to pick up the piece of life-changing paper and speak the horrible truth you knew would be on it. 

“‘Y/N, I do not know how this letter will get to you, but I know it will,’” she began, her voice strong and your will wavering. “‘I got the suitcase; very strange thing to find outside on the front porch, your letter resting on top of it. Not sure how it got to me, since I’ve long since moved out of the house and am now in a different state, but I can imagine you’d tell me a marvelous story as you used to when you had to explain things you didn’t quite know yourself. What stories you’ve gotta have; I got my own stories now, though! Got my degree, finally. Accounting. Boring, I know. Dad complained that being stuck behind a desk for the rest of my life isn’t a way to live, and I know you’d share the sentiment, but I like it. I’m still in fucking shock if you can’t tell by my rambling. 12,000 fucking dollars? I’d ask where you even came up with that amount of money, but I know you too well to know I’d get a straight answer. And that letter; by God, Y/N, you weren’t coherent half of it. I mean, a nine-foot-tall vampire with kids? I know you said you weren’t on drugs anymore, but I think you might have accidentally huffed too much gas or paint or whatever you’re doing for work, dude,’”

Alcina stopped reading, her brow furrowing. “I cannot make sense of the next paragraph; the words are jumbled and scratched out,”

“Just keep going,” you croaked, and she looked over at you for a split second before going back to the letter. 

“‘I forgive you for what you did. I don’t want to not have you in my life any longer. Please, stop running and come back. I FaceTimed Miranda, showed her the money, and read her the letter; she doesn’t believe you’ve changed, but I do. I wrote my phone number on the bottom of the letter; please, call me, Y/N. I need to hear your voice. You raised me, whether you wanted to or not. You taught me how to survive, and how to love even when it seemed like things would never get better. I hope the person you talked about in your letter…’” Alcina trailed off, and you knew you had been caught. 

“‘I hope the person you talked about in your letter loves you as much as you love her, Y/N. You deserve to be happy. With love, Scarlett,’”

You didn’t realize you had reached up, taken the letter from the lady’s hands and tossed it onto the table, and pulled the lady into a kiss until she was kissing you back, the taste of her blood wine and cigarettes on her lips addicting. These Foolish Things (Remind Me Of You) was playing in the background, a fact you wouldn’t find funny until you were mulling things over later, as you tended to do.

You reached up to the back of the loveseat to put pressure off of your bad shoulder, pushing Alcina down in the process and deepening the kiss. Her robe had parted slightly, you found out on accident when you brushed against her bare chest while letting your free hand trail her body. She gasped lightly, and you pulled away from the kiss just long enough for her to tell you—

“Please,” she said, her voice raspy and full of lust you couldn’t get enough of. “Please, Y/N,”

You looked into her golden eyes, reaching up and cupping her jaw. “I love you, Alcina Dimitrescu. I didn’t think I could love anymore and then you and your daughters came into my life and—”
“I love you too, Iubirea mea —now, please, can you fuck me already? If you don’t put your fingers in me I might just perish,” Alcina begged, pulling her robe off and revealing her almost nude form if not for her underwear. You stared at her for a moment before bursting into laughter, kissing her deeply before trailing down her neck to her breasts, trying your damndest to leave a hickey even though you knew it wouldn’t stay.

She moaned loudly, though, and you grinned to yourself, still chuckling over her comment.

“How many do you want?” you asked gruffly in between kisses leading down to her navel. 

“What?” she asked, looking down at you in honest confusion. You looked up at her, raising an eyebrow. 

“Dog had a litter of puppies outside my hut and I’m asking how many you want—fingers, Alcina; how many fingers do you want me to fuck you with?”

Her eyes widened, and you could see her breath skip, her chest heaving. She reached down and ran her hand through your hair, scratching the shaved portions in a way that made you smile softly.

“Start with three, please,” she said, and you hummed, planting one last kiss on her stomach before pulling Alcina’s underwear down her legs. You didn’t look away from the woman as you pushed your middle three fingers into her, and she didn’t stop looking at you as she let out a harsh breath-turned-moan as you pulled them out and then pushed them back in again, curling them the way women over the years had taught you.

You hoped no one walked by the library—with how loud Alcina was being, no one would be confused about what was happening. Fuck, if her daughters walked by…

“Oh fuck , Y/N,” Alcina moaned after a particularly good thrust, and you pressed a kiss to her stomach to hide a smile. “Fuck, can you go faster?” she asked, and you complied.

Not long after, she came and pulled you up gently into a searing kiss that left you aching more than you’d like to admit.

But you didn’t want her to touch you, not just yet, you realized as her hands trailed down your back.

“I just want to make you feel good, if that’s alright with you, darlin’,” you murmured into the kiss, and she stilled just long enough for you to open your eyes and look at her. She looked like a beautiful mess; strands of hair stuck to her forehead, and her breath was still shaky.

“Black God, Iubirea mea ,” she rasped, and you smiled softly, kissing her cheek. You knew what Iubirea mea meant—Olimpia had taught it to you when she was teaching you endearing terms, and you had memorized it almost instantly.

“I love you too, Alcina. So fucking much,” you replied earnestly, and she chuckled softly. 

“You with your vulgarities; do you know no other words?” she joked, running her hand through your hair.

You stopped her hand in it’s tracks, cupping it and bringing it down to kiss, but you didn’t respond. The weight of what you had just done had hit you; you had fucked the lady, told her you loved her, and you weren’t dead, either by your hand or hers. 

You glanced over to the letter and, for once, didn’t feel the enormous sense of dread and regret pushing down on your chest when you thought of your sister. She forgave you—Scarlett forgave you. 

“She forgave me,” you muttered, and the lady brought your joined hands to her own lips.

“It would seem so, draga mea ,” she agreed, and you looked into those golden eyes that stared back at you, fully enamored by your gaze. You knew there was a twinkle in your eyes you hadn’t had in years.

You kissed her again, before getting up off of her and retreating back to your original spot on the loveseat. A part of your brain told you things would get worse again—the happiness would fade, the love would die. You knew that was true; everything was destroyed, in the end. 

You elected to ignore it, for the moment. If you weren’t happy, you were sad, and you couldn’t be sad while the lady’s naked breasts were nearly at eye-level for you.

“Would you like to accompany me to my room for the night? I must be honest with you; I miss seeing you in my bed, little mechanic,” Alcina asked, her voice almost timid. 

“How could I say no to such a beautiful woman? I’ve gotta be honest with you, too—my bed is a sack of rocks compared to yours, so my motives might also be comfort as well as sexual gratification,”

Alcina chuckled. “Has Bela been reading you the dictionary? Your vocabulary has expanded,” 

The reminder of Bela makes you frown, guilt rising to the surface. “I’ve gotta apologize to her; I was kinda a dick to her earlier. I just—well, you know how I am,”

“Bela told me. You have been rather cross with them lately,” she said, and you sighed. 

“I love ‘em, I do, but sometimes they smother me—you understand what I mean? Ever since I woke up they haven’t left me alone, and I need some breathing room, Alci,”

Alcina patted your thigh, and bent down to kiss you. “I’ll speak to them about respecting your space, darling. But they’re just doing it out of love, you must realize,”

You sighed softly, but nodded. “Yeah, I get it. Just been awhile since I’ve had people care about me like y’all do, I guess,”

Alcina smiled sweetly, pulling on her discarded underwear and standing. She held her hand out to you. “Would you be a dear and hand me my robe that you’re sitting on? I’d rather not be walking around my castle nearly nude,”

You raised an eyebrow. “Maybe I want to admire you a little longer, Alci—it’s not everyday you see perfection,” 

Her eyes widen and a blush formed on her face almost immediately.

You grinned, proud of yourself. You still got rizz, Y/N. Fuck yeah. 

“ Iubirea mea ,” she said, her tone almost a warning. “Give me my robe so you can make me come again,” 

Your eyes widened this time, and you stood up immediately, handing the robe to her. “Yes ma’am,” was all you breathed out, and she bent down to kiss you.

Okay, Alcina Dimitrescu may have been a bottom, but she certainly wasn’t powerless . 

Fuck, was she a power bottom?

Chapter Text

You had woken up right before the sun rose over the mountains like you normally did—Alcina did not; you had to do a double take the moment you had opened your eyes and saw the very much naked woman right next to you, her mouth slightly open and soft snores coming from her.

Being as silent as you could, you extracted yourself from her bed and picked up your discarded jeans and dirty t-shirt from the floor—Alcina hadn’t minded you being in your work clothes while fucking her, but she did draw the line at sleeping in them.

You felt giddy; you felt happy , without a shadow of something overlooking it. 

Kissing the woman on the forehead in silent goodbye after getting redressed, you made your way back to your cottage to get your plan ready for the day. 

The hut was silent, and fucking freezing; you might add. The cold didn’t bother you all that much, but even you knew when it was hypothermia-levels of chill. Gone were the days of the daughters’ visitations, it would seem. 

You wasted little time in cleaning yourself up and getting ready: you donned your thick tan work coat along with your customary flannel and jean combo and debated for a moment before shoving a beanie you hadn’t worn in years on your head. You mulled over what you wanted to do while you laced up your boots, before deciding where you were going to be predominantly for the day: the garden. The groundskeeper, a young, very fruity man who couldn’t have been older than 20, had enlisted your help to remove the dead flowers and trees that had accumulated under the previous one a couple of weeks before the library incident, and you weren’t rude enough to keep him waiting on you for much longer for fear he would be hollowed out and hung like the last one, per his nervous rambling when he came to you with the request. 

The men of the castle lived in what looked like a stable on the other side of the castle; the sun had crested by the time you made it to the living quarters, and you could hear faint laughter from the inside, then men presumably eating breakfast. Most of the men weren’t permitted to step foot in the castle, two or three of them special cases, so Olimpia always sent a couple of scullery maids with cooked meals to them, three times a day, seven days a week. If only Alcina knew Olimpia was her biggest rival for the head of the castle, you thought with a chuckle. 

You had been in the men’s living quarters only one time before today; you had to borrow a few tools for something you were working on, and so you were directed to the segregated group of the castle’s employment by the lady herself, a sneer on her face and a dark look in her eyes. 

It took a few minutes for someone to answer the door; he was a gruff, older man who you knew maintained the cellar’s distillery, due to the haunted look in his eye and the fact he was one of the few men permitted in the castle.

“You’re letting the warmth out,” he said as a way of greeting you, before tugging you inside and slamming the door behind you. “Sorin told us you’d be by to help him with clearing the grounds eventually,” 

You nodded, and he hummed, gesturing to a cracked door where all the noise was coming from. “Have you eaten?”

You shook your head. “No, I don’t really eat—”
“Eat. Makes the cold less harsh on your body,” he grunted, before walking away from you and into the loud room.

You followed him; what else were you gonna do? Standing by the front door looking like a fucking idiot? You saw Sorin’s blonde head peak up when you entered the dining room, and he immediately shot up from his chair and rushed to you.

“You’re here!” he shouted, pulling you into a very tight hug, his face smashed into your shoulder. “Oh, thank the Black God—Petre told me he overheard the Ladies talking about how disheveled the grounds were and I was fucking terrified they were going to come and kill me!” he yelled, his voice muffled.

“Boy, he only told you that 'cause you were pissing us all off with your fucking singing!” one of the men snapped, and Sorin whipped around to look at the man who said it. 

“Oh, fuck off, Anton! At least I have some skills ; what do you have, drinking ?”

A roar of laughter emits from the men, and you chuckle along with them. You had missed talking to men, honestly. There was no one in the castle that shared a background with you, and there was only so much gossip you could take about so-and-so and “what did she say? That bitch ,”

Not to say men didn’t gossip. It was just a different type, one a person would have to experience to understand what you meant. 

“Come, sit down with us, newblood! You’re the mechanic the castle girls talk about?” another man asked, and you shrugged. 

“Depends on what you’ve heard,” you joked, and the man laughed.

“Good answer!” he called, and Sorin pointed to an empty seat on the corner next to a boy who couldn’t have been older than fifteen. 

“Farthest seat from Anton so you don’t smell his cheap liquor,” he joked, and you smiled half-heartedly. Drinking was still a very sore subject for you, but you weren’t about to tell these men that. It was coming up on two months sober for you, a fact Bela had reminded you of recently that made you both nervous and happy. This really was uncharted territory for you, now—no habit that was ruining your life, in love with a great woman, a decent job, if not for the near-death bit, and foreign forgiveness.

“Thanks, kid,” you said, sitting down next to the actual kid. You pulled off your coat and flannel and a symphony of whistles echoed in the room.

“Tattoos! You really are an outsider, mechanic! How did you manage to be cursed enough to wind up in this place?”

By the time y’all were done with breakfast, a measly mix of bacon and eggs, the men knew more about you than any woman in the castle did, but that was mainly because of the stupid-ass questions they asked. 

What your favorite color, food, and animal were, were some of the many, many questions asked. 

It had warmed up slightly, though, in the time of visitation, so you weren’t gonna complain too much. The one downfall to agreeing to help Sorin, though, was his nonstop fucking chattering . 

You had been working for only about twenty minutes before it got to you. 

“...and my ma, now, she always made us wear our socks inside out—”
“Hey Sorin, could you do me a massive favor and shut the fuck up, please?”

He let out a massive sigh. “Oh, not you too—I’m sorry I like to be a conversationalist. Sue me,” 

“I’ll do more than suing, kid—” your comeback was interrupted by the arrival of Alex, a displeased look on her face. She was wrapped in more layers than you had ever seen a person wear before, and you laughed before it divulged into that gross cough you couldn’t shake. 

“You here to lose your lei, kid?” you called, and she flipped you off. Fuck, you loved teaching her all manners of fuck-off.

“I’m here for my brother, actually. He requested my help with these damn plants on my off day, didn’t you, dear Sorin?”

You raised an eyebrow. Alex and Sorin, siblings? Small world—small village, you corrected. 

“Alexandreina was the one to tell me to ask you for help with the plants,” Sorin said, and you hummed.

“Well, with the three of us, we should finish relatively quick—hop to it, men,” 

Alex huffed, before swearing. “I don’t have my gloves, dammit—Olimpia said she’d have my head if I let any more heat out,”

You peeled off your gloves and threw them at her, your hands immediately freezing. “For your dainty hands, m’lady. Now get to fucking work,”

The cold made the work go by slowly, your progress hindered by the growing stiffness of your fingers. But progress was being made—almost half of the castle’s overgrown shrubbery and flowers were trimmed or pulled. The siblings also worked well together—you watched almost an almost unconscious camaraderie between them. It made a sharp pang enter your chest and you had to nearly shove your hands into the frozen ground to stop yourself from spiraling.

Remembering last night made both your cheeks warm and your anxiety rise. Scarlett…

God, would you call her? You hadn’t ever expected an answer like that one; maybe one cursing your name and wishing for your demise, but not a fucking here’s my number, call me one.

“You seem troubled, mechanic—one of the maids said she saw you sulking around the castle last night,” Alex said, attempting to yank up a long-dead rosebush.

You rolled your eyes. “Haven’t y’all ever learned about minding your damn business?”

“No. The second thing a maid learns is to always be vigilant,”
“What’s the first?” Sorin asked, going over help his sister and pulling up the rose bush with ease.

“To never ask questions,” she huffed, glancing over at you. “The third is to always protect each other,” 

“I’m fine, kid,” you said, “Honestly. I always sulk around. Comes with the territory of being the castle handyman,”

“So if I asked Marion about the lady, what would she say?”
You look away, trying to hide your immediate grin. “I think she’d say the lady’s sexually satisfied,” you deadpanned, standing up from the weed patch you were pulling.

“NO! You did not!” Alex exclaimed, and rushed over to hug you. “Oh, you don’t know how much lei you’ve just put in my pocket—I had bet you and the lady would fuck before Christmas and I was right ! Olimpia can suck it!” 

You recoiled from the hug, looking down at the woman. “There was a fucking bet going on, and Olimpia was fucking in it? ” 

She laughed. “Oh, mechanic, there’s been a bet for when you and the lady would get together for months —Marion started it, so be mad at her if you must—”
“Lady Dimitrescu, right? You fucked the Countess?” Sorin squeaked, and you raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Is there another lady of the castle?” 

“Olimpia,” he and Alex said at the same time, and you burst into laughter. 

“Oh, Black God, you have to give me details, mechanic—was she loud? Did she beg?” Alex said, and you immediately blushed, the answers to those questions both hard yeses. 

“I’m not talking about this with you,” you muttered, kneeling back down to your weed bed. “If you want an answer, you can ask Alcina herself—”
“Ooo, Alcina —so this wasn’t just a fuck-once-and-done scenario, was it?” Alex interrupted, and you narrowed your eyes.

Was it a fuck once type of thing? Y’all had said the love you’s and shit, but could it be that scenario? Or did both your emotions get the better of y’all and you just fucked to fuck?
“Oh, Alex, I think you’ve broken the mechanic. Did you not put a label on it?” Sorin asked, coming over to you and sitting next to you, crosslegged. Alex kneeled next to you, resting on the back of her legs. 

“Should we have?” you asked, pulling a weed out of the ground and hissing when one of its barbs caught itself on you. A droplet of blood rolled down your finger, and you let it fall to the cold ground. “She fell asleep too fast after to really talk about it, and she was asleep when I left,”

“You spent the night? Did she want you to hold her after? If not, definitely a one-time thing,” Alex said, and Sorin hummed in agreement. 

“No, we… spooned , as you kids say,”

Sorin chuckled. “Was she big spoon or little?”

“Why are we even talking about this? It’s cold as fuck and I want to get this shit done,” you snapped, and Alex audibly huffed. 

“There it is,” she murmured, and you whipped your head to look at her. 

“What? The fuck you mean?”

She sighed softly, reaching out and patting your hand. “You always get defensive when you don’t want to talk about something. I’m sorry if my comment seemed snide, mechanic—”

“I told her I loved her and she said it back,” 

“Oh, you lesbians really do it differently,” Sorin said, and you looked over at him with narrowed eyes. He raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, just to let you know, it wasn’t just a hook-up—y’all are married now—”
Your eyes widened; was that a Romanian culture thing? Oh, fuck, not marriage —

Alex huffed. “Sorin, you’re scaring her; no, you’re not married, but I’ll agree with my idiot brother: it definitely wasn’t a one-time thing. You’re just going to have to talk to her about labels and such,”
You sighed. “It’s…it’s just been awhile since I’ve been in a relationship—a true , loving relationship. Love is hard to do when you’re addicted to fucking everything up,” 

“Well, the faster we finish this garden, the faster you can go and talk to Alcina about things,” Sorin said, and you shook your head at him.

“If she ever hears you say her first name, you’re dead, kid,” you said, and Alex nodded. 

“I’ll have to write Ma and Pa that their little boy has been sliced into ribbons,”
His face paled, and he immediately stood. “Back to work!” he exclaimed, pulling weeds with excessive vigor. 

Alex used your shoulder to push herself up off the ground. “You’re a good person, mechanic,” 

You work slower than you had been before while mulling over everything that was just told to you, the icy air seeping into your pants and chilling you to the bone.

Good person—doesn’t anyone know you?
You suppose you haven’t really disclosed your past to most people; not even Alcina knew half of it, and you only told her specific parts because you weren’t of sound mind.

She deserved to know who you truly were before you put a label on it. Alcina may be considered a monster by many, but so were you. 

By the time it had warmed up enough to where you weren’t actively dying of hypothermia, only a small portion of the garden remained. You let Alex and Sorin go eat their lunch, the girl prospectively getting a small fortune from Olimpia. You swore you’d grab something after you finished what you were doing, but you knew that wasn’t true. 

It was like the happiness you felt was canceling out the dread you had given yourself; you felt nothing.

Pulling up another dead rose bush, you felt eyes on you. You turned towards the forest edge and watched as a figure clothed in all black walked in from the path you and Daniela had taken all that time ago, a white thing clutched in their grasp. 

You knew they were looking at you somehow, but the opening of the castle doors and Alcina’s emergence from them interrupted you both. The woman was completely dressed, hat angled on her head and all. Very different from the last sight of her, you remembered with a small smirk. 

Alcina greeted the person warmly, putting a hand on their shoulder and ushering them inside. 

An hour later, Sorin and Alex returned, a basket of food clutched in the girl’s grasp. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to continue my help with the garden—Lady Beneviento has arrived early, and they’re struggling to prepare everything,” Alex told you, shoving the basket in your hands.

“Lady Beneviento?” you asked, opening the basket and frowning softly when a full meal was in it. 

“One of the Four Lords—I really must be going, mechanic. Be safe, you two,” she said, before hurriedly trekking back to the kitchen entrance. 

“She’s worried,” you observed, setting the basket aside and going back to work. 

“Lady Beneviento is someone to be feared; my great-grandfather was her gardener, years and years ago. There are rumors that he took his life under her influence, and I’m inclined to believe them. She has this creepy-ass doll she carries around with her if you want something to actually be scared of,”

“Good to know,” you said, sparing a glance at the front doors. Lady Beneviento sounded like someone to be wary of, that was for sure. 

