.
.
They're talking as if she can't hear them, again. Idiot boys, don't they realize she's only a few feet away? But talk of Karl piques her interest, and Diva raises her head, listening.
"You're torturing him," Solomon is saying. "Amshel. Whatever your motives may be, you cannot continue to treat him this way. He is a chevalier," Solomon says, and Amshel snorts, amused.
"He is not our real brother," Amshel says. "He agreed to be our subject. Surely you realize how much his family has benefited," Amshel says, and Diva bristles, annoyed.
"It isn't right," Solomon says. "Surely there are other ways to go about doing this-"
"What other ways?" Amshel says, and Diva's head whips back, focusing on Amshel. "Tell me, Solomon: shall I ask James to take a turn? Or perhaps Nathan, when he's not busy preening himself in front of the mirror?"
Diva smirks. Nathan does preen, but then again, Nathan is as beautiful as a tropical bird, and Diva would have it no other way. Curiosity piqued, Diva stands, pulling on the fabric of her skirt.
"I want to see him," Diva says, and the two men startle-no doubt they've forgotten she's there.
"Diva. Why are you not in the living room?" Amshel says. Diva ignores him, doing a little pirouette around the room.
"You're talking about the man you bought for me, the one I gave my blood," Diva says. "I was wondering where you've been hiding him! Ne, Solomon," Diva says, turning. "Don't you think it's unfair?"
Solomon seems to hesitate, before answering, "it is," and Diva revels in a sort of triumph.
"He's mine," Diva says, and she gives a pointed look toward Amshel. "And I would like to see him."
Amshel stands. "Diva. I do not think-"
"No, you don't think," Diva says. "You forget yourself in the presence of your queen!"
She can see it: the look on Amshel's face. Something like fear, and it makes Diva smile. "Thank you, Amshel," Diva coos, stepping forward. "I know you like your experiments; I like mine too. So you won't mind if I see him, will you?" and she lets her finger trail on his chest, innocently skimming the center of his shirt. "He looks like the man Saya-neesama has."
"An Oriental," Amshel says. Diva brightens. She does a half-twirl and grips Solomon by the arm.
"An Oriental," Diva says, because it's the newest shiniest thing in the world.
xXx
.
When she was little, Diva once asked Amshel where babies come from. "Babies?" Amshel said, and he furrowed his brow, then frowned.
"You have children when a man chooses to love you. That's where babies come from," Amshel said, but Diva pressed further, asking, "Where do I find someone like that?" to which Amshel frowned and shook his head, and said someone as pretty as her should not concern herself with those thoughts now.
Funny. Lately it's all Diva can think about. Babies mean family and family means people who love you and want to protect you. Sometimes she thinks her chevaliers are family, but they're not, not really. Not when they obsess about Saya-neesama, because Amshel is convinced they can only have babies with her.
But Diva has lots of things, pretty things she can play with. She has her singing and her books and her precious porcelain dolls, which she dresses up in the prettiest dresses to help keep her mind off stupid, unimportant things, like the hollow, empty feeling she gets sometimes, like that one time she saw that family strolling down the river. Who could blame her for tearing them from limb to limb? They were an affront to her senses, and besides, she felt like feeding on something else. (Her chevaliers all started to taste the same. It annoyed her and she was sick of it.)
Now Diva walks down the corridor, footsteps echoing as Solomon descends down the narrow staircase, the orange light from his lantern bouncing on the dark brick walls. She had wondered about Karl, the newest one in her group, but strangely the others had avoided the topic: she had wondered if maybe he were some disgusting thing, someone who inspired revulsion in those who were within his very proximity.
It made sense: the others did not go near him, and the few times she did see him, he always seemed inexorably, incredibly lonely. Once, she saw a bird with a broken wing; it had flapped uselessly on the ground, chirping pathetically with blood in its pretty feathers. Diva had felt sorry for it, briefly, before stepping on it with her foot. Karl reminds her of that time; she can't decide if she wants to protect him or crush him with her boot.
