Chapter 1: A Bucket and Sponge
Bonnie pulled her hood aside. She rubbed the window with her fist to see through the mist.
The castle looked exactly like those in the macabre ghost stories her grandmother used to scare her with. Large portions of its masonry were crumbling under the weight of creeping vines and thick moss. The air smelled pungently of mold as the carriage drew near it.
Bonnie noticed that the rays of the sun slanted sideways before reaching the stones. As if sunshine wanted nothing to do with this place.
Her fear, so far, had been kept at bay by the notion that she was doing something good and brave, but one look at her surroundings and that sense of valor seemed to weaken considerably. She wanted to tell the coachman to turn around – she would find a way to pay him in the future. But she knew that even if she could bribe him with a hefty sum of gold, he'd rather leave her here than spite the Wolf.
The carriage stopped at the wrought-iron gates which were parted very slightly, to admit only her person.
Bonnie clasped the pendant at her throat. It was warm from her fingers. So many times she reached for it when she was afraid and it never failed to calm her, but now it merely reminded her she was leaving everything behind.
"Ready when you are, Miss," the coachman said kindly.
She was never going to be ready, not truly. All the good advice her grandmother had given her along the years was difficult to summon.
"Would you mind unloading my luggage?" Her voice shook a little at the end.
"Not at all."
She clambered out of the carriage, stumbling a little against the long hem of her dress. It wasn't her own. The town had decided she must be attired properly to meet the Wolf. A ceremonial gown was required. Seeing as the Bennetts were simple apothecaries, they never had occasion to dine with the wealthy families and attend their society balls. Elena Gilbert generously offered one of her dresses, to keep "forever".
No doubt, Bonnie would never return to town.
The gown was stiff around the shoulders and fell in a bell-hoop around her legs. It was the color of ripe plums, the shade of nobility. It did not suit her. She would be glad to slip into one of her simple frocks.
She was touched that Elena had given it to her with small tears in her eyes. Every girl in Mystic Falls was grateful for her sacrifice. No one wanted to be taken away from their home, to live with some ugly, deformed animal.
Bonnie had shed her own tears in private. Now she resolutely grabbed her satchel from the coachman's arms and with a small nod in his direction marched towards the looming gates. She'd never see his face again.
She could feel sweat pouring steadily down her spine, despite the fact that there was a chill in the air.
Once she stepped through, the chill became more pronounced, and she had to pull the robe tightly against her body. She wanted to look back, but it would have pained her to see the carriage depart.
She walked onto the vast domain of the castle. There once had been hedge gardens and topiaries sprawling forward in a complicated maze, but someone had taken a pair of clippers and cut through them haphazardly. What was left looked like a wound or a gash through the soil.
There were a pair of fountains too that spouted no water and were covered in grime. They bore a few statues of women and men, locked in a deep embrace, but their eyes were leaking with rust and dirt. It was a very disconsolate picture.
Bonnie stopped momentarily to look at everything. She wondered if she would be allowed to go outside.
From what she had been told by the town selectman, the Wolf made you wait on him and prepare his meals, and if you stayed away from him and kept your tongue, you might survive and live to a ripe age. Of course, no girl had ever returned from the castle to confirm this hope, but everyone assumed it was because she had not been obedient enough. Legends said the Wolf had a terrible temper and would slash your throat if you so much as squinted at him.
Bonnie once again reached for her pendant. She wondered if it came to that – if he cut her throat – would the necklace fall too? Would he snatch it and keep it for himself?
She buried a sob deep in her throat and sat down by one of the fountain slabs. She put her face in her hands. She wasn't crying, she just needed to gather her bearings for the next step.
She noticed it was quiet all around her. Not a bird chirped, not a branch stirred. It was as if someone was holding their breath.
And then –
"IF YOU DO NOT COME INSIDE, I SHALL MAKE YOU SLEEP THERE TONIGHT."
Bonnie almost fell to her knees. The voice boomed like thunder from somewhere above her.
She raised her head, discomfited. There was a shadow on one of the castle battlements, although she could not distinguish its features from that distance.
Bonnie rose hastily and bowed clumsily.
"Yes, Sir."
"DO NOT CALL ME SIR. COME INSIDE," the voice thundered again, echoing against the flagstones and the fountains and even the poor, wilted plants.
Bonnie scurried up the large stone stairs that wound around the garden and led towards the massive oak doors at the front. They were bolted with star-shaped iron latches. Each suddenly gave way as she approached them, like fingers releasing a prized possession.
Bonnie shivered slightly.
She hurried inside, almost bumping against a stone brazier in which a small fire was kindling.
As she walked down the length of the entrance hall, each stone brazier came to life.
Bonnie didn't like this; she didn't like this at all. She kept her distance from them.
By the light of the fire she could see that the hall was deep and cavernous and there were all sorts of paintings hung on the wall. Some of the frames were empty. She reached the bottom of another flight of stairs.
"Do not go up the stairs," the voice came again, more subdued but just as authoritative. "Leave your luggage there and take a left into the dining hall. There's blood for you to wash."
Bonnie gasped. That was a very nasty way to welcome her. Surely, he couldn't be serious.
"Now!" he thundered.