Sometime later, you and Sorin were done, sweat dripping off of both of you and many bloody scratches adorning your fingers. Alex did not return your gloves to you, that bitch. 

“Thank you, Y/N—”
“No need to thank me, kid. Whenever I need your help, will I have it?”

“Always. And if you ever get bored of gossiping with my sister, you know where I live. Good luck, mechanic,” Sorin said, shaking your hand firmly and then promptly apologizing when you wince in pain. 

The trek to your cottage was calm; you noted the disparity of the outside of your home and added it to the mental list you had made. You remembered all the home improvement things you did with your father when you were growing up and got anxious all over again. 

You’d face the fire, but whether or not you wanted to face the consequences was the thing that was burning you alive now. 

You pulled off your layers the moment you walked into your cottage and went to doctor your hands; the sting had dulled significantly, but you didn’t want an infection. 

“Probably don’t need to be making a racket in the castle right now,” you said out loud, reasoning that you could just work on your truck for the rest of the day. 

You opened up your garage door and shuffled through your CD collection until you settled on one of your more obscure albums, Muchacho by Phosphorescent. The opening trills of Sun, Arise! (An Invocation, An Introduction) was what you needed to hear, and you got to tinkering on your truck.

You were trying to fix whatever was wrong with the fuel lines when the ladies showed up.

“...has been instrumental to the uptake of my castle,” you heard Alcina’s voice right outside your cottage, and you pushed yourself out from underneath your truck enough to see the women walking towards you.

“Whatcha hiding under there for?” a shrill voice asked right next to your ear, and you swore, whipping your head around to look up at a—

“Holy fucking shit, you’re a doll!” you yelled, and the doll cackled, holding out its little porcelain hand. 

“Oh, I like you! The name’s Angie!”

You took in a few deep breaths to calm your racing heart and hesitantly reached out to shake Angie’s hand. “Uh, nice to meet you, ma’am?”

The doll shrieked in what you assumed was delight and clapped its little hands. “How fun! Donna, can we take it? Oh, please, it would make for a great experiment!” 

“Absolutely not,” you heard Alcina snap, and you looked over to her to see a deep furrow in her brow. “As I said, the castle would be in shambles without it—I can spare a few maids and workers for you to take, but the mechanic stays,”

“Aw, you’re no fun! Mother Miranda said we could take whoever we wanted! Don’t you want to know what horrible things we can do?”
You watched fury face across your lover’s face, before being quickly controlled. “I’m afraid my daughters have become rather attached to it, if you wish for honesty. I’m not sure my remaining staff would survive the resulting slaughter,”
Angie huffed. “Donna respects your wishes. Pooie for me. Hey, mechanic!” she yelled, and you turned your head hesitantly to look at the doll before a fistful of yellow powder was thrown into your face. 

“Ah, fuck!” you cursed, pushing yourself out from underneath your truck and trying to rub the powder out of your eyes.

“ Draga —Donna, control your cursed doll!” you heard Alcina yell, before Angie’s cackles filled the room, becoming almost echoed.

You felt a cold hand on your shoulder and opened your eyes enough to see the bloody face of your mother staring back at you. 

“Holy shit!” you yelled, stumbling back in fear and tripping over your creeper. You knocked the breath out of yourself and watched in horror as the room darkened into complete darkness and your mother walked over to you, kneeling down and smiling down at you, sick satisfaction in her gaze.

“You did this to me,” she said, and you watched as her face rotted in front of you, chunks of meat falling down onto you. You gagged, scrambling to get off of the ground. “You did this to me, Y/N. Remember the anger you felt at me? Remember picking up the monkey wrench?”

“I didn’t mean to—” you breathed out, but the smell of rot got into your mouth and you couldn’t talk anymore. 

“You killed me, Y/N—”
“Leave me alone!” you screamed, the loudest you had been since the attack. Pain filled your throat, but you didn’t care—you had never been this terrified in your life, everything in you telling you to run, but you didn’t know where you were, where any of this was. 

Your mother laughed, before reaching down and picking up the same wrench she was talking about, the one you never got rid of. “How many swings does it take to get to the brain? I think the answer you got was five if my memory serves me right,” 

You tried to speak but couldn’t get any words out, your mother’s laughter quickly becoming frantic.

“Donna Beneviento, enough!” you heard Alcina roar in the back of your mind, and just as quickly as she appeared, your mother vanished, the black disappearing and the real world coming back to you. Angie stared down at you, jumping up and down with glee, and Alcina looked down at you in pure, stricken horror. 

Harsh words were exchanged between the doll and the lady, but you couldn’t hear them over the buzzing in your ears. 

You didn’t realize the doll and its master had left until Alcina had helped you up and deposited you on your bed, but the words she said to you, you didn’t understand. The buzzing was too loud.

Alcina said one last thing to you before leaving through the garage door, leaving you and the memories of what you did with you. 

Happiness can never last, can it? 

The buzzing faded; how long that took, you didn’t know. Alcina reappeared shortly after; how she knew, you didn’t know. All you knew now was that it was too quiet.

“I feel nothing but anger at what she did,” she told you harshly, kneeling down to look you in the eye. “She had no right to do that to you, and I will make sure that never happens again,”

“I saw my mom,” you croaked out, the pain in your throat almost unbearable.

Alcina grabbed your hand and brought it to her lips, kissing it gently. “I’m sorry, Iubirea mea . I know that must have been painful for you—”
“I beat her head in with a wrench,” you continued, and her eyes widened slightly. You go to say more, but your voice leaves you.

You did not feel guilt for your mother’s death—on all accounts, she deserved it. You felt guilty for letting it consume you the way it did, letting it control you for as long as you let it. 

“We’ll speak about this more in the morning,” Alcina said, kissing your cheek gently. “I’ll be here when you wake, my love,” 

You didn’t ever go to sleep, too afraid, and neither did Alcina, too in love, but you and her stared at each other until the sun broke the horizon. 

“Do you wish to speak about it, my love?” she asked you, her eyes heavy and voice thick with needed sleep.

“What more do you need to know?” you asked her, equally as tired but too scared of that fucking doll to sleep. 

“Are you a danger to our—to my family?” she asked, and you felt nothing but love when you realized her faux-pau. 

“No, Alcina,” you murmured, before reaching over and pulling her into a deep kiss. When Alcina pulled back to straighten out her back, you slid off the bed and kissed her even deeper, the power you felt over the woman astounding.

“ Draga mea ,” she moaned into the kiss, before reaching up and pushing you back gently. “We must stop before this continues into something I cannot handle right now,”
You kissed her again, before sitting back on your bed. “Join me?” you asked, and she chuckled gently. 

“I’m afraid your bed isn’t sturdy enough for me—”
“Oh, now you’re just being rude to my craftmanship,” you croaked good-naturedly, and you patted the space next to you.

Hesitantly, she stood and winced. “I’m far too old to be on my knees like that,” she said, and you laughed. She rolled her eyes at your antics but sat down next to you anyways. The bed dipped, but no structural damage occurred.

“I love you,” you told her, and she kissed you softly.

“And I you, my darling,”

“Do you still want to be with me, knowing what I did?”

“I’ve massacred hundreds and have an insatiable taste for blood, Y/N—do you still wish to be with me ?”

You kissed her as your answer and pulled her down to be next to you. “You make me so happy,”
She yawned, kissing the top of your head. “I’m inclined to agree with you,”

**********
You knew it was a dream because the curtains were gray, and your mother sat next to you, writing something down on a ripped piece of paper. 

“Will you still visit, darling?” she asked you, absentmindedly. 

“Not if I have a choice,” you answered.

She chuckled, looking over at you. “There’s always a choice, Y/N. Be free of your guilt, or whatever bullshit saying you need to hear,” 

“Will you be all by yourself here?”

She shook her head. “There will be no more here when you stop visiting. I’ll be dead, finally. Well and truly dead,”

“I’m sorry to have kept you from your peace,”

She laughed, sliding you the note and patting your hand. “Ditto, kid!”

Sun’s Arising (A Koan, An Exit) played in your head, and when you woke up, Alcina's golden eyes were already watching you, a loving smile on her face.

Chapter Text

Waking up for the second time in a row having slept mostly peacefully, next to a woman you knew you didn’t deserve but knew loved you anyways, you felt nothing but tranquility for the first time in a lot of fucking miserable years.

You lay there, watching Alcina’s chest rise and fall with even breaths longer than you cared to admit before sitting up, looking over to the bright outside covered by the thin curtains, not gray nor blue, and laying back down.

You could afford one lazy day—hell, the day was probably almost over for all you knew.

You don’t know when you drifted off again; all you knew was Alcina’s soft lips kissing you was a heavenly way to wake up, one you wouldn’t be right without again.

“Good morning,” she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep.

You chuckled softly, kissing her again. “I think we missed that mark a few hours ago, Alci,” you joked, and she huffed.

“I just had to say it once—you weren’t there when I awoke yesterday,” she said, her brows furrowing.

You reached up and brushed a stray strand of hair out of her face. “There was work to be done, baby,” you muttered as an apology, and she raised an eyebrow, a dark blush spreading over her face.

“I’ve never been called that one before,” 

You chuckled, cupping her jaw and bringing her down for a kiss. “I’ll stop if you want, lover,”

“Hush, you,” she whispered, but you knew she liked it judging by the way her eyes darkened and she kissed you with more passion than she had been.

“How long do you think we have before your daughters send out a search party?” you husked in between kisses, and Alcina chuckled. 

“Good question, though it is one I cannot answer,”

You smiled into the kiss. “If you take your dress off, I bet I can make you come in less than five minutes,”

A deep inhale and widening of eyes made you realize that was indeed the right answer, as did the way Alcina sat up and began unbuttoning her dress with a fervor you hadn’t seen before. 

You loved how soft her skin was underneath your rough hands, how you could trace the visible black veins and hear the lady sigh and groan because of your administrations; you knew you held a power over her no one else had in years, and that both excited you and terrified you.

You pushed her down onto the bed and clamored on top of her, pushing her dress down until you had easy access. 

You shouldn’t have been as surprised as you were when you felt how wet she was, but you were, and fuck did that do it for you.

You could almost hear a voice in the back of your mind counting down the minutes, and you wasted no time in touching her the way you had learned yesterday night made her go wild. 

“Oh, fuck ,” she moaned, arching into your hand when you finally inserted your fingers into her. “Fuck, Y/N, you feel so good,”

You had to bite Alcina’s stomach from moaning at her words, and after a few more pumps you felt her spasm around your fingers, the moan she let out the loudest you had ever heard from her before. 

Fuck, this woman was going to be the death of you, and you were more than okay with that. “Kiss me,” she demanded thickly, and you immediately obliged, kissing her deeper than you ever had before. 

“I think that was three minutes,” you muttered, grinning at the scathing look the woman gave you.

“Oh, you do, do you? I’ll show you three minutes, lover —”
“Y/N!” you heard a voice shout from outside your cabin, and it took you a moment to realize it was Sorin. Your eyes widened, and you got off of Alcina to go and intercept him before he came in. “Y/N, are you alright? I’m coming in—”
“No!” you shouted, but it was too late—the boy had already opened the door and walked in, the frigid air of the outside world following him. 

You watched him look between you and Alcina like a deer in headlights, before looking only at you. “I’ll, uh…tell Alex to inform the Ladies that you and Lady Dimitrescu are okay…” he trailed off, before bowing clumsily to Alcina and practically sprinting out of the door, leaving it swinging wide open.

You blinked once, before walking over and shutting the door gently, staring at the wood grain of the door trying not to laugh.

When you finally turned to look at Alcina, you saw silent tears streaming down her face, before she burst into laughter. 

You furrowed your brows but couldn’t help but join in, even with your broken laughter. “Fuck, you see his face? Poor kid—gonna be lookin’ over his shoulder for you every waking minute,” you joked after a moment, and Alcina let out a snort. 

“I do not know how he and Alexandreina are related,” she said, and you chuckled, sitting down on the bed cross-legged.

“People always thought that about me and my sisters—‘Miranda, how could you be related to that bum ass buffoon?’ or ‘Scarlett, darling, are you sure you ain’t just adopted ‘cause I ain’t sure y’all can be related?’” you chuckled. “My sophomore chemistry teacher asked that last one—apparently managing to make napalm when we was supposed to be toasting smores really don’t reflect kindly on your younger sibling’s ability to be allowed to do labs in chemistry. Who knew?”

“I would ask how you even managed to do such a thing, but knowing you, it really isn’t too hard to imagine,”

You laughed, reaching over and laying your hand on her bare thigh. “I bet Cassandra’d love to learn how to make napalm—”
“If you ever teach her that, I will never kiss you again,” Alcina threatened, pushing your head up and kissing your cheek. 

“That sounds awfully like your ability to cum in three minutes being taken away,” you snapped back lovingly, and she glared at you. 

“You wouldn’t dare —” you silenced her with a kiss before sliding off of the bed, scampering off to your garage to grab your CD player and collection and coming back to your lover. 

“I wanna show you an album my sisters and I used to always listen to when we was younger,” you said, flipping through your discs until you found it. “Shit’s worn out, but fuck do these bitches know what’s up,”

The moment Long Time Gone started its bluegrass beginning, Alcina had already tugged off your shirt and was trailing kisses down your neck to your chest.

By the time Tortured, Tangled Hearts had started playing (you had stopped Alcina during the entirety of Travelin’ Soldier due to you becoming emotional), your face was between her legs and you were being suffocated by her thighs. What a noble way to fucking go. 

Godspeed (Sweet Dreams) found you and Alcina cuddling, your face buried in between her breasts and her hand stroking your hair sweetly.

“I understand why you and your sisters loved this album,” she said, her voice warm. “These… bitches , as you so eloquently put it, do know what is up,” 

You chuckled softly. “Fuck yeah they do,”

“Your sister Scarlett requested for you to call her,” she said, and you sighed.

“She did,” you agreed, and Alcina scratched your shaved sides.

“Will you?”

You nodded, but didn’t iterate. 

“If you need me to be there, I will, Iubirea mea ,” she murmured softly, and you kissed in between her breasts.

“I love you,” you told her, and she smiled. 

“And I you, Y/N. More than you will ever know,”

Chapter Text

There was something wrong with you, but you didn’t know what it was just yet. The cold bit through the hut’s windows while you sat in your recliner reading while Hole sang your favorite song of theirs, Doll Parts , softly in the background. You added the windows to your mental list of things needing to be redone in your home.

It was late, almost midnight; Alcina’s visit to your cottage had been brief, as had most interactions with the woman. With both the vineyard and her experimentation piling up on her and her wanting a minimum amount of work during the month of December so she could spend it fully with her daughters, she explained to you after bringing you your dinner and kissing you that her absence had nothing to do with you but eventually, she’d be around more often to spend time with you. Sad, but you understood—your work had piled on as well. Nearly dying does that to a person.

You had finished the last banister this afternoon—all that was left was applying finish to them and installing them, which you planned on doing tomorrow morning. 

One more thing you could check off the list that set on your nightstand.

The book was one of Bela’s—it was hard to read, but you were trying to power through so you could have something to talk about with the eldest Dimitrescu daughter. 

You flipped through the pages with stiff fingers until you felt bored enough to try to sleep, but even then staring at the ceiling was all you did until it was time to get back to it. 

Yawning, you slid out of the bed and splashed cold water on your face until you decided you were awake enough except you hardly were anywhere close. You planned out how you were going to go about things while you got dressed in a pair of jeans and a simple graphic t-shirt.

You could install the banisters before oiling so you could sand out any imperfections you saw doing your task, you figured. 

“Physical install shouldn’t be too hard,” you said out loud, pulling on your boots. You tugged on a thick hoodie before you opened your garage door, the chill immediately noticeable. 

You sighed before grabbing your toolbox, vowing to make the minimum amount of trips back and forth to the castle, and left your house. 

The wind bit into your exposed flesh with a fury you weren’t quite used to. By the time you made it to the servant entrance, you felt like someone could toss a stone at you and you’d shatter into a million pieces. 

The intense heat of the castle made you peel off your hoodie in an instant, and you hurried in your dropoff of the toolbox at the stairwell to retreat to the kitchen where Olimpia and most of the scullery maids were working.

“Mornin,’” you told Olimpa as you washed your hands in the sink, noticing the stressed look on a couple of the maids’ faces. “Lots of y’all today,” you commented, and Olimpia audibly sighed when she heard you. 

“Mother Miranda is supposed to be here sometime today and the lady wants everything to be perfect—your breakfast is in the pot,” she said, before scurrying off to another section of the kitchen. 

You sighed, grabbing a bowl of what looked to be porridge and groggily scarfing it down in the corner of the room, watching the women work. 

God bless them all. You wouldn’t do that work no matter how much someone paid you. 

You rinsed your bowl in the sink much to Olimpia’s pleasure before getting the fuck out of the kitchen and to your job.

You started the installation of the banners, being mindful of how much noise you were making. Made putting everything together take longer but you weren’t in a rush. Your eyes drooped while you worked but you kept busy enough to not fall asleep. 

You only got tired in the daylight now, a fact that pissed you the fuck off. 

Whiskey could fix that , an unwanted voice in the back of your head whispered.

Fuck off , you responded in kind.

You had fixed half of the left main staircase and were sanding a scuff out of one when Alcina made her first appearance of the day, her staple cream dress and black hat making her look sexy as fuck to you. 

God, I’m so fucking tired.

“Mornin,’” you told her while you faced her. She walked down the stairs you were working on, looking at the banisters you had installed with a neutral expression. 

“Do you have to work in the castle today?” she asked you, irritation lacing her voice. 

You squinted your eyes, taken aback. Your tiredness had begun its transformation into annoyance by the time you spoke. “If I didn’t have to work in the castle today, I wouldn’t be in here right now with my tools, Alcina,”

“We’re in public—it’s Lady Dimitrescu,” she almost hissed, glancing around. You tossed your sandpaper down.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you asked in a harsh tone, and this time, her eyes widened. 

“Pardon?”

You took in a deep breath, before turning back to the banisters and grabbing your discarded piece of sandpaper. “Nothing,” you muttered, a muscle in your cheek twitching.

“Y/N—meet me in my room after breakfast?” Alcina asked, her voice almost timid by the end of her sentence.

“Sure,” you huffed, faux-focusing on the scuff.
What the fuck? Why is she acting like this?

You didn’t know what you had done to deserve to be treated like this.

“Thank you,” she said, before continuing down the stairs, beautiful as always. 

You took your time sanding out the mark, trying to sort out facts in your sleep-deprived mind.

“Maybe Alcina and I’ll fuck tonight so I can get some goddamn sleep,” you whispered harshly to yourself, setting down your sandpaper and dusting off your hands on your pants. 

You got busy installing another banister, this one more complex than the last. You swore when you broke a piece off and had to take a few moments to collect yourself before going down the stairs and fixing the banister with some superglue and setting spray.

You grabbed another banister and put it in, careful to watch for sharp edges. It was hard doing some of this stuff by yourself.

Maybe I’ll ask Alcina for an apprentice , you thought with a huff of laughter.

“Yeah, right,” you said out loud, grabbing another heavy mahogany banister and getting it into position. Your muscles burned with exertion and your eyes burned with the need for sleep, but you persevered. 

The end of breakfast came later than you expected it, so you were almost at the end of the staircase when the girls came and swarmed you. 

“Shit, Y/N, you look rough,” Cassandra said when they fully reformed, before whistling at the banisters. “These look way better than you, though. Like, way better,”

“Really should pursue a career in comedy with your fucking jokes,” you huffed, straining to keep ahold of the banister and attach it at the same time. 

Cassandra comes to your rescue, though, keeping the wood perfectly level for you to drill and screw.

Fuck, I’m so tired. “Thanks,” you grunted, hoping she knew you were genuine. She nodded her head; she did. 

“Didn’t sleep again last night, Y/N?” Daniela asked, sitting on the stairs above you so you could look at her from your position.

You nodded. “Don’t know what it is, kid. Tired as fuck the entire day then the minute the sun goes down, I’m wide awake,”

“I think I’ve read about something like this before, Y/N,” Bela said, “We’ll have to go through some of the medical journals I have later,”

“Gotta go talk to your mom. You know why she’s acting so fucking weird?” you asked, and they glanced at each other. 

“We suspect it has something to do with Mother Miranda’s visit today,” Daniela told you, but Bela shook her head.

“I don’t think that’s all there is, though—Mother’s never acted this way with any of the other visits before, not since I’ve been alive, anyway,”

“Mother also hadn’t been dating a mannish mechanic from America, sisters,” Cassandra chimed in, and you sighed in response, standing up. 

“Please don’t touch any of my tools,” you told them, before making your way to Alcina’s room. 

You hadn’t even put up your hand to knock before the lady opened the door and dragged you in. 

“Alcina—”
“Please, forgive me for my temper, draga mea ,” she pleaded to you once she had closed the door, kneeling down to be almost your height. “I’m scared, Y/N. Terribly scared,” she almost whispered as she reached up and cupped your face in her gloved hands, her fingertips warmer than the almost unbearable cold of her leather gloves. “I haven’t been this scared in a very long time, not in many years,”

You watched her with tired eyes, trying to think of what to say. 