"Only a moment longer," Amshel says, and Diva feels him press a hand to her shoulder, a protective, paternal gesture. "He is not much to look at," Amshel says. "But to satisfy your curiosity, I will permit it."
"You'd better," Diva says. Solomon unlocks the door.
xXx
.
In the cell, Karl is hunched on the wooden bench. There are cuts and bruises that are just now starting to heal-"We must understand our weaknesses,"Amshel had said before injecting Karl with a substance that delayed his healing-and Diva frowns slightly, watching as Amshel steps in front of her.
He doesn't want her in here. Diva bristles at the injustice of it-Karl is her chevalier, not Amshel's. And certainly not Solomon's, who watches the whole thing with a worrisome interest. Diva straightens her collar before stepping inside, delicately avoiding the puddle of water draining on the concrete floor.
Karl looks up. A filthy square of light falls on his face as he does. "Solomon?"
Before Solomon can answer, Diva sweeps forward, excited. He's beautiful. Not like Amshel, whose fat face fills an entire room, and certainly not like James, who has the physical appeal of a potted plant. No, this chevalier is different. She can guess why Amshel wanted to keep him hidden from her.
"Why is he hidden here?" Diva says. Amshel straightens and Solomon doesn't look her in the eye. "Well?"
"As I already explained, Diva. He volunteered," Amshel says. Diva sniffs, annoyed.
"He's too pretty to keep in here," Diva says. "Take him down."
Amshel startles. "But Diva-"
"I want him," Diva says. "Or shall I remind you how father kept me locked up, as well?"
Amshel says nothing. He glances at Solomon, then pulls the keys from his pocket.
Diva's eyes narrow. A shadow passes over her face as Amshel walks past, kneeling forward and unlocking the shackles around Karl's legs.
Karl pitches forward, the weight of his body catching against Solomon's shoulder, who lowers him, gently.
"What's wrong?" Diva says. She stamps her foot, frowning. "What's wrong with him?"
"He's weak," Solomon says, and he sweeps back Karl's hair, feeling for a pulse.
The first thing Diva notices, besides how pretty Karl looks, is his pretty face. His cheekbones are high and delicate, and his skin is pale, the color of porcelain. Narrow-chested and thin, he looks fragile and easy to break: what she wants more than anything is to gently fondle the birdlike cage of his jaw.
"You're taking too long," Diva says, and she pushes Solomon out of the way. "I want to be with him."
"But Diva-"
"You promised," Diva says. Her chin begins to wobble. Amshel steps forward.
"We'll take him to your room."
xXx
.
As it turns out, Karl is just as boring as the others.
Diva sits at the corner of the room, watching suspiciously as her newest chevalier lies on top of her comforter. It's her favorite one, burgandy-colored like day-old blood and stuffed with the softest down feathers, the duvet Egyptian cotton and cool against her skin. But now he's lying there like a lump on a log and he's soiling her pretty, pretty bedsheets with the sweat on his back, and Diva feels like gouging his eyes, except that his eyes are so pretty, she doesn't want to touch them.
Karl wheezes and his eyelids flutter, and Diva bends forward, mesmerized. Up close, his skin really is like porcelain, so creamy and unblemished she wants to dig her nails in and twist.
Amshel really knows how to pick them. Slowly she begins to pluck off the buttons of Karl's shirt, which is grimy and blood-stained and soiled with sweat, before bending forward to give his chest one long, luxurious lick upwards, starting from the base of his navel all the way up to the hollow of his neck. She traces the slight ridges of his muscles with her tongue, enjoying the muted salty taste of his skin before pausing to flick across one perfect nipple.
Karl groans, and his pretty eyes flutter open. Diva grins, smiling into his skin. "Hello," Diva says, and she feels him seize up, wide-eyed in terror. His heart is thrumming like hummingbirds under her palm.
"You remember me," Diva says. He tries to move but she's got him pinned down on the bed, her weight resting squarely on his hips. His muscles tighten and she giggles, delighted. It's too perfect, really. "Did I hurt you too badly, that first time?"