Bonnie dropped her satchel reluctantly. What was she supposed to clean the blood with? And more importantly, whose blood was it?
Bonnie removed a handkerchief from one of the gown's pockets. It was embroidered B.B. Her grandmother had sewn it for her. She didn't want to get it soiled with blood, but what could she do?
She walked towards the dining room with small and uneasy steps. She felt like she was being punished for something she hadn't done.
The first thing she noticed were the cobwebs in the corners, illuminated silver by the weak afternoon light spilling in through the windows. The large table in the middle shone as if freshly polished. It was clearly used on a daily basis.
But under this table was a carcass – or what had been a carcass. Blood was leaking out of the mangled thing in a large puddle. She couldn't think what animal it might've been, only that it had been chewed out of shape. Bonnie almost heaved. She could now smell it strongly - death and blood and gore. She had to hold a hand against the wood paneling on the wall.
"If you are sick, you will clean that up too," the menacing bodiless voice warned her from another room.
Bonnie frowned. She placed her handkerchief over her mouth. He was a sadist. What had she expected?
Despite her revulsion, she espied a number of items at the end of the table, such as a bucket and a large sponge. She wanted to laugh. How horrid. He had supplied her with cleaning tools. But something was missing.
She walked further into the room, holding her handkerchief over her nose.
"I will need some water too," she said in a tone she hoped did not betray her misery.
"There is a spigot in the wall. Use it," the voice instructed coolly.
"Might – might you please show yourself?" she asked, turning around in vain. She couldn't see the source of the voice.
"Don't be so keen to meet me."
"I'm not keen. But I would um, do your bidding better if I saw you."
In truth, she was scared of this all-seeing, all-knowing voice. She wanted to put a body to it, even if that body might be terrifying. She did not like being in the dark.
The Wolf was said to look like a wolf, but not entirely. People had cobbled up all sorts of stories together and some claimed he resembled a large canine that had been bred with a lion. They all agreed he was equipped with tusks and fur and large claws. The proof was in the large, inhuman tears he made into the flesh of cattle and sheep whenever he was particularly vengeful. If he was not given a maiden every ten years, he would even attack some of the children.
Bonnie would have still preferred to see this beast rather than only hear it. Her grandmother had taught her that fear was augmented by the unknown.
"If you do not do as I say, you will see more than my face, my dear," he rumbled angrily when he saw she was dawdling.
Bonnie suppressed a shiver and lurched forward, as if drunk. She had no appetite for this, but she grabbed the bucket and dragged it towards a shiny metal spigot in the wall. She turned it sideways and was frightened by a screech, like door hinges which had not been oiled. After a few moments, it quieted to a groan and the sound of water galvanized the pipes under the castle. A thick, muddy stream erupted into the bucket. Bonnie would have to sift it somehow, but for now it would do.
"Is there any soap or lye?" she asked the voice, wiping her hands on the pretty gown Elena had given her.
He grumbled slightly as he answered. "You will have to make it by yourself in the kitchen."
Bonnie groaned internally. She was not looking forward to that menial task. She supposed she would clean without it now.
She was getting hot in her robe so she deposited it on the back of her chair. The gown rustled as she turned, the skirt undulating like water. It was not a good garment for her current endeavor. She had to get on her knees.
Somehow, she could feel the creature watching her, enjoying her predicament.
Bonnie bent down a little, but the dress was too tight and the bodice cut off the air at her waist.
She was getting slightly nauseous. The blood smelled too raw and the room was swaying.
She leaned against the chair, trying to gather her bearings. It seemed like a long time had passed since her entrance in the castle. What had she been doing? Oh yes, cleaning.
Bonnie wiped her face with her handkerchief and then slipped it in her pocket. She had to be strong. She clutched her pendant, although it was strangely cold now.
No matter. She would not collapse over a little blood. Well, a lot of it, but still. She had watched pigs being slaughtered as a child and though she had cried for them, she had helped clean up afterwards.
Without preamble, she moved her hands at the back of her waist and started undoing the corset. There was no other way to bend down.
The bodice started slipping from her shoulders and she let it sag. She had her petticoat underneath and it shielded her modesty well enough.
Seen from above, she looked like a flower whose petals had fallen all around her.
Blood seeped into the hem of the gown, marking it forever.
Bonnie lowered herself to the floor and grabbed the sponge. She dipped it in the murky water of the bucket and started applying it to the messy gore under the table.
She soon realized she'd have to crawl underneath it to really manage the thing.
With a heavy but determined sigh, she got to work.
He watched her from the balcony, enshrouded in solid shadows.
She was a slight thing, but not too slight.
He was amused by the ruination of her pretty dress. He admitted there was something wild in her gesture. To kneel half-disrobed and soak up the blood from his meal. It was a satisfying sight.
But he turned away after a few moments. No doubt, she'd end up dead by his hand or she would kill herself, just like the rest.
um, hi, long time no see? I know it's been forever since I updated any of my fics and it's because I wasn't doing so well in real life. I am trying to work on Muskrat Ramble. Meanwhile, I wanted to write something fairy-tale-esque for Klonnie and this is what I came up with (I was supposed to post it around Klonnie week, but I'm terrible with deadlines) Good, bad? Let me know.