“I would never admit this to anyone else but you, Y/N—I love you, more than I have loved any other,”

“What are you scared of?” you asked her. She smiled at you sadly. 

“For how many things in this castle go bump in the night, you’d think I'd be braver,” Alcina said, running her fingers through your hair. “But not even immortality can make me not be afraid of Mother Miranda and what she will do to you once she figures out about you,”

You squint your eyes at her, confused. “I don’t understand, Alcina. Is it our relationship you’re so scared of?”

“Of course, I’m scared of her finding out about our relationship, Y/N, but that’s because she’d kill you for taking my attention away from her goals and wounding me. I’m terrified, darling, because you’re not completely human, not anymore. I know you know that even if it is deep down. I’m sorry I don’t know how or why this is but she will use you for her gain and I will not allow her to do that to you. I would kill you myself before I allowed her to hurt you,”

You let her words hang in the air while you tried to sort through the jumble of thoughts and emotions in your head.

“You didn’t sleep again last night,” she said like she had just now noticed the cogs in your brain turning three times too slow.

You shook your head, before removing yourself from her grasp. “I need to get to work, Alcina. Wanna try and finish the job before lunch,”

“You weren’t acting like this a few days ago, not since before Donna visited—”

“I can’t sleep, babe. That’s always been normal for me, remember?”

Alcina shook her head. “You’re not acting yourself,”

“You just said that’s ‘cause of Donna—”
“Y/N, you’re twisting my words,”

“No, Alci; you’re just not saying the right ones,”

She regarded you for a moment before opening the door slowly, only questions in her eyes. There was something dreadfully wrong with you and you knew it—something had changed within you after Donna’s visit. It was like the pollen had invaded your body and had fertilized something dark within you to grow.

You walked back to your work area and got back to it, irritation and exhaustion mixing into some weird mulch inside your mind. 

The work was repetitive, and your legs and shoulders were screaming with the amount of bending and lifting you were doing by yourself. You were pissed off, but that gave you an emotion to help anchor yourself with. 

You had finished most of the main staircase’s repair by lunch—you only had to put two more banisters in and then the finishing process so you’d count that to be a win. 

Taking in a deep breath and popping your always aching back, you gathered up your tools and took your time putting them away. Didn’t take you long to eat and doing things kept you awake was your reasoning.

“Shit, the sawdust,” you said, looking over at the dust that sanding and drilling had left around the side of the stairs. I’ll ask Alex to borrow a broom when I go to lunch , you figured and excused yourself to go to the servant quarters. 

“Oh, Y/N, I was just about to go fetch you!” Alex exclaimed when you walked into the semi-busy dining hall. 

“Just been keeping busy,” you explained to her, sitting down next to her and thanking a nameless maid when she set a plate down in front of you.

Why did you get special treatment?

— not completely human, not anymore—

None of that, now. Lunch was simple, soup. 

“ Ciorba de burta —tripe. The stomach of a cow,” Alex said, turning her nose up at the dish. She herself had a simple salad.

You ate it even though the idea of eating the stomach of a cow made you want to puke. You weren’t about to waste a meal prepared.

It didn’t taste like anything. 

What was wrong with you?

“You got a broom I can borrow for today? Sawdust I gotta clean up,” you asked when you had eaten the majority of the soup. 

“Of course; I’ll bring it by after lunch,”

You sat in silence until Alex nudged you with her shoulder. “You doing okay? Sorin told me he can see light coming from your cottage and you wandering around all night long here recently,”

“I get restless at night; can’t get to sleep, then I’m wide awake until daybreak,”

“Are you guilty of something?” Alex asked, “I can’t sleep when I’ve got a guilty conscious,” she added.

You shrugged. “Maybe. Tell Sorin to stop stalking me,”
“Already did,” she immediately said, and you chuckled softly. 

“Thanks for the broom, again. You’re a good friend, Alex,”

You walked back to the main staircase and frowned when a woman in a long black outfit was standing at your toolbox, examining one of your long screwdrivers.

“Who are you supposed to be?” she asked you, her only acknowledgment of your presence. 

“I could ask the same about you,” you snapped back, and she chuckled. 

She turned to face you, and obscuring her own face was an almost see-through beakish gold mask.

“I take it you are the owner of these tools?” she asked you, and you nodded. 

“Most call me the handyman around these treacherous parts,”

“American. How peculiar,” she said, before reaching up and abruptly grabbing your face, perfectly sharpened golden claw jewelry decorating each one of her fingers. 

You relished in the stinging pain of them sinking into your skin, the small droplets of blood from the wounds.

There was something intoxicating about this woman—you had to let her do what she wanted to do to you. It was almost evil, the pull you felt towards her. 

You got a pang of recognition when her almost hidden eyes looked you up and down, but you couldn’t place it. 

“Who are you?” you asked, and she smiled wickedly through the mask. 

“I think you know, Y/N,”

She released your face from her grasp, your blood drying on the ends of her claws, and laughed. “Oh, I love Americans. Every single one I’ve ever met has been the same—you never know when to give up,”

“No, we don’t,”

“—here’s the broom, Y/N. Sorry it took me a little while; Miss Daniela knocked over a vase and—” Alex’s innocent apology stopped the second she saw what was going on, her grip on the broom and dustpan going white-knuckle. 

“Black God,” she said hoarsely, before bowing deeply. “In life and in death, we give glory, Mother Miranda,”

“Clean up the handyman’s sawdust while we finish our conversation, would you?”

Alex immediately nodded and got to it, glancing over not-so-subtly every so often.

“You work hard,” Mother Miranda told you, before reaching over to touch your wrist. “May I?”

You nodded, and she gently ran a hand up your bare arm to your shoulder, her movement agonizingly slow. “You have excellent muscle definition,”

Her touch made you not tired anymore.

“Oh, you’re special, aren’t you?” she whispered, moving her hand up to cup your face. 

Alcina had done this exact same thing, just a few hours ago. 

“I don’t think so,”

She smirked, letting her claws draw blood as she trailed her fingers across your face while she stepped back. “Maid,” she called to Alex who immediately rose to attention from her post at the stairs. “Tell Lady Dimitrescu I’ve arrived,”

“Of course, Mother Miranda,” she bowed before nearly sprinting off to find Alcina.

The overwhelming exhaustion reappeared just as fast as it had disappeared, and Mother Miranda took notice. “What marvelous darkness you have brewing inside,” she told you, impressed. “I’ll have to keep an eye on you,”

Mother Miranda walked away just as Lady Dimitrescu emerged at the top of the stairs. “Mother,” she said, almost out of breath. “Apologizes, I was expecting you later in the day—”
“Oh, that’s quite alright, my daughter. I was just discussing your new banisters with your equally new handyman. You never do inform me of your interesting hires—what, scared I’m going to snatch them up and turn them into a freak like you?” she laughed, and Alcina’s face darkened enough for you to see from your post at the bottom of the staircase. 

“I never have thought it relevant, but I’ll be sure to inform you in the future, Mother,” 

“You are the best of the Lords, Lady Dimitrescu. I hope you know that,”

“Thank you, Mother,” Alcina said weakly, bowing her head. 

“Now, we have much to discuss, my daughter. I’ve come to understand there’s some form of plotting to come from your doggish brother,” she told Alcina, who was walking down to get to her.

“Heisenberg openly speaks about his hate, Mother. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn about a plot against your life nor one against mine,”

Alcina didn’t spare you more than a glance when she got to the bottom of the stairs, and it was too brief for you to understand how she was feeling. 

You stood there until they were long gone, and even longer until Alex came up to you hesitantly, her hand held out for you to take. “Let me clean your cuts for you, Y/N,”

You shook your head. “I have to finish this job first,”
“Y/N, you’re kinda freaking me out, you know that?”

Closing your eyes for a moment, you let out a soft sigh. “I’m sorry I don’t have an explanation right now,”

“Are you okay? Just tell me you’re okay and I’ll leave you alone, but if you lie I swear to the Black God I will beat you with this broom,”

You stared at her before chuckling. “I’ll be okay, Alex. Go on, get your chores done. I don’t want you getting in trouble on my behalf,” 

Alex nodded, and just like she had appeared, she had left, as silent as a maid. 

It was almost excruciating putting in the last two banisters while exhausted to your bones—you wanted Mother Miranda to put her hands on you and make you feel awake again. 

You realized, right after sweeping up all your sawdust, that you had forgotten your finish in your garage.

“Fuck,” you swore, before putting back on your hoodie and slowly walking over to the servants' entrance.

What was wrong with you?

The cold had lessened with the afternoon sunshine, but the wind still chilled you to your bones. 

Your walk to your cottage was uneventful; the grounds were looking better under Sorin’s keen eye even though it was dying from the cold. Stepping stones previously unknown had been revealed and made the trek easier for you. 

You took your time looking for your finish oil—you had started your Hole CD back up, the entirety of Violet a much-needed break from everything. 

By the time you made it back to the castle, almost half an hour had passed. 

Stripping off your hoodie, you got busy oiling the banisters, enhancing that rich wood color, and protecting it from wear and tear. 

The ornate ones were the hardest—you were working on each individually carved leaf when Mother Miranda and Alcina reappeared, both women seemingly agitated. 

Alcina argued against an unknown point. “What a ridiculous notion, Mother—the Mold would do no such things, I’m sure of it,” 

“You haven’t been around it as long as I have—Y/N! Come down here to me,” Mother Miranda called to you, and you set down your bottle of oil and rag gingerly. You wiped your oil-covered hands on your jeans while you walked down to them, and Alcina’s cold mask slipped off for a moment before she regained herself. 

Mother Miranda reached out and grabbed your shoulder, bringing you down to your knees for her. “When did you come into contact with the Mold, Y/N?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you said.

She stared down at you for a long moment, before letting her hand rest on your face. 

God, being awake felt so good. 

Mother Miranda smiled at you knowingly, before stepping back from you. “Impressive work, for a handyman,” was the last thing she said before summoning a maid to lead her outside. 

It was suddenly too quiet without the woman’s overbearing presence, and you looked at the ground instead of Alcina.

You didn’t want to see the anguish that you knew was on her face. 

No words were exchanged, so you went back up the stairs to your bottle of oil and rag and got back to work. Alcina just watched you, her gaze so heavy on you it felt crushing. 

“I don’t know anything about any mold,” you told her, breaking the tense silence. 

Alcina let out a loud sigh and reached up to rub at her face. “Oh, Y/N, I know,” she told you mournfully.

“After, uh, after I get done with this, can I—well, I manage to get some sleep when I’m with you and—”
“Yes, Y/N. You never have to ask me that, draga mea ,”

You closed your eyes and moment and took in a few deep breaths before reaching over and grabbing her hips, resting your head right underneath her chest. “I don’t know what’s wrong,”

She scratched your back through your shirt for a while before she sighed. “I know, darling,”

“I need to call my sister,” you told her.

“Yes, you do,” 

“You’ll be there with me?”

Alcina makes you look up at her, running her fingers through your mop of hair. “I’ll be with you always if you’ll let me,” 

“Even when I piss?”
She chuckled. “If you wanted me to be, I would gladly hold your hand,”

“I love you,” you said, and Alcina bent down and kissed you softly.

“And I you,” 

“Even though I’m, like, fucking dying?”

Alcina didn’t answer verbally, her narrowing of eyes your only response. 

“Not a good joke, huh? I get it; not everyone can be funny,”

The lady rolled her eyes. “I’m going to blame your attitude on your sleep deprivation, draga mea ,”

Probably wise , you thought as you looked at the lady. “You know you’re beautiful, right?”

She chuckled, a slight blush forming. “You’re very handsome yourself, Y/N,”

There was something about the nonchalant attitude about the strange people and unusual way of doing things around here that made you understand you ended up where you needed to be at the end of your journey. 

You knew you would never see your sisters in person again and now you had to learn how to be okay with that.

Alcina and the girls would help you, your friends too. 

It was gonna be okay.

Chapter Text

You didn’t know it was a dream because you weren’t in the kitchen of your childhood home, the curtains the wrong color. You had stripped almost naked and passed out from exhaustion in Alcina’s bed after finishing the banisters, but you didn’t know that. In your dream, you were working outside with Sorin and Alex again, but this time it was bright and warm, the flowers in full bloom. 

Alex wore a worn sunhat and a loose, flowy dress unsuited for the work they were doing. Scarlett owned a dress just like that, back in the States.

“Sorin, would you go and fetch me that trowel? I lied, I do need it,” she asked her brother, and he sighed. 

“I’m not gonna grab every fucking thing you forgot, Alex,” he grumbled, wiping off the dirt from his hands and leaving to go fetch the trowel.  

“So,” Alex said the moment he got out of earshot, “I met this guy—ah, before you go parental on me, just wait and listen,” she warned when your head immediately snapped up from the mound of flowers you were tending to. “He’s…different. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone like him,”
“Who is he?” you asked, and she smiled sweetly when she thought about him. 

“Maybe you know him—he lives in the village. Sebastian. His father owns the bookstore,” 

You shrugged. “Maybe,”

The bookstore wasn’t one of the places you frequented when you still lived in the village. 

“Anyways, the Ladies have been requesting lots of things we don’t have here, and either fortunately or unfortunately depending on how you look at it, I’ve been the fetcher of all these items. Miss Cassandra asked for a book about World War I weaponry last week so obviously, I went to the bookstore. Sebastian was working the counter when I arrived and was so nice and helpful, Y/N—found several tomes on the matter, and they were a fair price as well! Y/N, I can’t stop thinking about him. Can you help me? Butter up Lady Dimitrescu for me to visit for a week?”

You rolled your eyes and huffed, a small smile on your face. “Why not?”
Alex cheered softly and leaned over to hug you. “Thank you! Oh, you’re the best, Y/N!”

“Why’s Y/N the best?” Sorin asked with a grin as he approached with the forgotten trowel.

“Just ‘cause,” she responded in a sing-song voice, giving you a knowing look. She glanced over at the castle and swore. “Oh, shit, I forgot about the Reaping,” 

You looked over to where she was and saw Alcina standing there at the doorway, watching as a group of people emerged from the forest path you took with Daniela that fateful day. 

All young women, you realized with a sinking feeling in your chest. 

Alcina waited until all of them had made it to the front door before starting her speech, loud enough for the three of you to hear her. 

“Welcome, pets,” she began, her voice sharp and sultry at the same time. 

It unnerved you. “I must tell you I am forever indebted to you, for your willingness and ability to work for me. Please, hold out your hands, palm up,”
The women obliged, and you watched as Alcina’s claws emerged. No one reacted as she sliced into their hands, the blood welling up immediately. 

She did to them what she did to you that fateful day; tasted their blood. She made two of the girls step out of the line. 

“Now, the rest of you,” Alcina said, rubbing at her wrist while her claws retreated, “My personal handmaiden Marion will show you to your quarters where a fresh set of clothing and a meal will be provided. I believe each of you will do fine work for Castle Dimitrescu,”

Alcina waited until the new workers had entered the castle before facing the other two girls, her smile turning wicked. 

“Uh, I think we should go—” Sorin began, but Alex elbowed him in the gut to shut him up. 

“Did the village not fill your heads with the stories of my castle?” Alcina asked them, walking around them like a show judge. “I believe I have quite the reputation down there,”

One of the girls responded though you couldn’t hear her. 

Alcina chuckled, though. “And yet, you stand here in front of me. Are you familiar with my wines, by any chance?”
They shook their heads, and the lady smiled broadly. “I figured. Let me tell you about one of my most sophisticated wines—it has been a product of my family vineyard since the 15th century, though I tweaked it a tad when I inherited the business. I use a particular technique to…oh, shall we say, enrich the flavor and intensity of the wine,”

You looked over at Alex, but she was already watching you. “We need to leave,” you said, and she nodded.

“Come on, Sorin,” she told her brother, getting up off of her knees while you both watched Alcina. 

“Care to guess what my technique is? I’ll give you a hint—”
You never saw her claws reemerge until they were slicing through the girls’ throats, and even then they disappeared almost as fast. 

Barely any blood dribbled out of the wounds, and your lover looked proud of that. The bodies hadn’t even dropped to the ground before the lady had grabbed them, looking over in your direction—no, over in the cellar’s direction.

She stopped when she saw you standing there, and her eyes flashed with an emotion she hadn’t directed at you in a long while—fury. 

“The wine,” Alex said out loud, and you looked over at her. “Sanguis Virginis. Maiden’s blood,” 

************

Alcina stirred in her sleep which in turn stirred you from yours, your exhaustion gone in the moonlight.

You sighed, wondering if you were going to be haunted forever by this stupid fucking bout of insomnia. 

Sliding out of bed, you quickly put your clothes back on before leaving the room, unwilling to lay there waiting for something to change when obviously it wouldn’t.

— not completely human, not anymore—

Mother Miranda had asked you when you had come into contact with the Mold, the ground hard underneath your knees. 

You tried to remember the time between your confusing arrival to this isolated village and gaining ownership of the dilapidated house you called your shop and came up blank.

Where the fuck even am I?

If someone held out a map of Romania and told you to find yourself, you wouldn’t even be able to look at the map. Was this even Romania?

Maybe a midnight snack would do me good, you thought . The trek to the kitchen in the gloomy moonlight reminded you too much of that fateful night in the library. You shivered, the scars on your neck tingling with faint pain. 

You were surprised when you weren’t alone—Olimpia sat in her nightgown on a stool with a mug clutched in her hands, lost in thought before you walked in. 

“Can’t sleep?” you asked her, and she huffed.

“There’s fresh tea in the kettle. Linden. You know where the milk and sugar are,” she replied. You nodded your thanks before preparing a cup. Two sugars. A dash of milk.

Could use a shot of whiskey. 

You leaned against the counter next to the older woman, nursing your drink. The heat felt wonderful in your almost numb hands—why couldn’t you feel the way you used to?
“Something’s wrong with me,” you told her, almost absentmindedly. 

She took a long drink of her tea before responding. “Something’s wrong with everyone here, mechanic—living in hell does that to a person,”
Uneasy but comfortable silence filled the empty kitchen until you broke it. 

“How was it here, before I arrived? How was she? ” you asked, and darkness you had never seen on Olimpia’s face before appeared. 

“I was reaped on my sixteenth birthday; back then, the daughter’s bloodlust was unquenchable—they went through maids like tissues. I arrived with ten girls, and by that month’s end, I was the only one left,”

She chuckled, bringing her tea to her lips. “Around the half-year mark of my forced employment, Lady Dimitrescu summoned me to her study. I had been a scullery maid the entirety of that time—I couldn’t dust and polish to save my life, but my father had been the village’s baker and taught me all he knew before he was ripped to shreds by a Lycan,” she finally took a drink of her tea and cleared her throat. “Anyways, the previous head of the kitchen had her tongue ripped out by Miss Cassandra and left that spot vacant. Lady Dimitrescu offered me the promotion, and I declined,” 

Olimpia gave you a strained smile that brought focus to her facial scars. “She dropped me off in the cellar after—you think the Moroaice are plentiful down there now? Try 50 years ago—” she pulled down the collar of her nightgown, revealing thick, jagged scars. “I’m not sure how I survived; I dragged myself up the stairs until the other maids found me, and they nursed me back to health,” she said before a pang of sadness crossed her face. “None of them are alive now, and yet I still remain,”

You didn’t say anything, but you knew the older woman didn’t want any words. She reached into an almost hidden pocket in her nightgown and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. 

“Want one?” Olimpia asked you, pulling out one and lighting it while offering the pack to you.

“Why the hell not?” you grumbled, grabbing a cigarette and lighting it with the ease of someone who had done it many times before. Taking a long drag, you relished in the way the smoke burned your lungs and made you feel human. 

It was times like these that made you long for a hit of the harder stuff—you missed the way they made you feel free, how they took the pain away. 

How much would I have to beg for the Duke to give me a six-pack? you asked yourself, not immediately reprimanding yourself for even thinking such horrible ideas. 

“I’m planning on doing work on the armory tomorrow—gotta fix a hole the size of the lady blown into the wall. Do you know anyone who got masonry tools, or, like, chisels and shit? I don’t have the patience to wait around for the Duke to get me ‘em right now,” you asked the cook, who was silent as she thought, nursing her cigarette.

“I can think of one man who could have what you need, but the hatred the lady feels for him might keep you from—”
“Who, Olimpia?” you interrupted, not caring about what the lady thought. 

“Lord Heisenberg—he works in the factory across the way, enclosed by that electric chain link fence,”
You vaguely remember seeing that factory and wondering what it made—black smoke billowed and loud booms could be heard at any time of day, or night. “I know what you’re talking about. Thank you, Olimpia,”

She took another drag of her cigarette and chuckled. “The lady’s not going to be happy when she realizes who you’re doing business with, mechanic,”
You finished your own forbidden cigarette and tossed it in the trash when you made sure no spark lingered. “Thank you for your concern, but I’ll be fine. Try and get some sleep, alright?” you told her while standing up. 