"Please," Karl says. His voice is a hoarse whisper.
"Please what?" Diva says, and she dips down, gently lapping the sweat off his neck. He smells like fear and fresh blood, and it's a potent combination: she pours herself onto his lap, wet and eager, grinding against his thigh. "Do you know who I am?"
"Yes," Karl says. His eyes close. "You are our mother and our lover. Our creator and our bride."
"Good," Diva says. "So Amshel did teach you something after all."
He's shaking. Slowly, Diva drags the tips of her fingers down the skin of his chest, the edges of her nails delicately scraping his skin.
"Ne, Karl," Diva says. She breathes into his neck, breath just barely ghosting his skin. "You'll play with me, right?"
"Diva," Karl says, and he gasps when Diva reaches for his cock, which is already beginning to harden when she massages it in her palm.
"Amshel never lets me touch him like this," Diva says. She thumbs the tip of his erection, grinning. "He says if he can't give me babies it's pointless. But you don't think it's pointless, do you, Karl?" Diva says.
Karl groans, a half response.
Diva slaps him. Karl pitches sideways, reeling from the blow.
Diva laughs, delighted. The cut on Karl's cheek starts to heal.
xXx
.
On the fifth night, he tells her about his family in Vietnam.
"Do you miss them?" Diva asks, because she's curious, but also because he's shy and it's the first time he's opened up to her, which is at once disconcerting and strangely flattering, because no one talks with her like this. Not Solomon, who loves the physical act as much as she does, nor James, who loves her like an impotent dog would love its master. Karl smiles and it's a sad smile, and Diva can't help but think of that broken bird again, and the strange maternal instincts that seem to well up from deep inside of her. "Does it make you sad?"
"Sometimes," Karl says, and Diva thinks of the experiments Amshel did, the invisible cuts and bruises on Karl's skin.
Later, she slams him backward against the table, his head making a brutal thwack against the desk, painful enough for him to see stars. Diva laughs and straddles him hard, hands digging into his shoulders and pushing herself on his length.
"Karl," Diva says, and she rocks forward, as if a piston on his hips. "You like the way this feels, don't you?"
She can see the pulse in his neck, the bright beads of sweat rolling on his chest, and she dips down and gives him one luxurious lick before baring her teeth and biting, fangs sinking into his flesh. Karl winces; blood bubbles up into her mouth.
What is it he inspires in her? She doesn't know. It's something like possession, something stronger than all her instincts combined.
She drinks. She drains him greedily, feels the muscles of his arms straining against her.
xXx
.
Afterwards, he doesn't sleep, but Diva knows he likes to lie next to her, letting her cradle him to her breast the way she would any of her favorite things. He breathes and she feels his arm press up against her waist, and Diva can't help but feel...well, something. It's a different sort of feeling, not like the way Solomon grips her, irritating and possessive, so much so she has to kick him out from her bed. And it's not like James, who clings to her like an overbearing child.
"It's lonely sometimes, you know?" Diva says, and Karl watches her, dark eyes probing silently. "My sweet Solomon doesn't know me; Amshel treats me like a lab rat and James doesn't understand. Even Nathan," Diva says, and her voice quavers. "Nathan says I'm special, that I'm not like anyone else. But sometimes he asks about Saya, as if Saya-neesama were someone special, too."
Karl is quiet, and Diva knows: knows it in her bones, because deep down they're both lonely, and deep down they're both the same. "You're special," Karl says, softly, and Diva feels tears prick her eyes.
For the first time in her long life (and Diva's lived a long time, longer than she cares to remember), Diva lets someone make love to her. It's a scary thing, and she trusts him completely, when she bares her heart to him and lets him take her in his arms.
xXx
.
"He's in love with her, you know," Solomon says.
They're doing it again, talking about her as if she's not in the room. Her sweet Solomon is speaking. "Nii-san. Is it not cruel, subjecting him to this?" Solomon says. "It is enough to torture him; we must show him what he cannot have as well." Amshel snorted and rolled his eyes.
