As Leona walked through the door she felt Vicenza's eyes upon her.
It was an eerie feeling, like being held between two points of light that chased after the sway of her hips.
Rumors of lesbianism abounded of course about the two adopted Nightray daughters, especially given the older one was a crossdresser that many a bold young noblewoman would attempt to openly court just so she could have her doomed romance to weep about (it seemed to be an incredibly popular trend with the bored nobility who had no true tragedies in their pathetic lives). Gilbertine however was far from a credible threat in Leona's summation, in her brief glimpses of the tall, awkward woman Leona had been reminded of a self-conscious stork who knew she had no right to be amongst the noble ravens of the Nightray clan.
The younger sister on the other hand—
Leona didn't doubt that one had seduced every man's wife and daughter and maid. And though Vicenza surely pluck out an eye and dine upon a corpse if it suited her, she was not a raven. Leona had always felt those mismatched eyes were those of a crow, as cunning as a raven, but given to no grace or dignity. Leona was quite certain Vicenza had dined upon filth and eaten lesser creatures to maintain her perch in the Nightray nest.
And now that Leona, the cuckoo, had killed the entire flock, the crow was contemplating the murderess with an appeased smirk, perhaps wondering when and where she could peck out her first taste of the flesh of the new Baskerville duchess.
"You wore that yesterday," Vicenza drawled from across the room, perched upon an arm chair with her legs crossed and hidden beneath a sumptuous skirt of golden crinoline. Her breasts heaved above her neckline, straining to be set free. Leona felt a small twinge of perverse pleasure her breasts laid flat and obedient. She fingered the white lace of her high collar. The simple A-line dress had no decoration save a filigree sash tied around her narrow waist. It was the modest dress of a young girl, or a woman who would never develop the curves of a crow.
"It's the only dress I have," Leona muttered. It had been given to her by Elyon to be worn at balls and to appease Duchess Nightray. Vicenza tilted her head in amusement, wrapping a stray strand of hair around her finger.
"What? Are we no longer going to pretend we are a grubby little boy with those miserably miss-fitting trousers and shirt?"
"I told you— no more hiding." Leona huffed impatiently. And if she was mistress— she was not going to tolerate Vicenza teasing her!
"Ah." The older woman sat back and licked her lips. "Well then if it pleases my mistress I shall order her a new wardrobe. I will order the finest dressmaker in Reveill to come and—"
"No." Leona said sternly. Vicenza looked up at her in mild surprise. Leona raised her chin.
"I don't want anyone who would make me wear what you're wearing." Leona huffed, eying that overflow of cleavage. Vicenza blinked and then gave a snorting laugh, not at all offended. She rose to her feet, letting her voluminous skirt flow over her petite black heels. She approached the duchess with a sway of her hips, Leona stepped back.
"I beg your pardon. I had no idea my clothing was offensive. If it pleases my mistress, I'll take it off."
"No, don't—" Leona began to squirm but before the order could be fully formed the dress was slipped off. Leona supposed it only made sense the great whore of the Nightray House would have a dress that could be off in a matter of seconds. Vicenza stood before her mistress in her knickers, corset, garters, stockings, and shoes. She put her hands on her hips and Leona only saw the shapely flutter of Vicenza's wrist as she looked away with a hot face and a clenched stomach.
"Damn it— put your clothes back on!" Leona hissed.
"Ah but you didn't like the dress I was wearing. Please, tell me what I can wear so I don't displease you." Leona raelly should have known Vicenza play such a sick and twisted game with her-!
"Just— put the damned dress back on!" Leona pleaded. She glanced at the door, oh god, what if someone came in right now?
"Oh, so you do like the dress?" Vicenza teased.
"No! I just don't want my servant to walk around like a dammed slut!" Leona snapped and looked furiously into those mismatched eyes. The crow blinked at her fury, but smirked as she reached down to pull the dress back on. Leona looked away again and didn't look at Vicenza even as she came to stand before her.
"Ah, I take it then I am to belong to you alone?" Vicenza mused.
"I don't care what you do with yourself," Leona glowered at the floorboards.
"Then, you can't complain about how I dress." Vicenza moved away with a flourish of her hips. Leona bit her tongue until she tasted blood. God what had she done? Getting into a pact with this sick pervert!
"Hire a dressmaker; I just want to approve all the designs." Leona decided with a sigh as she moved towards the bookcase. She felt Vicenza's eyes upon her, the prick of her beak, but she supposed she just needed to get used to the feeling.
"And a shoemaker?" Vicenza asked archly. Leona glanced back at her and she pointed at Leona's bare feet. "Or does my mistress prefer to go about unshod?"
"Get me some shoes." Leona fumed as she dropped onto the loveseat, her temper at the breaking point. Vicenza mercifully left after that and for a few minutes Leona was allowed to relax for a few minutes. To her horror however the blonde returned and with measuring tape. Leona watched her warily over the rim of the novel as Vicenza knelt before her and then picked up one of her ankles.
Leona didn't even have time to think about her reaction— it was all brutal instinct. Vicenza was suddenly only inches from her crotch and grabbing her intimately. For a poorly socialized child the invasion of space was far too great. Her foot wrenched out of the woman's grasp and tore into the hard bone of Vicenza's chin. There were two cracks, one from Vicenza's jaw and the other from Leona's ankle.
The duchess gave a cry of pain, Vicenza laid in amazement on her back.
"Don't touch me!" Leona gasped even as she winced. Vicenza didn't answer immediately; she may have been unable to. When she could move her mouth she began laughing, for all the world sounding like a crow cawing. She pulled herself up, a heated blush on her cheeks. Leona's heart pounded— You gross little—
"My! How cruel my mistress is! How vicious!" Vicenza crowed. Leona said nothing to the praise. She only remained watching warily— she already knew from experience Vicenza was insane.
"Ah I only wanted to touch her feet to measure for shoes, but I can see I need permission for even this!" Vicenza sighed. She assumed a four legged position, and Leona had a thought one would indeed be used to being on one's hands and knees after so much pegging.
But Vicenza could look elsewhere for that and very far away indeed.
"What do I need to do for you to let me touch you?" Vicenza asked.
"You don't have permission," Leona informed her callously. "Go get Charlie."
Charlie at least would keep his damned hands to himself and never look up his mistress' skirt in reverent respect.
Vicenza pouted and sat up to pull a bright red vial out of her quivering bosom. Leona narrowed her eyes at the concoction, already knowing what it was.
"But here I was, going to paint my mistress' toenails so her beautiful feet would look so lovely when she walks around barefoot."
"I don't care how I look," Leona seethed.
"Ah, but you said 'no more hiding'," Vicenza dared to reach again for a slender ankle and Leona allowed it, remembering how nicely Vicenza's jaw had cracked. Wine gold and red eyes sparked at her, the eyes of a crow looking for it's taste of blood. "Does this not mean— no longer hiding the fact you are female? And what young lady does not enjoy having her toenails painted by her adoring servant?"
Vicenza laid the bottle down and opened it with one hand, never letting Leona's ankle go. She kept her head turned away as she added, "And did you not once do this for my little sister?"
Leona hissed, but she would not allow the memory to resurface. Her hands bit into the seat but she allowed Vicenza the indulgence of beautifying her feet. One by one the small nails were dyed red, a vibrant tattoo against pale feet. When she had finished Vicenza kissed them reverently, something Leona had never done to Elyon, and never would have. What was between her and Vicenza, it would never be like what had been between her and Elyon.
And though Leona would never be as good, noble, and deserving as Elyon, she would have her feet painted like her former mistress'.
So that when she was standing in the pool of blood, and could no longer look up, she would have that final memory.
Of her raven.