She raised a hand in farewell and you took the trek to your cottage to get dressed, pulling on a thick coat, oil and grease-covered ushanka hat with the ears down, and thermal underwear underneath your jeans ‘cause the wind was harsh and the cold biting and most definitely hypothermia-inducing. 

The woods were only mildly terrifying as you made your journey through the brush and gnarly gray trees to the village—you had armed yourself with your rifle and a large hunting knife you had almost totally forgotten about, just in case. You might be an idiot, but you weren’t no fool—you knew the stories of werewolves and other creatures might be exaggerated, but something was in these woods eating people. 

The daughters, perhaps , you thought.

A Counting Crows song played in your head while you walked through the dark woods, Mr. Jones . 

You had gotten to the best part of the song in your mind when you heard a growl on your right, and you calmly unshouldered your gun and turned off the safety. 

The beast followed you just out of eyeshot in the black trees, but you could almost feel where it was hiding.

You knew it was about to pounce before even it did, you think when you swing around and blow the—wolf’s?—head off before he could even snarl. 

“Wolf my ass,” you grumbled to no one when you examined the large creature, noting the tattered remains of clothes and fur-coated (and humanoid) body. 

It had a small pouch of lei hanging on its belt which you took—hey, it didn’t need it anymore, did it?

The rest of the trek to the village was uneventful, but you could feel more beastly eyes on you than bullets in your gun, and that kept you vigilant. 

You were glad the giant stone fence blocking the castle from the rest of the village was open—you didn’t think you could scale that shit any time of day or weather. 

Shouldering your rifle, you decide to detour to your old home before going to the factory.

You didn’t expect Mother Miranda to be standing in your old living room, wearing a white lab coat and surrounded by scientific machines and devices.

She didn’t, either, nearly dropping the test tubes she was pouring liquids into when you slammed the unlocked door open. 

Mother Miranda glanced over to you, a sly smile growing on her face. She didn’t have her mask on tonight—in fact, she didn’t have any of her priestly clothes on. 

It made your stomach sick when you realized where you had seen her before. 

“Having a midnight stroll, Y/N? Don’t you know darkness lurks amongst us?” 

“I think the only darkness that’s lurking is you, Ana ,” you snapped, the last word nearly snarled. 

Mother Miranda chuckled, turning towards you completely after setting down her work. “I knew you would remember sooner or later,” she said with a shrug, blasé about the whole thing. 

“You drugged me,” you growled, your anger flaring. 

“And you liked every minute of it,” she responded, eyes flashing and smile turning wicked. “Of course, your exposure to the Megamycete in the wild due to my careless administration wasn’t in my plans with you. However,” she said, walking over to you and taking off your hat, “I very much am enjoying watching what it’s doing to you,”

Mother Miranda looked up at you while she ran her bare hand through your hair, your chest stuttering.

“It seems that you prefer the dark now, don’t you, Y/N?” she asked you, her voice low.

In a perverse reimagining, you didn’t know you had bent down to kiss the prophet until she was unbuttoning your thick coat and smiling into the kiss. 

“Do I kiss you better than Lady Dimitrescu does?” she asked you before kissing down your jaw.

It was like you had no control over your body—you tilted up her chin to kiss her again, and she deepened it while shrugging off her lab coat onto the dirty floor.

“I could use a drink,” she murmured, running a long finger down your jaw. “I found a bottle of whiskey here—care to indulge?”

You’re almost three months sober, Y/N—don’t fuck it up!

You didn’t answer, but she still went and grabbed the bottle. She twisted off the cap and put it under your nose, the burning smell almost dropping you to your knees. 

Mother Miranda must have known—she knew about you and Alcina, so why wouldn’t she know about your sobriety?

“Do you remember that bar I met you in?” she asked you after turning around and finding two glasses on her worktable, another sign she knew you’d manage your way here some night. “I had seen you a few nights before, so out of place—you certainly turned a few heads with that hideous accent of yours. But the way you approached me, with your sly grin and those strong arms I’m so fond of—Black God, just thinking about the way you took me to your hotel room and fucked me in a way no one had ever fucked me before…” she trailed off, finally pouring the whiskey into the glasses and turning and handing one to you. “Have you ever fucked Lady Dimitrescu the way you fucked me that night?”

You shook your head, the amber liquid in your forbidden glass the only thing you could really focus on. 

She downed her drink in one go, before laughing. “I’ve missed the cheap stuff, honestly—living rich is only so fun for the first century or so before it starts getting stale,”

You started at your own drink, contemplating. You had already kissed another woman, more than once. And you wanted to fuck her more than you had ever wanted to fuck Alcina—whether that was something to do with the Mold in you or your twisted depravation, you weren’t sure. 

The whiskey was too smooth to block out the alarm bells going off in your mind, or the nausea that was rising to the surface at what you had done. 

All that mattered was Mother Miranda poured another glass and took her clothes off.

Chapter Text

The daughters hadn’t taken everything in your old home—they had left a few blankets, that damned whiskey, and your old stash of weed and papers you had gotten from the Duke when you still smoked it, just after you had appeared in this fucked up Village.

Lying on the hardwood floor on a threadbare blanket and only in your boxers, you lit up a joint and watched as Mother Miranda worked at her workstation in the nude. 

If destruction’s our game now, we better make it fucking worthwhile , you had told yourself when you had stumbled upon the drugs still on the top shelf in your closet. Maybe the daughters knew what it was and didn’t want that on the property, or maybe they just didn’t see it. 

The daughters….

You shook your head to dispel the dark thoughts forming—you knew you were a shitty person when you went to work for them. It should be on them for thinking you could be any different.

“I can hear you feeling sorry for yourself over there,” Mother Miranda said, messing with something black and moving in a petri dish. “Help me label these samples, you stoner,”

You chuckled at what she called you and pushed yourself up off the floor, ashing your joint in the little ashtray you had kept with your weed paraphernalia and walking over to where she was. 

Before you could say anything, she plucked the joint from your fingers and took a long drag. You watched her as she blew the smoke out from her nose, her eyes never leaving yours. 

“A marker is to your right,” she said, holding the joint up to your mouth. You took a drag, and the woman leaned up and kissed you before you could exhale.

The burn in your lungs was welcome, and you almost smiled at her when she let you blow out the smoke, her mouth ticked up in a more wholesome grin than she deserved to have. 

You would never smile at her; it seemed to be the only thing you could keep your body from doing when Mother Miranda was around.

It was quiet while you both worked, the weed doing its job and making everything calm down in your mind. 

The weed had also made you unbelievably horny.

You glanced over at the woman and she looked over at you when she felt your eyes on her. Mother Miranda smirked at you, seemingly aware of the ache that was slowly consuming you. 

“Am I more beautiful than Lady Dimitrescu, Y/N?” she asked, setting down her work and peeling off her gloves. She ran a hand down the front of her neck to her breasts, and you could see her chest rising and falling. 

It seemed the weed had affected the other woman similarly; she sucked in a breath when she started playing with them, and you quickly replaced her hand with both of yours. She kissed you deeply, pressing into you where your knee was in between her thighs

She moaned when you were grinding her down onto you, and you kissed down her neck to her chest, leaving a dark hickey on her left breast. You had forgotten how much you enjoyed looking at your handiwork—Mother Miranda seemed to like it too, asking you to leave another one and bucking her hips into you when you did. 

It didn’t take long before you had her on the threadbare blanket again, her loud moans and the sound of how wet she was the only accompanying beat to the blood pounding in your ears and your mind screaming at you to get out while you still could, while you could still forget about everything and blame it on the Mold, so you could beg to Alcina that you still loved her. 

The way Miranda clawed down your back when she came for the first time helped you drown out your sound reasoning.

It was well after daybreak when you finally left your old home, fully clothed again and riddled with shame and your daytime exhaustion. 

“Y/N!” you heard a shout from behind you and cursed silently when it was Luiza who was chasing you down. You stopped, and she appeared momentary after, panting slightly. 

“You’re alive!” she called, grabbing both of your hands with her weathered ones. “In life and in death, we give glory, Mother Miranda—”
“I’ll cut out your tongue if you say another word,” you hissed, fury unleashed at the naming of the woman who had ruined your life and was still sleeping on your old living room floor. “Now get the fuck outta my way,”

Luiza’s jaw dropped but she stepped to the side, her thick purple coat a stark contrast to her black dress that made your head hurt. 

You were already craving another drink, but you trekked on and made it to the factory just as the workers were; grizzled old men and teenage boys, with the same matching expression of grief. 

“I need to speak with Lord Heisenberg,” you told one of the more important-looking workers, and his eyes widened.

“Surely you must be joking,” he said, but you shook your head. 

“I’m an employee of the lady up in the castle,” you added, and you thought his head was about to explode.

He opened his mouth to probably tell you to fuck off, but a strange humming filled the air. You looked down and saw the hair on both of y’all arms risen straight up, but the man only shut his eyes for a moment and wait for whatever was about to happen. 

“I know you didn’t just say you were an employee of that super-sized bitch ,” a familiar voice said from behind you, and you turned to see a man a little taller than you walk over, hair gray and shaggy and wearing round sunglasses. 

“Good mornin’, Lord Heisenberg,” you said instead of answering the man, and he huffed, leaning on a giant metal hammer. Who the fuck were these people? “I was informed by the head of the kitchen that you could have the tools I need,”

“When did Dracula hire an idiotic American? Matter of fact, when did an idiotic American even show up in town?”

You watched pieces of sharp scrap metal float up behind him and sighed. Of course, he gets cool Magneto powers from whatever is infecting everyone and you get insomnia and periodic instances where you act fucking insane around the monster who created you all.

“Give me one reason I shouldn’t have some fun and kill you right now, American,” he told you, pointing his hammer at you.

You remembered Mother Miranda’s conversation with Alcina about the man in front of you and came up with a plan. “I believe we have the same… enemy , my lord,” you began, and he took off his round sunglasses, his eyes shining. 

“You need tools, eh? What kind of tools are you looking for?”
Bingo . “I need to replace a stone wall—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah; come with me and we’ll continue our little chat,” he interrupted, letting his hammer float next to him while he pushed past you and to the factory. 

You looked at the worker you had asked and he looked at you with suspicious eyes. “Better follow him—don’t want to make him angry,” he warned before scurrying off with the rest of his pack. 

The clutter outside reminded you of the farm you grew up around and your heart panged with the fact that you’d never see it again even with all the bad memories littering the place. 

There were still good memories, too—the brightness of the stars and you and your sisters’ laughing at anything and everything and driving around with your Dad playing music and hunting frogs and snakes and rescuing turtles from the road and—

You shut off your brain the moment you stepped into the factory, the smell of grease and oil putting you at ease. The trek to his office was… interesting , to say the least, and you were greeted by metal scraps and dirty furniture. 

“Want a beer?” he asked, and you nodded. He grinned at you and went over to an almost hidden minifridge underneath his desk, grabbing a bottle of your favorite brand of beer and tossing it to you. The bottlecap flew off the beer the moment you caught it and into a jar full of them, and you chuckled at the man’s antics. 

The first sip made you wonder why you had even given drinking up in the first place; the thought of Alcina and her daughters on the second made you remember why with a sigh. 

“So, stoneworking tools, huh? I can get you what you need, but I’ll need payment,”
“I’m not sure the lady would be willing to pay the likes of you, but I’ll give you any payment you think fits the price,” 

Heisenberg grins at you, his teeth flashing. “I like you—say, you never answered the questions I asked earlier. When did Dracula hire you, and why haven’t I seen you before?”
You shrugged. “She hired me awhile back as the castle’s handyman, and as for why you haven’t seen me, well, that can be explained easily enough. What tools do you have for me?”
His grin only widens, and he holds up a finger before exiting the room. You can hear him shouting at some poor worker to round up more tools that you thought you’d need and then he came back in. 

You had already drained your beer in the few minutes he was outside, and he went ahead and grabbed you another one, using the same party trick from earlier. 

“Thanks,” you said, taking a big drink. “I had been attacked and was recovering in the cottage outside of the castle—I remember hearing you and the lady argue outside. I have to admit—Lady Super-Sized Bitch made me chuckle,”

He laughed, a proud look forming on his face. “That’s my best insult, to be honest—you said we shared a common enemy, handyman. I’m guessing that’s the lady,”

You shook your head, and his eyes started to twinkle with excitement. “I wound up in the village after being drugged by a gorgeous woman with blonde hair,” you told him, and his face darkened at your words. 

“That fucking bird-bitch,” he cursed, running a leather-gloved hand over his beard. “What did she do to you?”

You sighed, letting the turmoil you had inside peek out a little for the man to see. “I was accidentally infected by the Mold , whatever the fuck that is, and it’s killing me,”

He frowned, taking a drink of his beer. You mirrored him. 

The door slammed open, and the man you talked to outside walked in, a few others carrying crates behind him. “My lord, these are the tools and items you requested,” he said, keeping his eyes trained on the floor and Heisenberg got a funny look on his face. 

“You wanna see something cool, handyman?” he asked you, and you nodded. 

Without hesitation, Heisenberg summoned his hammer and slammed it into the man’s head, sending him flying into a cluttered filing cabinet on the opposite side of the room. “Don’t ever barge in here without knocking. Pisses me off,” he warned everyone outside, before sighing. “Someone take the body to the workshop, and the rest of you—load up the truck with the tools and items I requested ,” he barked, mocking the dead man.

The men frantically nodded and scampered away from hammer distance as fast as they could while a man quickly dragged the dead body out of the room by its ankles. 

Heisenberg laughed at the sight, dropping back into his chair and pulling out a cigar case. “Bet you’re used to that sort of thing, working at that fucked up fairytale palace,”

You nodded, wholly unused to innocent bloodshed and quite queasy. “You have no idea, my lord—”

“Karl—if we’re gonna be working with each other, friend, we should know each others’ names,” 

You chuckled. “It’s Y/N,”
He grinned, holding out his hand. “Well, Y/N, I’m looking forward to getting to know you better—in a few weeks Godzilla’s gonna be hosting the Lord’s Christmas party; it’s Bird-Brain’s way to keep an eye on us in our own regions without seeming like it’s an evaluation. Last year, I made sure Sturm was making all sorts of trouble in the basement so she’d leave early,” he said with a chuckle. “I’ll talk to you more then unless you run into the need for more tools or materials. By then, a plan will have formed in my brilliant mind,”

You took his hand and relished in the way he flinched when you squeezed as hard as you could. “See you then, Karl,”

“Count on it,”

You began to leave the office, but the man stopped you. “Hey, I order my beer bulk ‘round here so here’s a case for the road,” he told you, handing you a 12-pack. 

“Thanks,”

You walked outside alone, head buzzing with the alcohol and thoughts racing around.
Well, that could’ve got a whole lot worse. 

A few of the men stood by an old truck filled with those damned crates. Their faces were grave, and the only reason they didn’t treat you like you deserved to be treated was because you knew you looked just like they did. 

“We’ll drive you as far as we can and help you unload the crates, but we aren’t allowed on castle grounds,” one of them said, and you nodded.

The drive was quiet, albeit harrowing because Daniela was right, the roads were overgrown.

You remembered suddenly that your rifle was still at your old house, presumably by the makeshift bed you had fucked the bird-bitch on. 

You grew nauseous at that fact but kept it down. No point in trying to fix what you had done. 

Would she know what you did?
Would you lie?

The castle grew and grew as you approached until the gates were right in front of you. The men helped you unload the crates and set them just outside the property line, and you watched them hurry back into the truck and drive off. 

You spent the rest of the afternoon lugging the crates to your cottage, putting the beer in your fridge, and organizing all the shit you had been given.

Alex came to fetch you, but you claimed that you didn’t feel that good and were gonna go to bed early. 

You had scrubbed every inch of yourself clean of Mother Miranda and your unfaithfulness and had brushed your teeth so much to hide the booze that they probably sparkled in the moonlight. 

Thumbing through that novel Bela gave you while lying in bed, you thought about how good that beer was gonna taste after Alcina came and visited you. 

It was little more than an hour later when the lady knocked on your door, and you made sure no evidence of your spiral was visible before calling her in. 

“Alex said you were feeling ill, draga mea ,” she said, sitting down on the edge of the bed and pulling off her gloves. Her hands were icy cold to your hot forehead, and you wondered briefly if you were actually sick. 

“You’ve been working awfully hard these last few days, my love—I know you hate rest, but with your…condition, you need to make sure not to overdo it,”

Guilt made your nausea rise to the surface, and you had to white-knuckle the sheets to keep from telling her what you had done. The lady put a hand over yours, a soft smile on her face. “I’ll be by tomorrow morning to check on you, darling. I love you,”

You let her kiss your forehead and fluff up your pillows for you before she left, and you laid in bed wishing you were different. 

About an hour passed before you managed to get up enough nerves to grab a beer.

“Wish I had a cigarette right about now,” you muttered to yourself, before remembering the lady kept a pack here in case she forgot hers while visiting. With an ache in your heart you hadn’t felt since falling in love with the best woman you’d ever met, you pulled one out of the pack and went out to the garage, putting in a CD and skipping to Whore. You opened the large garage door a crack and sat down on the ground next to it.

“Why’d you do it, Y/N? Everything was going good ‘til you decided to fuck it up,” you asked yourself, looking at that prized bottle of beer and wishing you were dead.

You debated on letting yourself get caught—easy enough to explain away your unfaithfulness and drinking with the truth.

Oh, God, Scarlett wanted to speak to you thinking you had changed.

Taking a too-large swig of your beer, you spent the night trying to nod off in the corner more awake than you had ever been before. 

“Can’t believe I wasted my life,” you murmured when you saw the sun peeking out from the mountains before getting up off the ground and throwing the empty bottle away in the garage trash. 

Irritation rose with your exhaustion, and you wished you could just lie down and sleep until the booze left your system and you forgot the feeling of Mother Miranda’s lips on your own. 

You didn’t put on your thick coat when you left the cottage even though you knew it was close to freezing—all you wore was a thin muscle shirt, your toolbelt, and jeans. You didn’t feel cold, though—your skin was still burning to the touch and kept you warm. 

No one paid attention to you when you entered through the servant entrance, Alex and Olimpia were enraptured in their own conversation on the opposite side of the room. 

You quickly entered the main hall, listening for the buzzing of flies to tell you where the daughters’ were and thus where to avoid. 

You decided to go up to the armory to start charting out what you needed to do and ignored the ache in your bones and the throbbing beginning in your head while you walked through the castle. You passed through the Hall of Pleasure and kept walking until you hit the armory, the door sealed shut. 

Upon opening the door, you did find that there was a hole in the wall—a very large one. 

“This is gonna take so fucking long,” you grumbled to yourself, yawning widely. 

Looking around the room, you found a table on the far side, covered in rusty swords and medieval helmets, and cleared off a portion to use as your workbench. 

You found a piece of paper that was probably older than you and then measured the hole with your tape measure, writing it down and doing it several more times. You figured out the entire wall wasn’t structurally sound anymore while you measured—you stared at the hole unsure where to start. 

“Maybe I could put some support beams up, make sure the entire place doesn’t fucking collapse on me,” you muttered, writing that down on the piece of paper. 

The drop-down looked deadly; you got as close as your could to the edge and peered down, noting the sharp rocks and things that would definitely kill you if you jumped.

You sighed, sitting down and letting your legs dangle off the side. You sat there for an unknown amount of time before you felt something warm tickling underneath your nose, and furrowed when you wiped away blood. It was almost black in the sunlight, with some hints of the crimson it was supposed to be. 

You let it be; it dripped onto your clothes and you knew your smile would be bloody if you could force one. 

The ground didn’t look that hard right now. You leaned over closer and—

“Y/N?” a woman’s voice interrupted, and you turned to see Alcina’s maid Marion standing there, rubbing her bare arms because of the cold. “Are you alright?” she asked when you had revealed yourself, her voice hesitant. 

You didn’t answer—couldn’t. Any words spoken would be lies and you had to save those for the Dimitrescu family. 

A dark string of thoughts crossed your mind; what would happen if Marion happened to fall out of the armory tower? How would her body look broken?
You shook your head, both at your insanity and her as an answer. What was wrong with you?

“Shall I fetch Lady Dimitrescu—?”
“No,” you snapped harshly, your damaged voice deeper than it normally was. “Get outta here,” 

Marion watched you a moment more before nodding and exiting the room. 

You left soon after—you knew the lady would go there the moment Marion reported what you said. 

The library was vacant, luckily, when you stumbled in on complete accident. You didn’t recognize the room that was nearly the cause of an early grave. 

You huffed, the irony of your situation almost humorous. 

“Fuck, I need a drink,” you muttered, rubbing your eyes. Maybe I need to run to Heisenberg and request a bottle of that moonshine Cassie told me about, keep it in a flask—

The thought of the middlest daughter made your stomach drop and you screwed your eyes shut to keep the tears that were welling up from falling.

Your nose had stopped bleeding, but you made no move to clean it off of you. It was a reminder—of what, you had no idea. 