"Your fears are unfounded," Amshel says. "Diva chooses whom she will. Besides, it is his contribution that have made the Delta project so successful."
"Contributions?" Solomon says. "You are torturing him to see how long he'll last."
"As I said," Amshel says. "Contributions."
Diva waits by the door, but the conversation dips to a lull, and she huffs, walking into the garden. Contributions. She wonders briefly what those contributions could be, and if they could help her, as well.
xXx
.
He's an Oriental. Diva rolls the word in her mind like a piece of sugar candy under her tongue. It's exotic and strange and she wonders if he'll be able to give her what she wants. The others couldn't give her babies, no sweet children from Solomon or Amshel or James, no matter how hard they tried.
And wasn't it true that Amshel forced her the first few times, when she was locked up by Joel and chained in the room? But now Amshel won't touch her, and she wonders if it's because she's broken, a barren, loveless thing that can't bring life into the world. She wonders briefly if Saya-neesama is the same...
Nee-sama. Diva stops. The leaves to her roses move in the breeze. Funny how her own flesh and blood hates her, so. Diva plucks the rose in her hand, frowning. Didn't she understand? Didn't she care at all?
Well. At least Karl cares. Diva turns the rose over her hand and lifts it to her face, breathing in the scent. Karl is different and Karl can give her babies, and maybe for once Diva can have a family, too.
"Ne, Amshel?" Diva says, and she spins and turns, pulling up the hem of her skirts and smiling, innocently. "Is this what love feels like?"
"Perhaps," Amshel says, though Diva knows he thinks she is incapable of love.
xXx
.
When she bleeds, she can't stop crying, and soon her grief turns into a murderous rage: it takes all four of her chevaliers to hold her back, Nathan grabbing her by the arms and her darling James pinning her down.
xXx
.
"You wish I were Saya-neesama, don't you?" Diva says.
Karl doesn't answer; Diva glares and grabs a fistful of hair, yanking his head upright. "Look at me when I talk to you," Diva says.
But Karl doesn't answer: days of torture has made him weak, and besides, he's never met Saya-neesama a day in his life. "Why?" Diva says. She falls to her knees, her hair in her eyes. "Why does everyone love her, and not me? Why does everyone hate me?"
"Diva," Karl says, and he makes a move to touch her. But Diva is quick, and Diva is a queen: she tears out his arm from its socket, ripping the flesh from his bones and laughing as she watches it begin to heal.
xXx
.
"Amshel?" Diva says, when she was still very young. "Where do babies come from?"
And Amshel answered brusquely, "When a man chooses to love you. That's where babies come from."
No one chooses to love her.
Diva doesn't understand.
xXx
.
She will hurt him. She will smash his bones to pieces like so much porcelain, will rip his heart and stomp on it like he has stomped on hers.
They don't experiment on him anymore. Even so, he's still not like the others. Not really. Not when he's fallen from such great heights, the companion to their queen to the pathetic bug that he is, now.
"Diva!" It's Nathan who bursts in this time, vaulting forward and yanking Diva off Karl's prostrate body. She's smashed him to bits and bones and the center of his face has caved in, and even though he's a chevalier there's too much damage to keep him from healing. "He'll die," Nathan says, and his face is pale. "Diva, you must feed him. Otherwise he'll die."
"Why should I?" Diva says, and her eyes well up with tears.
He doesn't sleep, but Diva knows he likes to lie next to her, letting her cradle him to her breast the way she would any of her favorite things. He breathes and she feels his arm press up against her waist, and Diva can't help but feel...well, something.
He nestles close, presses a kiss into her hair.
"I love you," he says, and Diva waits, stunned. He moves and she can see it, the light shining from his eyes.
Nathan doesn't say anything. Wordlessly, he takes Diva's hand into his, closing his fingers around her wrist before cutting her flesh with a knife.
Blood drips, trickles down the side of Karl's lips as his skin slowly starts to knit, then slowly begins to heal.