The record player from that night—your heart nearly stopped when you laid eyes on it, the Billie Holiday vinyl still taking up the machine. 

“What have I done?” you asked yourself, voice full of despair. You didn’t know how to come back from this; how could you look the woman you loved more than anything in the eye and tell her you had fucked the woman who had caused so much suffering for the both of you?
“ Draga mea?” you heard Alcina ask from the entrance to the library, which you hadn’t walked too far away from because of that damned record player. “Why don’t you go up and rest in my chambers?”

Her voice was too kind, too full of love for you to feel anything other than that crushing weight on your chest. 

“Y/N?” she asked, more worriedly, when you didn’t even glance over at her.

Alcina slowly started to approach you from behind. You didn’t have to be looking at her to know that she had fear in her eyes. 

You let her rest a hand on your shoulder and turn you towards her, unable to look her in the eyes. Her hemline was darker than the rest of her dress. Maybe it’s from the puddles of blood she’s walked through.

“What’s happening, my love? Are you feeling unwell?” she asked, wholly unprepared for what you had done. 

You waited longer than you should have before responding. 

“I failed you,” you murmured, the dark hem staring at you with threats of violence. “I don’t deserve you—I never did. I’m sorry,”
“You’re scaring me, Y/N—what did you do?”

“Everything,” you whispered, before your legs could no longer support your weight and you fell to your knees. “I’m a monster,”
Alcina reached down to help you up but you shrugged her off. “My love, I know this is a scary change for you, but you are not a monster—we have been dealt unfair hands by people who do not care for us—”
“I did something bad, Alcina” you interrupted, finally looking her in the eyes. “I don’t know why I did it; it’s like I’m not in control when she’s around—”
“Y/N…” the lady trailed off, trying to piece together what you were trying to say.

“I went to the village last night, while you were sleeping,” you began, the pain in your chest turning into agony at the hurt in her face from just that statement. “I needed to visit the factory and see if I could get some tools and supplies for the armory, and figured I could stop by my old home and see if the girls had left anything,” 

Alcina watched for you to continue, but the pain filling her eyes made you think she already knew what you were about to say. 

“Mother Miranda was there—I figured out she was the woman I chased from Russia to Romania, the one who drugged me and exposed me to this fucking Mold —”
“You fucked her,” Alcina interrupted, her voice a deadly calm.

“I didn’t want—I love you more than I have ever loved another person. I don’t know why I—”
“Do not think you can make a fool out of me!” she screamed at you, tears falling from her golden eyes. “Do not think that you can bring up the fact you love me after you tell me you fucked the woman who did this to me!” 

You opened your mouth to try and defend yourself but no words came out—Alcina took this as an admittance of your guilt and more tears started to fall. 

“How could you do this to me? How could I fall in love with someone like you?”

That sliced into you deeper than her claws ever could have.

“Get out of my sight,” she snarled, and you obliged by pushing yourself up off the ground and managing to make it to your cottage without getting swarmed or stopped. 

One beer turned to two which turned to the rest of the bottles—you didn’t know where you were and that’s how you liked it. 

That’s how you found yourself wandering the woods, smoking one of the lady’s stolen cigarettes. You wanted to get killed by one of those beasts—wanted it to rip you limb from limb and gut you as you deserved. 

You had managed to find a sort of lake after almost an entire night of wandering around, managing to pass through the village without alerting any of the watchmen that hung around the town square and still managing to break into the old general store and steal a bottle of good whiskey. 

You sat at the rickety old dock with a dim lantern still glowing and drank; you should’ve already been passed out by now, sleeping with the fishes. Being as you weren’t, you waited for the courage to drown yourself. 

A pungent fishy odor started to fill the space around you, and you glanced over to where a very big man (?) was waddling over to you. 

“I’ve never seen you here before,” he said, his voice thick with phlegm. 

You shrugged, taking another deep swig of whiskey. If he was going to kill you, that was fine. “My name’s Salvatore Moreau—I own this reservoir,” he told you, sitting down next to you and letting his very gross bare feet dangle.

He wasn’t human; you had never seen a man so ugly before. 

“Y/N,” you grunted, and he looked at you with a grimace. 

No, a smile, you realized when he held out his hand. 

“It’s very nice meeting you, Y/N—what brings you out to my lonely reservoir?”

You chuckled, taking another swig. “I cheated on the love of my life with a woman who hurt the both of us, and I have the fuckin’ feeling like I had no control over myself during it,” you slurred, and he looked at you with a calm pity. 

“Have you told the love of your life that fact yet?” 

You nodded and shook the bottle of whiskey in your hand. “Didn’t go so good,” 

He huffed good-naturedly. “Naturally,”
The silence between the two of you wasn’t awkward—you drank while he looked over the almost completely frozen water, the moon reflecting off and creating a sight so beautiful you wished you weren’t drunk and could write poetry. 

“Can I ever fix it?” you asked Moreau, who shrugged. 

“Some relationships can bounce back—can’t hurt to see if yours is one of them,”
“I really fucked up, huh? Lucky she didn’t kill me,” 

He laughed. “Try not to fall into the water, Y/N, but know I’ll always be there you help you out,” 

Great. Now I can’t kill myself.

You stared out at the moon and took another drink.

Chapter Text

Day hadn’t broken yet when you started your work to stabilize the armory—light snow fell past the hole in the wall and gently covered you in white. You itched for a drink, but you knew better than to touch a bottle of the stuff while in the castle. Besides, you had run out of the whiskey you had stolen the night you met Moreau. 

For the first time in a long time, you felt completely and utterly alone. It was your fault—any attempt that Alex or Olimpia made to understand what was wrong was met with a cold shoulder and a mumbled excuse that you were busy. Even Sorin had come by the other morning, but you hadn’t answered the door. 

The armory looked like a beginner’s woodshop—uncut boards of plywood and two-by-fours laid to the side (you were going to put up a temporary wall before you put the beams in but had lost your train of thought and had forgotten about it completely) and you had your sawhorses set up in the furthest corner away from the hole and were cutting your LVL to size. 

You set down the handsaw you were using and took in a deep breath. The cold air burned in your lungs but everything else was numb.

You turned up your CD player and let Girls on Film play a little too loudly for the quiet morning.

If you didn’t have your music right now, you’d be broken on the rocks you were trying to hide.

Even though you felt weak, you had never been so strong—you wouldn’t have been able to lift and situate the beams by yourself a few months ago; it would’ve taken about four of you to do it safely. 

You were disgusted that you liked it. 

Duran Duran played through their entire album before you had even started setting up your beam cradles and cutting out joists so you popped in your favorite Pixies album to keep your thoughts away. 

The work pulled at muscles you hadn’t abused in years—your stint as a framer was short-lived (they had caught you doing a line in your truck on your break about two years into you working there and fired you on the spot) but you had gotten the repetitive task stuck in your mind all the same.

Sweat poured down your back and you finally had to strip off your heavy work coat to alleviate some of your discomfort. Unbuttoning it brought back the feeling of Mother Miranda’s hands on you and fury filled your mind—how dare she do this to you?

You imagined wrapping your work glove-covered hands around her neck and squeezing until you couldn’t squeeze any longer. I wonder if I could crush her windpipe now?

“God, I’m a monster,” you muttered to yourself, wincing at your thoughts before cringing even harder when your mind supplied you with the image of you beating your mother to death.

Maybe this is why the Mold infected me the way it did—maybe a little darkness in your heart is all it takes for it to grow. 

I didn’t want to kill her—

You missed the nail you were trying to hammer in and smashed your fingers but didn’t react.

It was around noon when Alex entered the freezing room, slamming the door behind her and a tinfoil-covered bowl clutched in her bare hands.

She surveyed the room with a shiver until looking over at you on top of your tall utility ladder—even with your added strength, it was still taking a long time to put up the beams.

“Olimpia made stew for lunch,” she told you, teeth chattering, and set the bowl down on the worktable nearest the door. “Freshly caught rabbit, all thanks to our favorite groundworker,”

You couldn’t stop the huff of laughter that escaped, and she looked between you and the gaping hole in the wall. The wind had picked up considerably since you had began; you could tell a blizzard was about to hit. “Aren’t you cold? I think I’ll freeze to death if I’m in here a moment longer,” Alex asked you while rubbing her arms. 

“I’ll live,” you murmured, going back to hammering another piece of LVL to the beam. 

“I don’t much like this somber look on you,” she said with an accusatory tone, her eyes squinted up at you. “And what’s this I’m hearing about you and the lady? I mean, Black God, you’re too in love with her to do the things they say you did—”
You couldn’t stop yourself from slamming your hammer down onto the ladder’s catch-all tray but kept one hand on the board above you; unwarranted anger bubbled up at the thought that she knew you better than you thought she should.

It was when you finally opened your mouth to scream or shout—to do anything to get them to fucking leave you alone and to get across the fact that you were a monster and you deserved everything you were getting—that a loud shriek echoed in a close corridor, cutting through the sound of the close-to-roaring wind and the thick wooden door. 

You swore in tandem with Alex and swore again when you realized you couldn’t let go of the beam without fucking up almost an hour of work. 

Another blood-curdling scream rang out, and Alex gasped. “That sounds like one of the daughters!”

You dropped the beam with more than a little hesitation—hey, they most likely wanted to gut you—and hopped off the ladder to the cobblestone below.

“Alex, stay behind me once we get out there,” you grunted, shoving your hand into your pocket and making sure you could feel the cool metal of your knife. 

The scar across your neck ached in time with your pounding heart.

You pushed the door open and made a break for it, your steel-toed workboots pounding against the cobblestone and then becoming almost deafening on the hardwood floors. You felt Alex on your heels. 

You became nauseous at the scene in front of you but didn’t stop running. 

A window was shattered ( there’s no glass inside ) and the intense wind and snow was blowing in. 

You couldn’t tell which daughter was hunched over, her screams getting louder by the second, but that didn’t matter. You grabbed her and used your momentum to propel her as far as you could to minimize the exposure. Your shoulders and back took the force of the impact and knocked the wind out of you, but the daughter’s head didn’t hit the ground like it might’ve. 

You attempted to catch your breath while gently letting her lay flat onto the floor, and pushed yourself up. Your deep gasps for air stuttered when you saw Bela’s pained expression, her face covered in ice crystals, and you tried to figure out how to control the situation.

A few maids had run towards the altercation and finally skidded to a halt in front of you. 

They looked over at you with grim faces. “What do you need us to do?” one of them asked, and your eyes widened slightly at the leadership role you were given. 

You didn’t have to think long on what you needed from them. “Two of you’re gonna find a small room with a fireplace and you’re gonna stoke the flames as hot as they can go,” you quickly instructed, your accent coming out thicker in your distress. “The other one—you’re gonna take Miss Bela there and get her warm—Alex, help her and then come back and help me with the window,”
Cold air was already filling the corridor and you needed to stop it before it became a bigger issue than it already was. 

“I won’t be long,” Alex told you through chattering teeth when she rushed past you and to Bela. “Angelika and I are going to help you up now, Miss Bela,” she told the freezing daughter, gesturing for one of the maids to help her. 

You gave them all one last nod before turning on your heel and rushing back to the armory; you shoved your hammer into your toolbelt and grabbed a handful of nails and jammed them into one of your jeans’ pockets before picking up one of the full sheets of plywood like it was a two-by-four.

Just nail the entire fucking sheet on the wall to stop the cold from coming in—can fix the window later—

Snow had started to fill the hallway in the time it took you to grab your barely-there supplies; you could hear the crunch it made when you arrived at the damage area. 

The wind whistled in your ears when you poked your head out of the broken window and down the castle wall, trying to make sense of anything through the white covering the sky.

You could swear you could see something moving down on the grounds away from the window towards the forest, and felt your breath leave you and unease crawl down your spine when it stopped in its tracks. 

It’s looking at me—

You jerked your head back inside at the thought and swore when you felt the stinging on your face from the wind. You situated the plywood against the window and nailed it against the wooden frame—you didn’t know how thick the wood paneling on the walls was and didn’t want to fuck up any of the insulation materials. 

You knew you missed the hidden portions of the frame more than a few times and knew some of the nails were just through the plywood but you managed to stop the snow from billowing in anyways.

It wouldn’t be a temporary fix, of course—the cold would still seep in since there was no insulating seal, but it wouldn’t take the temperature down too much in this wing of the castle. 

“Guess you didn’t need my help after all,” Alex’s voice rang down the corridor, and you looked over at her with a shrug. 

“Don’t hurt to ask,” you muttered before giving your barricade one last lookover and jogging over to the young girl.

“It’s not too far—Tassa’s one of the girls who manage the fireplaces so we lucked out on that one at least,” Alex told you while you speed-walked. “Good idea with the fire, by the way,”
You didn’t say anything until Alex pulled a door open and stifling hot air hit you in the face. 

The windburn stung even harder but you ignored it and approached the daughter. Bela was bundled up in a few blankets on the floor, as close to the fire as she could get. 

She glanced over at you, and you swallowed harshly when you noticed the pock-marks that were left from the crystals.

Distaste filled her eyes and she pulled her legs up towards her to rest her chin on her knees. “It doesn’t get any easier no matter how many times we get exposed to the cold,” she told you, bitterness at you and the blizzard outside coating her tongue. 

“Are you—” you cleared your throat when the words came out thicker than you wanted them to, and noticed the way Bela perked up at the sound. “Are you gonna be okay?”
She huffed, before picking her head up off her knees and looking back over at you. A strange expression crossed her face. 

“I wouldn’t be if you and Alex hadn’t found me in time,” she said curtly before turning back towards the fire.

No sound but the roaring fire filled the room, and you wiped away the beads of sweat running down your face. 

“How did the window break, anyways?” Alex finally asked, and the daughter glanced over and gave the young woman a critical look. 

Bela furrowed her eyebrows before looking back over at the flames with a sigh. It took her a few minutes to gather her thoughts before she spoke. “I don’t know what happened—all I remember is walking past and then all I could feel was pain ,” her voice cracked and she tightened her hold on the blankets.

“Why were you even in that corridor to begin with, Bela?” You all jumped when Alcina’s voice boomed in all corners of the room— she must have crept in sometime after the eldest daughter’s scolding .

You shut your eyes and took in a few deep breaths to calm your racing heart, and heard Bela shift around on the floor uneasily. 

“I wanted to see if I could catch Y/N and talk,” she answered with timid honesty, and both you and Alcina sighed. 

Of course, this is all my fault; she would’ve never been in that hallway if I hadn’t done what I did.

You could feel the lady’s eyes burning a hole in the back of your head, but you ignored her. 

The adrenaline spike that had made your exhaustion leave and allowed you to think level-headedly had ebbed away, and you could feel yourself drifting off. 

You stumbled slightly when you caught yourself and opened your eyes so you wouldn’t accidentally do it again.

You didn’t miss the questioning look in Bela and Alex’s eyes but ignored them as well. You kept your eyes on the dancing fire and relished being able to feel something other than the numbing cold that lived inside and out. 

You wanted to see how long you could stick your hand into the fire before the skin started to melt away and felt yourself go to take a step forward before you could stop yourself. 

You took in a sharp breath that drew the notice of everyone in the room but shoved your gloved hands into your jeans and winced when you felt one of the sharp framing nails dig into your hand. 

Warmth started to coat the inside of your palm but you ignored it—

The feeling of Alcina’s cold leather glove on your bare forearm startled you more than it should’ve, but you didn’t acknowledge her. 

Still, she pulled your hand out of your pocket and tugged off your bloody glove with her other hand to reveal a decent-sized gash. 

You saw Bela’s eyes widen when she saw how dark the blood was, and could almost hear the questions forming in Alex’s mind while she watched. 

“Each one of you will be rewarded handsomely for your efforts; you have proved that you are valuable and loyal members of my staff, and I thank each of you for helping my daughter. Now, if you could excuse us,” Alcina told everyone, her voice in between business and sincerity. 

Her grip on you tightened until it should’ve hurt and you figured you weren’t one of the dismissed. 

You wanted to drop dead right then and there—you hadn’t spoken to the lady since you had confessed, and the tension between the two of you seemed to have grown tenfold.

It didn’t take long for the room to clear out until it was just the three of you, but you just kept your eyes trained on the fire. 

“Stop being a coward and face me,” Alcina snarled at you, and you felt her claws start to prick into your skin.

You waited until she dug in hard enough to draw blood before jerking your arm away from her grasp on reflex, and watched the droplets roll down your arm and mix with the blood already dripping onto the hardwood floor. 

“Mother, Y/N saved me—” Bela began, surprising both you and Alcina, but you could tell whatever look the matriarch sent her way was deadly.

“Look at me, Y/N,” Alcina instructed you again, her voice low. 

You could feel her anger growing the longer you ignored her and watched Bela’s eyes get wider and wider as the seconds passed. 

At least she gets a show after her freak accident . 

How could the window have just… vanished? You shifted uneasily at the thought that there really was someone outside—but who would do such a thing? Who could?

You felt Alcina move before you saw her physically appear in your field of vision, but her hands were already around your throat pinning you to the wall before you could’ve tried anything. 

Her golden eyes were alight with fury, and you couldn’t help the rising panic at the feeling of her grip tightening. 

The first time she had grabbed you by the throat, it reminded you of your father. 

This time you were more afraid of her than your ghosts. 

“Mother, stop!” Bela yelled, attempting to stand with her mountain of blankets, and Alcina’s grip immediately loosened and you fell you the ground. “Y/N’s obviously not going to respond to threats—”

You drowned out her words and tried to calm yourself down the best you could without drawing attention back to yourself.

Wish she would’ve killed me—I wanted her to.

You closed your eyes and when you reopened them, the fire had died down slightly, and only Bela remained.

“How long was I out?” you asked her when you sat up, your voice almost gone. 

She shrugged. “An hour, give or take. Mother left not too long ago. I think she wanted to choke you some more when you woke up but you were taking too long,”

You couldn’t help the bark of laughter that escaped but regretted it when you felt just how sore your neck was. 

“I won’t pretend that I’m not furious at you, Y/N—you hurt my mother and sisters with your careless actions and I’ll never forgive you for that,” Bela told you softly, before gesturing for you to sit next to her. “I have some questions that I hope you’ll answer,”
You struggled to push yourself up off the floor, your entire body aching from being slammed into the wall, but you sat down next to the daughter.

Man, it’s been a while since I was physically assaulted . 

You sit in silence while Bela figured out what she wanted to ask. You watched your dried blood fall off in dark flakes.

“Do you remember the day Mother Miranda came to visit when you were working in the foyer?”

You couldn’t help the overwhelming anger that crossed your face at the reminder of the woman who had ruined your life. “Yes,” you hissed out between gritted teeth, trying to reign in your emotions before you took them out of the young woman. 

“Alex told me what she said to you—we’ve been discussing matters since obviously no one else will,” she explained with a huff when you glanced over at her at the mention of the maid. “It’s maddening, isn’t it? To know that one person holds so much power over you?”
Her voice held so much loving but bitter contempt you didn’t have to ask if she meant Mother Miranda.

“I didn’t wanna do it,” you muttered, the words you had been saying to yourself for days slipping out before you could catch yourself. 

But Bela’s expression didn’t change. “I thought as much,” she said with a sigh. “Mother thinks I’m making excuses for you, but I suppose it’s been far too long since her implantation for the memories of what Mother Miranda’s clutches do to a person to be easily recallable,”

She looks back into the flames before speaking again. “We remember, though. It’s the only reason why you aren’t in pieces or being left to die in the basement,”

You didn’t react, so she continued with a huff of amusement. “Cassandra was the one to bring it up, actually—Daniela was heartbroken when Mother told us, Y/N. Even though I know you didn’t want to, it’s still incredibly painful to know what you did. But while we discussed matters in the basement, we stumbled onto the old laboratory that we were created in. Cass remembered the pull towards Mother Miranda—even though we bonded with Mother instead of her, the feeling like we had to do what she wanted, whenever she wanted—”
“Enough, Bela,” you interrupted, feeling sick to your stomach at her words. “It don’t change nothing—your mom hates me and I want her to,”

I liked it too much for it to be fully out of my control. 

I am going to kill Mother Miranda if it’s the last thing I do . 

The eldest daughter sighs. “What is it with you and always wanting to be the hero? Ever since you got here you’ve been fixing problems and helping everyone who needed you; it’s unfair of Mother to think you would cheat on her with Mother Miranda —I’d think you’d rather fuck a multitude of maids and a few vineyard workers before that crow,” she half-joked with a wave of her hand. 

“I’m mighty glad to see nearly freezing to death don’t fuck up that unfunny business of yours,” you snapped back, and she giggled. 

“Just between us, I quite enjoyed the music you were listening to today, but I think Daniela found it positively atrocious,” she said in a faux-whisper. You couldn’t help but chuckle softly and envy the shy smile that formed on Bela’s face. “I’ll let my sisters know we’ve spoken, obviously; meet us in the library say…right after breakfast? Mother won’t mind us disappearing then, but we do have tea in the library at ten…no, yes, meet us right after breakfast! I’m sure she’ll get all her motherly fretting out of the way tonight…” 

You patted her gently on the shoulder before standing. “Rest up, kid,” you rasped, giving her a strained smile. “Don’t be going near no more windows today,” 

A quick check of the armory showed that you should’ve put up the temporary wall when you had a chance—an inch of snow coated the ground and wood and you swore loudly when you realized your costly mistake.

You spent the rest of the afternoon trying to fix the damage done, but the snowfall had only gotten worse by the time you had the wall half-done. 

Sure glad I found that snow shovel in the garage—don’t know what I’d do tomorrow morning with five feet of snow outside and no fucking shovel.

Fuck, you wanted a drink. 

You decided to visit the Duke before heading back to your cottage for the night—you had jotted down the window’s neighbor’s measurements and hoped the glass would be the same size. 

Fuck, you hated restoration work. 

The Duke still amazed you even though you had done business with him for longer than a year—you had never seen a guy as big as him but you thought he was fucking hilarious. 

“Ah, the isolated mechanic—come back for more nails, perhaps? It hasn’t been that long since we last spoke,”

His little shop just by the entrance doors was cluttered but well-managed—you very much enjoyed the miniature version of the castle that resided in the corner of the room. 

“Need to order some window repair shit,” you squeaked out, your voice finally tapping out. 

The Duke’s eyebrow raised, and a slightly wicked grin crossed his face. “Would you care for a bowl of rabbit stew to ease your sore throat and warm up your bones? It’s on the house if you’ll write what you need down on that piece of paper in your hand,” 

You were only half surprised when you glanced over and saw that there was indeed a piece of paper clutched loosely in your grasp. 

You missed the taste of food. 

“I take the windburn across your face and missing voice is attributed to the rumor of Miss Bela’s quite chilling injuries?”

You shrugged, examining the scuffs on the borrowed spoon. 

“Window’s broke. Need to fix it,” you croaked, handing him back the empty bowl with a nod of thanks. 

“You seem to be excelling at this ‘handyman gig’, you know—you’re certainly doing a lot better than you were in the village!”

His smile changed, then. “I’ve heard lots of rumors about you recently, my friend—ah, us shopkeepers love to talk shop, and the owner of the general store said his store was broken into last week. Would you like to guess what was taken? Only one item, can you believe that?”
You rolled your eyes and jotted down your list with the carpenter's pencil you always had in your toolbelt before handing it to him. “You made your point, man,” you grumbled, tucking the pencil back in its spot and shoving your hands in your (nail-free) pockets. “Weren’t gonna ask you to give me nothing anyways—ain’t addicted to the booze just yet,”

His face relaxed, and he laughed. “Expect the materials in your garage at my earliest convenience, Y/N,” 

You were glad you remembered to grab your coat—the blistering winds beat you senseless but somehow you made it through unscathed. 

The lights being on should’ve been the first sign.

You weren’t paying any attention when you quickly entered your home, shucking off your wet coat and boots. 

It was only when you looked over at the kitchen and saw a mug you hadn’t set out earlier on the table, a teabag steeping in still-steaming water, that you glanced over to your bed and saw her. 

“Took you long enough,” Mother Miranda said, wearing a less-ornate ceremonial robe open just enough to show a tantalizing amount of leg and her golden bird mask hiding her true intentions. 

“I’ve had a long day,” you rasped, and she cocked her head as she examined you. 

“So you have—I take it Alcina found out?” Mother Miranda joked, tapping her neck with a sick grin. 

You gave her a dark look before shivering when the cold air hit your snow-damp jeans.

I’m not giving her the luxury of seeing me get undressed again . 

“Take your pants off for me; I know they must be soaked from the snow,” she purred, before reaching up and starting to undo her robes. “I might be a little wet too—I can’t stop thinking about what you did to me last time,” 

You didn’t want to unbutton your jeans but you did want to see her robe fall down slowly.

The sound of your heavy toolbelt hitting the ground brought you back to the present and then you found yourself walking towards her and then you were on top of her and then your mouth was on hers; you bit her lip and relished in the way she pulled back and checked to see if there was blood. 

She moaned your name when she came, and you never wanted to hear your name fall from her lips again. 

“Y/N, fuck me again,"

Chapter Text

It felt like there was something growing underneath your skin; you didn’t feel fully in control of your body anymore. 

It scared the piss out of you—you thought you’d be fine with the fact that you were dying but you weren’t.

The cold infiltrated your cottage through the ancient windows. Maybe I’ll have enough materials left from the castle repair to fix mine up too , you thought while you laid shirtless in your bed, watching the woman who was responsible for your demise getting redressed.  

You hadn’t felt more awake than you did in that moment; the fog had lifted and you got to see just how much destruction you had caused.

Mother Miranda enjoyed watching you savor each second your mind was clear but didn’t speak her thoughts on the matter. Instead, she quickly pulled her robe on and picked up her discarded mask from the nightstand. You shifted slightly and winced at the stinging pain you felt. Bloody scratches were carved into your back by her sharp nails and a trail of dark, painful hickies ran from your chest to your hips; you didn’t want this destruction anymore. All you wanted was for Alcina to hold your hand and smile at you again. 

Mother Miranda smirked at you before putting on her mask. “You’re proving to be far more valuable than I thought you would,” she purred before exiting the cottage and slamming the door behind her.

You felt like you were being eaten alive. 

The snow had stopped falling a few hours ago, but it had piled high enough to where you knew it was going to be an issue getting to the castle when the sun rose. 

Your body ached and your muscles felt tight and sore at the same time. 

The restlessness you had felt since childhood made you slide out of bed and get dressed. The green cotton fabric of the sweater rubbed against your back uncomfortably but you ignored it and pushed up your sleeves; nothing would change what you felt.

Alcina would .

You grew anguished at the thought—how were you going to possibly fix this? You weren’t sure how long this bout of clarity would last and you knew things were only going to get worse. 

Your workboots were still damp from the snow when you pulled them on, the laces freezing to the touch. 

The snow shovel was shoved in the corner of the garage next to a very old bag of rock salt—you spent the rest of the night clearing a path from your cottage to the castle and treating the outside sidewalks with salt just in case it froze again.

You decided to see if you could help out with the courtyard’s cleanup, bypassing the main entrances by hopping over a small wall, and weren’t surprised to see Sorin underneath the gazebo with a shovel of his own. His shoulders looked tense as he surveyed the mountain of snow that covered the ground. 

“Need any help?” you called out to him, and the boy jumped slightly before spinning around. 

“If you wouldn’t mind,” he said with a guilty smile. “I noticed you were clearing yourself a path when I headed over here,”
You shrugged. “Don’t want my boots to get more soggy,” 

He chuckled. “How about you start on one end and we meet in the middle?”
By the time the sun peeked over the castle’s spires and hit your face, most of the snow had been cleared away from the impressive stone pathways of the courtyard. 

Sorin huffed out a sigh of relief and celebrated when he saw how much work had been done. “Man, we’re good. We make a good team, Y/N,”
You snorted, having done most of the work, but you nodded all the same. “We sure do,” 

“Are you doing better? You seem…all here, today,” Sorin said with an anxious look on his face, and you were reminded by just how naive this boy was. 

Crows gathered on the outer trim of the castle, their beady eyes watching you.

A muscle in your cheek twitched, and you changed your grip on your shovel to ignore the prickle of lonely rage building in a dark corner of your mind. 

“I’m dying, kid,” you admitted, and his eyes widened. 

It’s the first time you’ve told that fact to anyone who didn’t already know, you realize. 

“Are you in any pain?”

You shut your eyes for a moment and focused on the feeling of writhing inside you.  

“I’ve gotten used to it,” you grunted, shoving your shovel into a particularly large snowdrift. You frown when your momentum gets interrupted by something, and a loud snarl echoed from the pile. Before you could react, the shovel gets ripped out of your hands and a figure leaps out from the drift, the snow blinding you. 

“ Moroaică!” Sorin screamed in terror, his thundering footfalls the only reason you knew he had taken off at a dead sprint in the opposite direction. 

What the fuck, Sorin? 

You blinked the snow out of your eyes a moment too late: you only got to glance at the moroaică before it slammed the face of the shovel blade into the side of your skull.

“Fuck!” you yelled, barely managing to stop yourself from falling. You tried to ignore the high-pitched ringing in your ears and mind-splitting headache that threatened to overtake you and interrupted its next blow by ducking underneath the shovel and grabbing the shaft. The moroaică shrieked and tried to pull its weapon away but your strength didn’t waver. 

The louder it got, the more your anger grew.

Your head throbbed with every beat of your heart and darkness began to show at the edges of your vision. The moroaică let out a high-pitched roar that mixed with the ringing and you almost dropped you to your knees. Your grip on the shovel loosened just enough for the monster to yank it away from you.

A few feet stood between you and it, your chests heaving with exertion. It gave you a moment to try and think of a plan, but you could barely focus on anything but the pain shooting through your head.

The only coherent thought you had before it raised the shovel again was to bum-rush the freak.

You would’ve made a middle linebacker jealous with your perfect tackle, slamming the moroaică onto the stone pathway before throwing the snow shovel several feet away once you had combobulated yourself enough. 

You found yourself face to face with the snarling monster, spittle flying past its jagged teeth while it fought against your hold. You had scuffled against the moroaice time and time again, but this was the first time you had gotten a good look at one of them. 

It had been a woman once, you could tell. You gagged at the smell of rot on its breath but kept your cool. It was covered in open wounds, puss flowing from them freely. Your breathing stuttered when it tried to rear up and sink its teeth into your neck, but your distributed weight across its body kept it from budging. Your grip on its wrists tightened when it started shrieking again, and you wondered how arms that were almost skin and bone held so much inhuman strength.

Would this be you in a few months? Is this what the woman went through before she turned into a bloodthirsty beast?

Your skin crawled with the thought, or maybe the thing growing inside you was agreeing. 

The moroaică’s screaming was cut short when you snapped its neck with barely any effort, fast enough for the monster not to know what you were doing. You scrambled off of it as fast as you could but the sudden moment let your nausea rise to the surface.

The bowl of rabbit stew the Duke had given you yesterday splattered onto the ground and took you to your knees. You felt lightheaded. 

“Y/N!” Alex’s voice rang out in the now quiet morning air, and you glanced over to see the maid armed with a kitchen knife and Sorin trailing a few paces behind her, a petrified look on his face. 

You couldn’t help but forgive the kid for tucking his tail and running—you remembered how it felt to be young and naive once upon a time, too.

The crows took flight at that moment, their loud caws striking your rattled brain. 

“What the fuck happened?” she asked you, looking between you and the dead moroaică with wide eyes. 

You gestured to your weaponized shovel a few feet away and then to her brother before allowing yourself to fall backward onto the freezing stone pathway. 

The cold against the bare parts of your body helped with the nausea but the splitting headache was only getting worse. 

Sorin said something in a hysterical voice and Alex barked at him to shut the fuck up. 

“The lady has to be informed of this, Y/N,”
You didn’t respond; the sky had opened up again and small snowflakes had started to fall on your face. 

Alex looked at you, her expression grave. “Sorin, stay here while I fetch Lady Dimitrescu,” 

Silence overtook her place and you could feel the boy’s nervousness from where you laid on the ground.

He didn’t get a chance to speak until the large doors leading to the dining room opened and Alcina and Alex walked through. 

The countess looked like she had just woken up and dressed in a hurry: her accessories were missing but a lit cigarette hung from the lady’s bare lips 

You couldn’t make out what the three discussed, trying to focus on not succumbing to your probably severe traumatic brain injury.

You did notice that Alcina kept her eyes on you the entire conversation. 

After taking a long drag, the lady said something curt to Alex who nodded immediately, the kitchen knife still gripped tightly in her grasp. 

She gestured towards her brother before exiting the courtyard, the naive boy right on her heels.

A few of the crows came back and perched on the roof lip of the gazebo. 

They must like the show or something, you thought, your pain almost debilitating. 

Alcina walked towards you, a peeved look on her face, but didn’t speak. She stood right over you while she finished her cigarette, taller than you had ever seen her. 

Her eyes burned bright with angry grief. 

“What am I going to do with you?” she asked you with a tired sigh, taking one last puff of her cigarette before flicking it down onto your chest.  

Irritation rises to the surface and you force your arms to move; your hand crept slowly towards your heaving chest and you picked the still-lit cigarette up. Without breaking eye contact with the lady, you finished it before tossing it aside. 

Her eyes widened with surprise, and she opened and closed her mouth several times before shaking her head with a muttered curse. 

“Can you stand?” Alcina’s voice was sharp. 

The snow had started to fall faster. You missed Texas. 

You closed your eyes a moment before attempting to peel yourself off of the frozen ground, getting to your knees before another wave of nausea hit you. 

“It hit me really hard,” you slurred before tipping forward.

A strong hand balling up your sweater’s collar kept you from busting your nose, and you heard Alcina let out a loud sigh before you were suddenly yanked onto your feet.

“I do hope the moroaică didn’t rattle your memory of how to walk. Move,” she snarled, moving her hand to your shoulder.

Her grip was firm but gentle and that made you force yourself to put one foot in front of the other even though every step took a year of your life away. (Daniela’s flare for the dramatics might’ve rubbed off on you more than you thought, but it certainly hurt fucking enough to warrant the exaggeration)

The dining room was busy being prepared for breakfast when you and the lady entered the room, plates and forks and napkins moving from hand to table faster than you could watch. 

You didn’t know where Alcina was taking you, but that was nothing new. 

It didn’t take long before three swarms of flies emerged from the woodwork, the daughters forming in front of you and their mother. 

You knew they didn’t want to hurt you anymore, but the look on Cassandra’s face nearly fooled you. 

I don’t deserve for you to put on a facade for your mother. Don’t do that for me.

Bela looked at you curiously before glancing over to her mother. “I thought the moroaică were all still contained in the dungeons?”

How the hell did she know?
Alcina hummed. “So did I. Perhaps it’s time for you three to thin the hoard?”

“Where are you taking Y/N?” Daniela asked innocently, and Bela roughly jammed her in the side with her elbow. 

“Go sharpen your sickle, Dani,” the eldest snarled before swarming off, Cassandra hot on her heels. 

Daniela glanced between the two of you before shrugging and turning into an explosion of flies. 

The lady’s grip on your shoulder tightened slightly, and you craned your head up to see confusion flash across her face before it returned to her now-normalized scowl. 

Where the hell was she taking you?

Alcina pushed you forward and you take a few more steps before a bolt of pain shoots through your head. 

You yelped, trying to rub away your agony, but you couldn’t feel your arms.

Panic started to set in right before the feeling of the crawling worsened; all you wanted to do was tear yourself apart and die. 

“Breathe, Y/N,” the lady’s voice was muffled against the ringing in your ears, but you forced yourself to take in a few deep breaths. 

It didn’t help the pain in your head but it did calm you down enough to pass out.
Actually, maybe it didn’t help at all. 

You came to on polished hardwood floors in a room you had never been in before. Your head still throbbed but it wasn’t debilitating. 

Alcina stood facing away from you, focused on something you couldn’t see. 

You let your head roll to the side and scared yourself when you saw a giant fucking painting of the lady.

Your surprise must’ve been audible: the countess in question huffed softly before setting something down and turning around. Her scowl had only worsened in the time you were unconscious. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to wake up,” 

The way she said it pissed you off but you knew getting angry would only make it worse. 

“Sorry to disappoint,” you grunted, your accent thick. You pushed yourself up to a sitting position and flexed your hands, thankful you could move your arms again. 

“Your healing has accelerated,” Alcina noted, monotony lining her words. 

An empty bottle of first aid was discarded a few feet away from your body and you rolled your eyes at the sight of it. 

Of course . 

“Your friend Alex is quite efficient,” the lady said, walking over and picking up the bottle. “She was here with the kit before I had even made it to the corridor with you,”

You looked at what had been hidden by Alcina’s body and raised an eyebrow. “You paint?”

The lady waved her hand flippantly. “I dabble—”
“That’s so cool,” you told her earnestly before wincing at the dark look she leveled you.

Your irritation at the woman ruined you; falling in love with Alcina was both the best and worst thing you had ever done.

Everything else you had ruined you could walk away from. What was so different about this?

An uncomfortable silence fell when she went back to her painting. You knew this was your cue to leave, but you couldn’t bring yourself to go.

It took you longer than you’d admit to gather the courage to push yourself up on your feet and approach her. 

The painting was beautiful; it looked to be based on the style of the Renaissance, with cherubs surrounding a majestic angel. 

The lady glanced over when you finally got close enough to touch her but didn’t comment. She messed around with a few tubes of oil paint, and you realized she was trying to act busy to not interact with you. 

“Alcina…” you began, unsure of what to say. Your mind was still crystal clear but raced with more thoughts than a sane person could possibly have. 

“Spare me from any more of your idiotic apologies,” she snapped, not taking her eyes off her painting.

You huffed, your irritation growing, before wandering around the room, restless. 

“Where the hell are we, anyways?” you snarkily asked, searching through a mountain of books piled by a small set of moveable stairs.

You still didn’t like reading all that much, but you were more open to it than you used to be.

“My atelier,” Alcina responded. “Not many have seen the inside of this room and survived to tell the tale,”

You rolled your eyes and chuckled, a tattered book of short stories catching your eye. You flipped through it and smirked when you got an idea.

“Who cares about three Swiss guys at a train station? This Hemingway really needs to think of better material,” you faux-complained, laughing when Alcina jerked her head sharply to glare at you.

You waved the book at her, your eyebrow raised. “Last time I checked, Hemingway was a guy. Hiding a secret love for man-things ?”

The lady scoffed, walking over to you and plucking it out of your hands. “Hardly. This book came into my possession long before I only preferred the company of women,”
She held the book like it was an old friend, her thumb gently tracing the spine. It seemed like the lady was enraptured in a memory. 

“I bought this in Paris the day it was released, you know,” she said, glancing at you before rolling her eyes at the surprised look on your face. 

You knew she had been alive for a very long time, but for her to confirm that she had been alive when fucking Hemingway was walking around shocked the piss out of you. 

“How many times have you read it?” you asked instead of the very obvious questions both you and her knew could fall from your lips at any second.

Alcina glanced at you, a deep frown carved into her face. “Far too many times to count. Though the printed ink had been smudged by my fingers long before I fell victim to false promises,”

Your nausea came back at the obvious reminder of Mother Miranda and her deceit before your irritation rose to the surface. 

“She tricked me too, Alcina,” you snapped, letting your anger wash over you. 

Fury appeared on her face but you ignored it—you knew she knew what truly had happened but was unwilling to accept it. 

Alcina was too smart not to. 

It enraged you that she wanted to hate you so bad; you loved the lady more than you loved yourself, and you knew she loved you more than she had ever loved another person. 

Why was it so hard for her to open her eyes? Did she want to drive you away before you hurt her again? Was her mind so clouded by her perverted love and hate of the woman who had ruined you both she would never be able to forgive you? 

If she wanted to hate you, you wouldn’t stop her.

“I never wanted to end up a freak, but here I am, and so are you,” your voice was no better than a growl. “Ain’t that sick? She dug her claws into us at our weakest points, and left us to figure out how to look at ourselves again”
It would’ve been easy for you to fall back into the cycle of hatred you had always known. 

You had more hate in your heart than love: you hated yourself, hated talking, hated the sound of your voice, hated every single injury you had obtained in this fucked-up place, hated that it felt like it was Alcina’s fault, hated that it was Mother Miranda’s fault, and hated that you had hurt the woman you loved the most.

You hated that you liked the anger you had felt since you were young so much. 

The difference between you now and the you of your youth is now you knew hate wouldn't solve anything good. 

“All I want to do now, Alcina, is do what Hemingway did and blow my brains out,” you told her, voice rough from your injuries and emotion. “But I can’t. The shit growing inside me won’t let me. It makes me do things I don’t wanna do and leaves me to deal with the consequences—”

Winner Take Nothing slammed into the side of your head the moroaică had with a force that flung you to the floor, your nose smashing against the floor. 

It hadn’t jostled your brain like your morning attack, but she definitely had broke your fucking nose. Black blood flowed down your face and dripped off your chin, but you ignored it, scrambling back up to your feet. 

Alcina stared down at you, eyes wide and chest heaving. Her grip on the book was iron-tight. 

“What the fuck, Alcina?” you yelled, bloody spittle flying from your mouth. Why the fuck would she do that to me? What had I said that warranted a broken nose?

You deserved a lot of what had happened to you, but not that .

Her mouth opened and closed, but it seemed like she was at a loss for words. 

Your cheek twitched with your anger, but you only spit a mouthful of blood onto the floor. 

A junkie ex of yours had busted your eyebrow open with a book when you told her to stop getting high with her kid in the room. You didn’t even know she even owned books. 

You would never forget how calm that kid was, handing you a washcloth and telling you to put pressure on the cut.

It had reminded you too much of yourself and you ran.

The memory soured your mood even further. Alcina had a history of hurting you, obviously, but the pain you felt now hadn’t been necessary.

You clutched your nose to stop the bleeding, but it had already soaked the front of your sweater. It didn’t really bother you. Who cared? Let them talk. 

You walked away from her without a word towards the door.  

“Y/N—” Alcina began, voice strained, but you left before you could hear her explanation.

You slammed the door harder than you meant to but kept walking, huffing when you recognized the hall you were in. 

The library’s door was opened, and your heart sped up when you heard hushed voices. 

You couldn’t help but peek in, the memory of that night still fresh in your mind. 

When you saw Bela, you relaxed. When you saw she was speaking to Alex, you tensed up again.
You cared about both of them and really didn’t want to watch something bad happen.

Your eyebrow raised slightly when your friend murmured something and grabbed the daughter’s hand; they both went into your hairline when Bela laughed before leaning down and kissing her. 

This really is a castle full of sapphic supernatural cannibals , you thought with an eye roll and knocked on the doorframe. 

They jumped apart, a guilty look on Bela’s face before she saw your predicament. 

“Y/N!” Bela yelled, swarming over to you and tugging you into the room. The door slammed behind you. “What happened?” 

You winced when she prodded around your face; yep, your nose was definitely broken. 

“Your mother,” you snarled, voice thick with blood. 

Bela glanced over at Alex, who blushed fiercely at getting caught. “Can you grab the first aid kit—”
“Lady Dimitrescu’s got it,” she interrupted the daughter, gesturing over at you. “I brought it to her atelier for Y/N’s previous injuries,” 

You narrowed your eyes at the young woman. “You say that like it weren’t your brother who got me into that mess,” 

Alex huffed. “Don’t remind me. At least you were there—who knows how fast that moroaică would’ve killed him?”
“Why did Mother do this to you?” Bela asked, and you scoffed. 

“Hell if I know—I didn’t deserve it,”
The daughter’s eyes narrowed. 

“This time,” you added, and Bela’s lips set into a thin frown. 

“I don’t know how to set your nose—”
“I’ll fix it myself,” you said, waving her away. “I think I’m gonna call it a day,”

“Let me walk you back—” Alex began, but you shook your head. 

“Don’t let me stop you two from eye-fucking—I mean, enjoying your time together,” you joked, laughing at the way the women rolled their eyes at you.

“I might need your help with a project tomorrow if you don’t mind, Y/N,” Alex said, ignoring the curious look Bela gave her. 

“My schedules pretty booked, but I’ll try and squeeze you in between getting beaten repeatedly by the lady and my hour of succumbing to the horror,” you drawled, ignoring the sharp looks they both leveled you. 

“I’ll see what I can find out about why Mother reacted that way, Y/N. I’m sorry, about everything. Life hasn’t been fair to you,”

You shrugged. “Better me than some other poor fool,”

Bela hummed. “You’ve changed, mechanic,”

Not well enough, kid . 

“See y’all tomorrow,” 

You stopped in the kitchen to grab something to eat and luckily missed Olimpia—you didn’t want her to see you like this. 

Luckily your house was vacant when you arrived, and you washed up in the sink before looking at yourself in the cracked mirror—how it had cracked, you didn’t remember. 

You looked like reddened shit: the bridge of your nose was crooked and bruising had already started to set in.

“At least she didn’t knock out any of my teeth,” you said, flashing yourself a tired smile while trying to look on the bright side. 

You still couldn’t understand why she had attacked you—you knew your words must’ve been hurtful...but to the point of assault?
Maybe it’s not for me to understand . 

You pulled on an old t-shirt and pajama pants before going out into your garage to fiddle. 

The truck hadn’t had much work done to it since your condition started to worsen, you realized. 

Putting on one of your favorite 80s albums, you smiled when Maneater started to play.
Alcina would always be on your mind until the day you died. 

You worked on your truck for a few hours until the door opened behind you with a woosh of air. You tensed, the aspect of another one of Mother Miranda’s visits making you angry and nauseous. 

“Y/N,” Alcina’s smooth voice filled the garage, and your shoulders relaxed slightly before tensing right back up. 

“I’m off the clock,” you snarled, not looking at her.

“You spoke of not being in control of yourself—how does it feel?”

The socket wrench you were holding slipped from your gasp and fell into the engine bay, lost until further notice. 

You turned around quietly, leaning against the truck while you stared up at her. 

Alcina’s face was grave, and you furrowed your brows at the sight. 

“You’re serious?” you asked, crossing your arms. 

She nodded, her eyes not leaving yours. 

You glanced off to the side to try and find the words, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “It didn’t feel like I wasn’t in control of myself, at first. It felt like I wanted to do it,” you said after a few moments. “But now…” you trailed off, looking back at the lady. “It’s like I’m trapped inside my mind while my body does what it wants. I can feel everything, but I can’t stop myself,”

Alcina bit her bottom lip while you spoke, though her expression remained unchanged.

You focus on the sting of the scratches on your back and your frown deepens. You turned back to your truck and fiddled with some of the exposed wires. “I don’t expect for you to understand—”
“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Alcina interrupted, before leaving as fast as she came, the door shutting with a click. 

It takes you a few moments to process what just happened, but even then, you came back clueless. 

The apology didn’t help lift the sinking feeling in your gut that this was the final act of your story.

Chapter Text

You hadn’t slept in three days. It weren’t nothing new, but it meant your bone-deep exhaustion in the daylight had returned.

You hadn’t seen the lady since her quick apology, right before your insomnia came back. She was avoiding you, but for what, you didn’t know. 

You hadn’t seen Mother Miranda, either. That fact worried you.

You had set up a temporary work station in the broken window’s hallway, just two sawhorses and a piece of leftover plywood. 

It looked almost black outside while you worked. Your CD player sat a few feet away, Candy playing louder than it should’ve but soft enough that you weren’t bothering nobody. 

You hated the feeling of being tired. This fucking Mold . Insomnia had been something you had always struggled with, but drugs and drinking had helped you control it, albeit destructively. 

You chuckled to yourself. Bela was right, you had changed. The wanting for something to dull the pain had never stopped, but you knew it would only hurt you more in the end now. 

Setting the glass in the window frame was tedious. You remembered when you and Mikey used to do odd jobs for people to get money for booze and weed. Windows around your town always managed to mysteriously get rocks thrown through them, and you and your best friend always seemed to know when someone was in need of y’alls novice window maintenance.

The reminder of him made your chest hurt. You touched the scar across your neck. How did he feel, in his last moments? Knowing he was gonna die and being powerless to stop it?

Hopefully he was too fucked up to be scared. 

You shoved glazing points into the frame to further secure the glass, ignoring your turmoil. 

How did your mother feel? You swallowed thickly at the thought. 

You didn’t regret what you did. She was going to get killed, one way or another. Crimes of passion from a drug-and-drink-addled mind would get you a few years in prison. You’d get released on good behavior. 

You huffed, glad to never be stuck in a drunk tank again. 

A glass of bourbon would solve a lot of my problems…

You sighed when you realized you had forgotten to get a bucket of water, and set down your flathead screwdriver you were using to push the points in with. 

The trek to the kitchen was slow, the castle eerily quiet. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears. You chewed on the inside of your cheek while you ran a hand down the banisters of the main staircase, the reminder of the first time you had truly met Mother Miranda making your anxiety worse.

You were nervous while you filled a stray bucket with water in the large sink. You didn’t know why. 

In a few hours, the kitchen staff would fill this kitchen and make it seem full of life again.

For now, it felt like you were being hunted, all alone minus the beast that wanted your head on a pike.

By the time you made it back to your workstation, your anxiety was at an all-time high. You felt like an intruder. 

The darkness outside called to you with the promise to help you disappear and never return. 

You ignored it, grabbing your putty knife from your toolbelt and shoving it into your quart of aqua glaze before pulling out a large glob. 

The back of your neck prickled. Someone was watching you. 

You continued working, rolling the glazing into a ball and waiting for it to lose some of its stickiness. The feeling of eyes never faded.

Dust to Dust cut off halfway through the song. You quickly checked your player, sighing in relief when you figured out only the batteries had died. 

You took this as a chance to look down the hall to see if you could see someone. 

Nothing seemed out of place. 

The CD restarted, Into The Black starting. You skipped it and let Kill For Love take its place. 

You wondered if you still had any of those old mixtape CDs you and Miranda used to burn together. 

Miranda…you still had to call Scarlett. How could you tell her you were dying? 

It took an hour for you to glaze the window, rusty but not too rusty after years of no practice. You let it set for another hour before installing it. 

You had just finished putting the decorative trim back around the now-sealed window when the sun start to peek from above the trees. You restarted the CD again and skipped to Lady , ignoring the way your exhaustion hit you like a ton of bricks. 

Pretty soon, you started to hear people moving throughout the castle. Angelika gave you a slight nod when she passed by you, entering what you now knew was the dressing room. You wondered if the daughters were gonna use the room again now that you had fixed the window. You wondered if Alcina ever had—you had never seen her get dressed before, you realized, always leaving before she awoke. 

The buzzing of flies down the hall confirmed your suspicions, and you had to turn a chuckle into a cough when the daughters appeared in front of you, hair wild and nightgowns wrinkled with heavy sleep. 

“We heard your music and figured you had fixed the window,” Bela said, her voice scratchy. 

“It’s still too cold in the hallway for y’all to linger,” you grunted, gesturing to the dressing room with your head.

“Eat breakfast with us, Y/N. We need to talk,” Cassandra said, a flash of worry appearing on her face before immediately returning to the calm and collected facade she always wore. 

Something to do with their Mother, I’d guess. 

You inclined your head to show you understood, and the daughters buzzed off. 

Worksite cleanup was your least favorite part of any job you had done—lugging your sawhorses and tools back down the stairs, coming back for the plywood sheet and banging your knee when you missed a step ‘cause you couldn’t see, then trekking through the three inches of snow that had fallen on the path in the time you had been in the castle before slipping on one of the pathway rocks you hadn’t salted properly—well, you weren’t happy.

Your shoulder throbbed from the impact while you limped back to the castle, trying to control the anger that was bubbling up inside.

Christmas was coming up. When would the castle start to look festive? 

The aspect of seeing Karl and hearing his plan to get rid of Mother Miranda helped calm you enough to give Olimpia a shy smile when you stripped off your thick coat before entering the dining room. You still hadn’t apologized for how you had ignored and treated her when everything started going to shit. 

You knew she was furious with you because of it. 

All of the chairs but four had been removed from the table. Only one large chair facing three smaller ones remained. The daughters were seated but the lady was missing. 

A nameless maid entered the room with a chair from the main hall, sitting it down next to the large one and leaving. 

You knew that chair would be removed the moment you were done eating. It seemed the lady wanted mealtimes to be a family affair. 

Another week. Then you’d know how to enact revenge. 

“Y/N? Aren’t you going to sit down?” Bela asked, an eyebrow raised. You huffed when you realized you had gotten lost in your thoughts. 

Wordlessly, you plopped down into the chair. Only Olimpia came out, pushing a dining cart with four covered plates. 

What looked to be bloody steaks were placed in front of the daughters, but from the carefully crafted look of nonchalance on Olimpia’s face, you knew better. 

A bowl of something that looked like fried grits with a fried egg was placed in front of you.

“ Bulz ,” she grunted at you, disappearing without another word. 

You loved grits. You had told Olimpia this months ago. You weren’t hungry.

“How go the castle repairs?” Bela asked, flashing you a fake smile. 

You rolled your eyes. “Cut the crap and tell me what’s wrong,”

“Mother hasn’t left her room since she went down to your cottage—what happened?” Daniela immediately interjected, and you purse your lips. 

Shit.

“She apologized,” you said. “I ain’t gotta clue why she’s holed up in there. Scout’s honor,” you added when Cassandra’s eyes narrowed.  

“How peculiar…” Bela murmured before picking up her less-than-rare steak and digging her teeth into it. Blood rolled down her chin and coated her mouth. 

You tutted at her table manners and gestured to the silverware set next to her plate. “You know what a fork and knife is, don’t you?”

“Fuck off,” Cassandra said for her sister, ripping a strip of the steak with her bare hands and shoving it into her mouth. “Go talk to Mother,” 

You raised an eyebrow. “Last time I checked, you ain’t my boss. She’ll come out when she wants to,” 

“I’m not sure, Y/N. She has lots of things to throw in her chambers,” Daniela said through a mouthful of meat. You ignored the way she held the steak like a slice of pizza. 

“She’ll gut me,”

“No, she won’t,” Bela told you. “She apologized, remember?”
You shake your head, your irritation growing. You stamp it down. “Look, girls, I appreciate y’all trying to help, but I need you three to stop. I…we just need time,”

“From the look of things, you don’t have much of that left,” Cassandra muttered, and you could feel the energy in the room change.

“Don’t say that. We don’t know that,” Daniela said sharply, her emotions written all over her face. 

She was scared, you realized. 

Fuck, what has your world come to? Three cannibalistic daughters and their equally-bloodthirsty mother, all forever changed by your presence. 

You thought about what your life would’ve been like if you had never left Texas. Would you be dead or would you have gone to prison and got clean years before you actually did? Would your family have anything to do with you? 

But you did leave. You ran away and became a face in the crowd. You met people who were better off never having seen your ugly mug. It was all hookups and drug deals, robberies and naloxone. Now you had to live with the fact that Cassandra was right and you weren’t going to survive much longer. 

“Excuse me,” you said abruptly, standing up and abandoning your untouched breakfast.

You had never been stronger but you had never felt weaker. All you wanted was to fall asleep and never wake up. It’d be better than watching yourself deteriorate due to something out of your control. 

“Maybe this is all a bad dream,” you said outloud to yourself, your voice echoing all around you. 

You furrowed your brows, finally taking a look at your surroundings. You realized you had wandered to the atelier in your stupor.

The sight of the dried bloodstain on the floor didn’t make anything better. 

You hadn’t made an effort to straighten your nose out and it had healed the next morning. 

Now, it was forever bent to the right in the middle.

It didn’t faze you. You could still breathe. 

For how much longer, though?

Alcina had worked on her painting more since the assault. Bells were now gripped by the angel and cherubs. 

A note had been taped to the upper right corner. You could barely make out what it said, your vision always a little fuzzy now. 

“Let the five bells of this chamber ring out,” you murmured, noting that there were only three bells visible in the room. 

What did the lady mean? You walked over to the bell next to the stuffed snapping turtle and pulled out your claw hammer from your belt. 

When you hit it, you were surprised that sparks shot up from the top. Further inspection revealed there was a flint stick placed in a way so a piece of steel would strike it when the bell was rung. 

You hit it four more times, and heard something in the chamber click. Your eyes went to the portrait of Alcina, and huffed when you saw it slowly swing open. 

How was that mechanically possible? Was it a bit of machinery that was set to unlock when a certain pitch was played a certain number of times? 

You decided to say fuck it and investigate. What else were you gonna do? Talk to the lady? 

There was a small area with a gaping hole leading to another area behind it. Maybe it was built with a panic room in mind. 

You squeezed through the hole with little effort. You had gotten skinnier.

It was a suspicious hallway, the cold air being let in by open stone windows in the exterior wall. 

You made it to a ladder, and climbed. It was longer than you thought it would’ve been. 

It seemed to be a hiding place of sorts. The mannequins were off-putting. A table with a crate and a weathered piece of paper sat in front of a support beam and you raised an eyebrow when you realized it was a treasure map. 

Another time, perhaps. 

Another table stood in a sectioned off corner of the room, shoved in between two walls. Another piece of paper, though it looked to be ripped out of a spiral notebook. That gave you a pause. Whoever had written on it had to have been fairly recent. You didn’t recall seeing any modern journals past the one Alcina had on her vanity. 

It said something about a “Dagger of Death's Flowers” being somewhere in the castle. You didn’t like the aspect that it had been crafted to kill demons and monsters. 

Where would something like that even be? You weren’t about to ask Alcina about it, in any case. 

You walked further, going up a few steps into a small room. 

The breath in your chest left when you saw the rifle you had left in your old house the night everything fell apart sitting on a green chair next to a few spare windows. 

There was still gunpowder residue on the barrel.

You didn’t touch it, backing up until you had made it back to the ladder.

This wasn’t a room you were supposed to see. The shit crawling underneath your skin seemed to agree with you. 

You hurriedly stepped through the painting and pulled it closed behind you, trying to shake the feeling that death was coming for all of you.
Scarlett. You needed to call Scarlett and tell her you were dead. 

The issue was you needed to speak with someone else to talk to her. 

Your feet took you somewhere your mind didn’t want to go, every instinct in your body telling you this was a bad idea. 

The door of Alcina’s chambers had never looked so intimidating. 

You could hear her rustling around in the room, and you knew she could hear you outside the door. 

It was a standoff, now. Who could break their vows and open the door? 

You knew whatever transpired would change everything. How could you possibly be the one to open it and show your dying colors? 

A tattooed arm reached towards the ornate door and it took you a moment to recognize it as your own.  

You rapped your knuckles across the decorative bronze, the noise echoing around you. 

The noise Alcina was making ceased, and you let out a soft sigh. 

Ignorance was bliss, you guessed. There ain’t much left of that in this whole ordeal. 

Just as you turned to leave, you heard the door creak open. You had a can of WD stashed in your belt to fix that. 

You faced the Hall of Ablution as Alcina looked down at you.

The prickle of her eyes on the back of your neck was different than the one earlier.

“Y/N,” her voice was hoarse, but her tone was soft. 

You waited for her to say something else, but didn’t.

“Girls’re worried about you,” you drawled quietly, studying the floor beneath your feet. “Told ‘em you just needed time. Guess I can’t take my own advice,”

“Y/N,” she repeated, and you finally turned to her, forcing yourself to look at her golden eyes. 

Alcina looked like a corpse. You let your gaze fall down her body and noted the stains of black and red on her dress and skin which was almost translucent in the light of the sconces.

She still looked as beautiful as the day you had met her. It seemed unreal it had only been half a year since you started working for the castle. So much had changed in you since the lady had tasted your blood and hated it. So much had changed since you had walked into the golden-claw grasp of Mother Miranda, too. You swallowed thickly at the reminder and looked at the floor. 

You were both silent, and you knew Alcina wanted to shut the door in your face. 

“I wish I could take the pain I caused away,” you eventually murmured, shoving your hands in your pockets. “But I can’t. That day, I told you I’ve never loved another person like I love you, but it wasn’t the right time. I do love you more than I’ve ever loved someone before, but the way I went about it all weren’t the best. I was scared and hurtin’ and wanted to do everything in my power to make you understand I didn’t want to do what I did. I tried to hop over the ditch that had been dug between us but only made it a canyon,” you took in a deep breath before looking back into the eyes of the lady. “I can’t forget your words but I forgive you for everything you did in your pain. I’m just prey for the buzzards that circle me but I’ve made my peace with it,” you trailed off, looking off to the side because the blank stare she was giving you was making you anxious. “I just…I just need you to forgive yourself for whatever it is you’re beating yourself up about, so they don’t circle you, too,” 

You wondered if she was going to get angry, if her claws would enter your chest any second and lift you off the ground. 

Her bare hand was cold against your jaw when she moved your head to look up at her. 

Tears filled her eyes but she blinked them away. A stray tear still managed to run down her cheek. “I was horrible to you,” she said, her voice cracking. 

“You had every reason to be,” you responded. 

“I didn’t believe my daughters,”

You shrugged. “I don’t blame you,”

“I’ve been such a fool,”

Your irritation flared at that statement. “No, Alcina, you haven’t. You reacted the way you thought was right. It don’t matter if you were a fool or not. What’s done been done. Can’t change it,”
“What are we going to do? She’s still using you, isn’t she?” Alcina asked, and you screwed your eyes shut, not wanting to see the pained look on her face when you told her. 

“Not recently,” you muttered. “Not since the night before the courtyard incident. She comes when she wants to. Ain’t no rhyme nor reason to it,”
No, Y/N, it’s when she gets horny. Don’t tell the lady that. Do not tell the lady that. 

“I’m sorry I’ve left you to deal with this,”

“You didn’t know, so stop apologizing, please, Alcina. No more sorrys,”

“No more sorrys,” she repeated, blinking away more tears. You reached up and squeezed the hand that was cupping your jaw.

“You’re dirty,” you told her, and she sighed, hanging her head.

“I’m—it’s been a rough few days,” Alcina responded, and you gestured through her room to her bathroom’s door. 

“Pick out some fresh clothes and I’ll run a bath for you,” you whispered, waiting for her to either let you or tell you to fuck off. 

She hesitated, letting go of your jaw and looking deeply into your eyes. You didn’t falter; you would help her do anything if it helped fix the pain you both felt. 

She backed into the room. “I need help removing my dress,”

“Let me get everything situated first,”

You knew it would’ve been bigger than average to fit the lady, but it still surprised you on how huge the bathtub was. Had you ever been in here before? 

You figured you had a fairly large window of time before the tub overflowed with water to help the lady undress. 

When you emerged from the room, the lady was turned away from you, running a hand over the cream dress that the mannequin in her room was wearing. 

“What’s with the little cape in the back of your dress?” you asked her, and she glanced at you with a huff. 

“Don’t you know anything about fashion?”

You raised an eyebrow at her, gesturing to your outfit. “No?”

“There’s a stool to help you reach the top buttons,” she responded, an embarrassed blush appearing on her face. 

You found it and clambered up, barely managing to not grab the lady’s ass to steady yourself. 

The buttons were hard for you to undo; you hadn’t had much feeling in your left hand’s fingers since your accident with the hammer in the armory. 

You managed, though, not looking at the lady when you jogged back into the bathroom to shut the water off before it went too high. The rising steam felt nice on your forever cold skin.

You stepped out and had to bite back a grin when Alcina wore the same robe she had the night you had fucked her in the library. 

“You need anything else? Want me to go get Marion?” you asked, unsure of what to do next. Her face fell. “I thought you were going to stay,”
You tilt your head, confused but happy. “You want me to stay?”
“Why wouldn’t I want you to?” 

You shrugged. “I just…I dunno how you do bathtime. I like a few rubber ducks myself, but I know you have a few more years on me so maybe you’d like a toy boat instead,” you joked, your accent heavy but voice completely serious. 

Alcina stared at you for a few moments and you gave her a nervous smile. 

“How are you so wise one moment and so incredibly idiotic the next?”

You laughed, grinning at the way she smiled incredulously at you. “It’s cause I’m incredibly talented,” 

She rolled her eyes and walked into the bathroom. You followed, averting your eyes when she let her robe fall. You only looked back at her when she cleared her throat. 

“You can bring the stool in so you don’t have to stand,” she murmured, only her head and shoulders visible in the tub from your spot near the door. 

“Yes, ma’am,” 

You walked out and chuckled when you heard the water splash around quietly. The wooden stool’s white paint was chipping, you noticed when you picked it up for the second time. You noticed your hands shook more than they had been and you felt out of breath.

You walked over to the window overlooking the balcony to see if it was snowing and narrowed your eyes at the crow that was perched on the stone fence. 

It stared right back at you, its beady eyes almost familiar. 

Great, Y/N, you really are starting to lose it. 

“Stop looking through my things, Y/N!” Alcina called from the bathroom, and you jerked your head to look at the open bathroom door. 

“I am not! I was checkin’ to see if it was snowin’!” you yelled back, looking back outside. The crow had vanished. 

“Uh huh,” she responded. You rolled your eyes and went back to the bathroom, setting the stool down next to the door. 

“Afraid I’ll bite?” Alcina asked, an eyebrow raised. Her hair was completely soaked now. A piece stuck to her cheek and you resisted the urge to fix it. 

“Just tryin’ to be courteous,” you muttered, scratching the back of your neck.

You were scared to see Alcina in an intimate way again. It felt wrong, somehow, like you didn’t deserve to see her after doing the things you did to Mother Miranda. 

She sighed. “You have seen more than anyone else in this castle has of me, Y/N. Come closer,” 

“Are you sure?” you asked nervously. 

Alcina’s eyes narrowed. “If I didn’t want you to, I wouldn’t have said anything,” 

Hesitantly, you picked the stool back up and set it down a few feet away from the bath.

You sat down and could only see her head from this angle, the tub covering everything else. 

The wheels in Alcina’s mind turned while she looked at you, and you could tell she was heading into pessimistic territory by the frown that was growing by the second. 

“It’s not you, Alcina. I’m just…I need time with…all of this. She…it’s just too much for me right now to see you like that with her always in the back of my mind,” 

Her eyes softened. “Y/N…I’m sorry, I didn’t realize—”
“Alcina. Stop fucking apologizing. No more sorrys,” you snapped, before wincing. “That was harsh. Sorry, that was cruddy of me. You didn’t deserve that,”

“I didn’t know you practiced hypocrisy,” Alcina said, a humorous look on her face.

“It’s a Texan’s bread and butter,” you responded immediately, before sighing. “Fuckin’ Texas,” 

Alcina sat up to shampoo and condition her hair, her breasts exposing themselves. You kept your eyes on hers. “Do you ever miss it?” she asked, letting the conditioner sit in her hair. 

You shrugged, remembering this morning’s breakfast. It was almost lunchtime now, you realized, and still only felt exhaustion and no hunger.

You wondered if Alcina had noticed you had gotten worse. You knew she had.
“It depends. I’ve been thinkin’ of home a lot more than I used to, that’s for damn sure,” you muttered, resting your chin in your hands.
“I’ve never been to Texas. I stayed mostly in New York when I was singing,” she said, a wistful look on her face. “I always wanted to go to Louisiana, though. I imagine the jazz in New Orleans is wonderful,”

A grin broke out across your face, and you walked your stool even closer to the tub without getting off of it, stopping when you were close enough to touch Alcina. You could barely see her over the lip of the tub. “Yknow, the jazz scene might be better in Louisiana, but I think you’d like Texas alright. Wanna know why?” you asked her, your words jumbled with your growing excitement.
Her eyes narrowed and she sank further into her bathwater. “I’m not sure I do—” 

“Everything’s bigger in Texas, baby!” you shouted, startling her. 

“Y/N!” she scolded while laughing, splashing you with soapy water. “You’re too loud!” 

“Stereotype,” you snickered before another wave of water soaked you. 

“And a smartass,” Alcina added, a large smile on her face. 

“That’s my middle name,” you joked, shaking out the water from your hair and ignoring her side eye. You pushed it back and sighed when you realized you needed to cut it again. The sides had grown out to your ears, the top long enough to pull up into a colonial ponytail again. 

If you were gonna die soon, you wanted to look the best you could. 

You stood to reach for a towel to dry yourself off before yawning widely, resting a hand on the lip of the tub to steady yourself. 

“Tired?” she asked, and you bent down to look at her with a wry smile. Your faces were only a foot apart.

“Me? Never,” you drawled, letting your gaze wander her body before the memory of Mother Miranda made you look back at Alcina’s face. “Have I ever told you how pretty your eyes are?” you murmured after a moment, the gold making the anxiety you felt over everything disappear for a moment. 

She swallowed audibly but didn’t say anything.
“You’re beautiful, Alcina. You know that?”

“You and your honeyed words,” she said with a shy smile, shaking her head. “I’ve missed you, draga mea, ” 

The words didn’t have the effect you both wanted; butterflies didn’t fill your stomach and you didn’t lean down to kiss her, nevermind you climbing into the tub and making a fool out of yourself because you were so in love with her. 

You grew furious at the reminder that you had lost almost everything because of a fake prophet, but you choked it down.

The less people who knew of your plan to kill Mother Miranda, the better. Less people for the woman to hurt if you failed.

“Y/N? Where did you go?” Alcina asked you, concerned. Still, she reached up and cupped your jaw, oblivious to what you were planning.

You shook your head with a strained smile and instead thought about kissing her. 

It’d be so easy; just a slight lean in, maybe a whispered request. Alcina had lessened the distance between you in the time you had been consumed by your anger. 

What if Mother Miranda came back tonight? What if she could tell what you had done and hurt the people you loved?
You grabbed her hand cupping your jaw and sat back down without letting go, rubbing the back of it with your rough thumb.

You hoped she couldn’t feel your shakiness. You knew she did. 

“What will you be doing the rest of the day?” Alcina asked after a few moments of silence. You shrugged. 

“I’ll find something,”

Alex had pooled her and the other maids' wages for you to build them a collapsible card table, and you had put it off long enough. 

You wondered if Alcina knew about Alex and Bela but decided not to bring it up just in case she didn’t.

“What about you?” you asked, letting go of her hand so she could finish bathing. 

She huffed, rinsing her conditioner out. “The Lord’s Christmas party is in a week and I’ve been slacking in preparations. The castle should already be in the midst of decoration but as you can tell, it's more dreary than ever,” 

You kept your face neutral, not wanting to let her know you already knew about the party. “Y’all celebrate that?” 

Alcina sighed. “The villagers don’t, but I assume this is another one of Mother Miranda’s way to keep us in line,”

Hmm. That lined up closer with Karl’s assumption than either would like. 

“Finish your bath, Alci. I’ll be in the bedroom waiting to help you get dressed,” you murmured, standing up and exiting with the stool clasped in your hand. It was slightly damp. 

You walked over to the windows and could almost see your cottage through the snowfall.

Fuck, you hoped Mother Miranda wouldn’t show. 

Alcina didn’t take much longer, emerging in a large towel, her hair damp. 

“I’ll let you know when I’m in need of your help, draga ,” she said before going to the wardrobe next to her dress mannequin. 

“Damned snow,” you muttered to yourself, the snow falling faster. You touched the window and noted how cold the glass panes were. 

“The girls miss the warmth desperately,” Alcina told you, hidden from view. “I rather miss walking around the grounds with them,”
That sentence gave you pause. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, wishing you could kiss her. 

Maybe tomorrow.

“I’m decent, Y/N,” she said after a few more minutes, and you glanced over to see her holding her dress up, the back undone. 

You moved the stool over to her and stood on it, resting your hands on the bare skin of her back for less than a second before starting to button the dress up. 

“You’re struggling,” Alcina said gently after you cursed under your breath for the tenth time, the fourth button giving you grief. 

“Buttons are hard for me,” you muttered, almost managing to slip it into the loop before your fingers slipped and you lost your grip. “Fuck,” 

“If you need to go and fetch Marion now, Y/N, you can—”
“I can do this myself,” you interrupted, the shakiness in your hands only getting worse with your frustration. 

“This is one of her jobs,” she reminded you gently, turning around to look you in the eyes. With the stool, you were only a few inches away from being face level with her. 

Alcina slowly grabbed both of your hands and brought them to her lips, watching your face intently. You only stared back at her with tired eyes, your fear eating you alive inside.

“I’ll call Marion to be sent here to help me,” she murmured, letting go of your hands to run her long fingers through your hair before giving you a soft smile. “Thank you for your service, my mechanic,” 

Mechanic. You couldn’t even be called that anymore. All you did was tinker.

The thought sobered you even more than you realized it would. 

What if you had never caught the eye of Daniela? Would you already be dead, or would you have survived a few more years drinking alone until the darkness consumed you?

You sighed softly, ignoring the questioning look in Alcina’s eyes. There’s no point in thinking about the what ifs, Y/N. We got dealt the hand life thought we could handle.

“I’ll see you later,” you told her, giving her a small smile.

“Would you meet me in the library after dinner? I…I wish to spend time with you and the girls,” Alcina said, her face betraying her nervousness. 

“I’d like that,” you drawled, smiling genuinely at her words, before stepping off the stool and disappearing down the hallway. 

You arrived in the kitchen to grab your coat and swore when you saw Olimpia rushing over to you, eyes filled with fury.

She cornered you by the half-assed boarded up hole that had brought you two together. 

“There are many things I hate, Y/N, but you know what I hate the most?” she asked you through gritted teeth. 

“Yelp?” you joked, nervous at what was about to happen. 

She backhanded you hard enough for it to be audible over the kitchen’s loud noises. Every maid stopped in their tracks to look at the two of you with wide eyes. 

You knew your eyes were equally as big, but you understood her anger as pain the moment the stinging had stopped. 

The others were right—she really is another lady of the castle. 

Olimpia stopped glaring at you long enough to bark at the girls to get back to work before digging her finger into your chest. “What do I hate the most?” she hissed, and you had to swallow back your nerves. 

“When…someone don’t soak a pot?” you said slowly, your voice going up an octave in the end when her face grew redder with anger.  

You held up your hands in surrender so she wouldn’t hit you again. “I’m sorry. I know what you want me to say. I’m really sorry, Olimpia. For everything,”  

She stared at you so harshly you thought she was going to hit you again. You prepared to duck out of the way this time. 

Instead, she pulled you into her and hugged you tighter than you had been hugged in years. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, your arms limp by your sides. 

She knew you were dying even if you hadn’t told her yet. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out. 

You realized you hadn’t really thought about anyone’s feelings but yours and the lady’s during this entire ordeal. What a shit friend you were. 

“You will not leave this kitchen until you eat something,” she told you once she had let go of you, a flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck to mix with her fading anger on her face. 

“I’m not hungry,” 

“I didn’t give you an option,” 

One of the scullery maids crept over with a plate with a sandwich on it. 

You took a bite while Olimpia watched, her eyes never leaving you.

Ham and cheese with the pickles inside.

You chuckled before feeling tears well in your eyes. They didn’t have to change how they prepared food and yet they did it for you anyways. 

You finished the sandwich even though it didn’t taste like anything. Olimpia took the plate from you once you were done and patted your arm. 

“See you for dinner,” was all she said before she darted back into the fold and continued doing her job. 

You took your time walking from the castle to your cottage. The snow dusted your hair and stuck in your eyelashes. You slipped in the same spot you did early but caught yourself. 

The door was ajar. You didn’t remember if you had shut it before storming back to the castle or not. 

Your chest grew tight and you couldn’t breath.

She knows. She knows and she’s going to hurt them—

You managed to push through your crippling fear and fell to your knees in relief when the place was empty of her . 

You picked yourself up and sat down in your recliner to gather yourself, your heart nearly beating out of your chest. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” you said to yourself, resting your head on the back of the chair and shutting your eyes. 

You must have drifted off; the light from the window had shifted the shadows when your eyes sprung open at the sound of something crashing in your garage, the sound almost deafening in the quiet cottage. 

No, no, no—you sprung up and grabbed a knife from the kitchen.

It must’ve been around dinnertime. A perfect time for her to show up and cause a scene here and a slaughter inside the castle.

Please, not her. Please, God, don’t let me walk in there and she’s waiting for me.

You didn’t even have to move—the garage door slammed open so hard it busted off its hinges and a murder of crows swarmed you. 

They tore into you with their claws and beaks and it took everything in you not to dig that knife into your chest and let everything stop once and for all. 

“Fucking stop!” you yelled, throwing the knife through the murder and hearing something crack before attempting to shield your face. 

You couldn’t think of what to do—fear paralyzed your brain. 

A crow kept trying to maneuver around your hands to peck out your eyes and you finally snapped into action after it dug its beak into your ear, grabbing it and squeezing until its head popped off. 

All at once the attack stopped, the crows falling to the ground and melting into black goo. 

Your eyes grew wide when it started to rise, and backed up until you hit your kitchen counter.

“Fuck,” you swore when a maskless Mother Miranda formed, priestly robes and golden claws adoring her fingers. Black wings surrounded her. 

She clutched at her side, her face contorted in pain and fury. 

“ You—” she snarled, removing her hand for a moment and screaming with rage when she saw it was covered with the black blood you shared. “Come here,” she hissed. 

You shook your head, terrified. But your feet still strode forward and she dug her claws into your jaw, yanking your head forward so she only had to look up slightly. 

Fresh blood mixed with old. The crows had done a number on you. 

“I’ll give you one chance to explain before I rip your head off,”

Tears threatened to form but you didn’t let them. 

You could only think of one thing to buy you time but would hate yourself for it. 

Mother Miranda was too strong to be killed now—you had to learn from Karl what to do. She had to die. You had to survive. 

You bent down and kissed her of your own volition, using her surprise as an opportunity to maneuver yourself from her grasp and push her into the kitchen table.

You thanked God she kissed you back and shoved her free hand underneath your shirt. 

“I think I love you,” you told her when you had to break the kiss for air, panting hard. “I’m sorry I hurt you. You scared me,” you lied. 

She looked up at you, lips swollen, and opened her mouth to say something. 

You interrupted her with another kiss, positioning yourself so you could move her hand cupping her side to see how fast her wounds healed. 

Warm blood coated your hand but it didn’t seem like any more was coming out of the wound. Fuck. 

You broke the bruising kiss to trail them down her neck.

Get her to think you only loved her, she doesn’t go for Alcina or the girls. 

You had never wanted to die more than you did in that moment, trying to undo her robes. Your hands had never shook as hard as they did. 

“Y/N—” Mother Miranda began, removing her hand from underneath your shirt, but you silenced her by biting down onto the skin between her neck and shoulder, leaving a hickey and her moaning. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, trying to keep your nausea under control. 

She pushed you back, her chest heaving. You thought she was going to kill you, or tell you to stop. You wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from trying to kill her if she did that. 

Instead, she pulled her robes off and stood naked in your freezing kitchen. 

Mother Miranda didn’t say anything and you knew she was testing you. 

If you fucked her of your own will, you were honest. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to step forward until the reminder of what she’d do popped in your head at the sight of that wicked smirk forming on her face. 

You stepped back up to her and grabbed her ass, lifting her up and slamming her down onto the kitchen table. A loud crack echoed from it but it held.

You kissed her while wiping your hands clean of blood before letting them make sure she thought you only wanted her even if your mind had gone completely numb from the fact. 

Alcina would understand. Alcina didn’t have to know. Alcina…

Mother Miranda came and pulled you down into a bruising kiss. 

“You mean it?” she asked when you broke apart for air. “You love me?”

You lowered yourself to your knees and kissed up her thighs. “Yes,” you breathed, barely able to keep breathing. 

This was agony. Pure agony. You wanted to kiss Alcina, wanted her to smile at you and make you laugh.

Mother Miranda nearly pulled your hair out when you made her cum a second time. 

Alcina would never hurt you like that. She was always gentle with you in your moments of intimacy, even if you hadn’t had that many. 

I’ve fucked Mother Miranda more than I’ve fucked the love of my life . 

“I saw you and the lady earlier. I thought you had made up,” she told you, shiny with sweat and breathless. 

You stood up, wiping your mouth and wanting nothing more than to grab the wrench you had killed your mother with from the garage and made sure no one would recognize the bitch laying on your table. 

“She wanted for me to tell her I didn’t want you,” you lied, hoping she couldn’t hear your heart stuttering out of your chest. 

“And?”

“I told her I didn’t want anyone but you now. She still forgave me,”

You had never seen a more wicked smile. You thanked God she believed you.

“I’d take you with me so you could be done with that weakling Alcina and those disappointments she calls daughters, darling, but I have work outside of the village that has to be done after this forsaken Christmas party,” she told you, standing up and getting redressed.
“Christmas party?” you asked dumbly, purposely ignoring her comment about her leaving the village. 

You’d remember that when the time came.
Mother Miranda’s smile widened, walking over to you and kissing you. 

She always nipped your bottom lip. 

“Maybe I’ll enjoy this one; Lady Dimitrescu is excellent with parties, after all, and she’s never had something so fun for me to play with,” she purred before slamming you into the counter with enough force to crack the granite. “An eye for an eye, darling. Don’t take it personal,” she whispered into your ear, kissing you again.

You only had a second to think about what she meant, the switch-up unpredictable, before her claws dug into your side. You screamed, pain enveloping you, and lost your footing.
She didn’t let you drop, keeping you upright even as she yanked out a chunk of your flesh. Mother Miranda dropped it into the sink, licking the blood off her golden jewelry. She flashed you a grin before kissing you. The taste of your blood wasn’t copper anymore. All you could taste was fucking rot . 

“Say you love me again before I leave, darling,” she told you, and it took everything in your power not to wrap your hands around her throat. 

You clutched the gaping hole in your side, a mirror image of what Mother Miranda looked like not that long ago. You hated that she healed fast.

“Fuck, I love you,” you told her, dropping to your knees and clutching at the hem of her robes with your free hand. “I love you. I love you,” 

Anything to get her to leave .

She laughed. “I’ll see you at the party, darling. Wear something dashing for me,” she commanded before disappearing into her murder of crows, leaving the way she had come. One stayed behind. It stared at you and you stared at it. 

A few minutes later, it takes off, leaving you alone in whatever hell had just been created.

You let yourself slump to the floor, a puddle of blood where your face landed, and tried to keep yourself from bleeding out. You could feel the stuff crawling underneath your skin moving around in the hole, and you knew it was fixing you. 

You gagged, the smell of rot even more sickening when you knew it was your own. 

The knife had cracked several panes of your window. You had extra glass from the repairs. 

She was leaving the village in a week. You just had to wait for that. Then you’d have your plan and kill her the second she crept back into your line of sight. 

Mother Miranda would die if it was the last thing you did. 

You looked out the busted garage door and saw the big one had been opened. How dead to the world were you to not hear Mother Miranda enter?
You’d vowed to never sleep again as long as she lived, but even so your eyes shut by themselves, your adrenaline gone. You had never felt so tired. 

You barely registered Alex’s screams, only coming back to reality when she started shaking you.

“Oh, fuck, please be okay Y/N!” she cried, attempting to pick you up and presumably drag you back to the castle. 

You barely managed to open your eyes, letting out a groan and trying to swat her away from you. Tears streamed down her face while she tried to lift you. 

“Get off of me,” you croaked, the words thick like you had just woken up. Maybe you had. “Get off,” you repeated harshly, pushing yourself up with your free hand to your knees. 

You looked at your side, your cheek twitching at what you saw. 

Blood still leaked out of the wound but it had stopped pouring. The Mold was still at work rebuilding what its master had destroyed. 

You wondered if it hated Mother Miranda as much as you did.