Summary:
'Oh dream-maker, you heart-breaker
Wherever you're going, I'm going your way' - AU/RA- Moon River
A scream echoed in the night, muffled under snow-dusted trees. Fauna fought through the fever, her vision swimming as her back pressed against a large rock.
Not this dream again. Please.
Struggling limbs flailed in the freezing river as the silhouette of a man holding a woman down in the water. He raised his hand, swinging down, bashing her head in with a grog bottle.
Her mother.
She clawed at him, her nails not sharp enough, nor would they ever be.
Fauna held the special knife in shaking hands as the bubbling grew less; the water began to still. Peeking from behind the rock, she sees her mother's body sail down the river. Her deep red hair stuck soft ringlets to her paling caramel skin; it was a moonless night and yet, she could see in unfair clarity, her mother's waterlogged face, frozen in fear forever.
Deep red bleeds to blue as she descends into the water, brought under by the current and soon, to the mouths of any monster that would spot her. Fauna's body was shouting at her to attack but she froze, unable to do anything but grip the knife against her chest.
Please.
A flock of crows howled with laughter above her, flitting from tree to tree to witness the grim nature of humans. The man tosses the bottle and glass explodes against the ground. She looks back again.
PLEASE.
Her father's dusty coast, long at the knee, sways in the breeze. Hot breath runs from his mouth, calmly; a plume of fog curling to cup his face.
Crawling forward, Fauna started running back to the cabin, sweating and crying, the knife swinging in her hand, moving as fast as her burning body could take her.
I couldn't save her. I was too scared to fight.
Suddenly, she was in the cabin, and her older brother, Yasen, comes through the door, dropping the medicine he bought. The bottles shatter and Fauna flinches, shaking. Fauna tries to speak through the sobbing, explaining the grisly scene witnessed so young. Her vision swims from sickness and loss; erupting into a channelled inferno.
Yasen bends to kiss her burning forehead, a violet bruise still ripe on his cheek; their father's handicraft.
"We'll make this right," he says softly, his eyes shining with unshed tears, choking on his words, "But we have to leave here -leave father- before he hunts us too. You're lucky the Lycans didn't hear you run."
"I don't care about Lycans! I just want him dead! " Fauna growls, wiping away her tears angrily, but they just kept spilling, "I had the knife but I ran away like a COWARD! ", a shout tears through her throat, a warcry for years to come, " I'LL FUCKING KILL HIM!"
Salt water burned on her cheeks.
Yasen's hand smooths down the snowdrops in her hair, cooling her skin, "Then I'll make you strong enough to do so."
She grips her Mother's knife, a reminder of what was lost. Fauna digs a semi-carved wooden owl from her pocket, pelting it into the floor. It cracked and splintered down the centre; a gift that would never be given.
Outside her mother's cottage, a stag fell to her brother's feet; a lesson.
The way to its heart is between the ribs.
Yasen gives her the knife, their Mother's special knife. Blood rolls off its wicked edge. It had found the heart with ease.
"We can't turn back, Fauna." he says, his face stoic as he watches her kneel by the body, the skin is peeled back, its bones already broken open.
She tears the deer's heart out and at her brother's nod, she drank from her wretched chalice.
The door to her father's cabin swings open, a bottle in his hand and alcohol on his breath.
A hot rage seizes her as she draws her knife but she couldn't swing fast enough; the ground opens up, swallowing her whole.
She's plunged underwater, dragged by the current into an abyss at the bottom of the river; screaming.
Drowning.
The sleeping killer jolts out of sleep, startling upwards, breathing heavily before wincing. The many cuts on her body and fingers were bandaged; portions of her clothing had been cut off to reach the wounds, but most of it remained.
She looked like an old scarecrow.
The whirlwind of a nightmare clung to her skin in a thin coating of sweat. It was one of many that plagued her sleepless nights. Rubbing her eyes, she pushed away the feeling, breathing deep and focusing on what was in front of her.
Taking a glance at her resting place, she noted the same fancy design as that other bedroom, but this was not it. It was smaller and much barer in accessories. A large white sheet spanned under her, covering the expensive quilts from the blood still caked on her. Rusty red and brown smudged and flaked against the sheet, made much worse by Fauna's tossing and turning.
She really needed a fucking bath.
Her stomach rumbled in agreement.
And something to eat. Blood alone for so long wasn't enough to keep her motor running.
"Bad dream, man-stink?" a voice drawled from beside her; the ruthless whisper of a woman's voice, chilling like icicles stabbed in her ear.
Though injured, Fauna glared at the offending intruder, her fists balled just in case.
"Normally, I don't mind the smell," said the dark-haired stranger, "but a disgusting wretch like you makes it all the worse. Stinking up Mother's home with man-thing is probably why she didn't eat you," the stranger smiled, "But I should have. If only I'd been there, there'd been nothing left of you," she hisses a breath for emphasis, "not even the bones."
This peculiar she-witch dressed and looked like the chatty psycho, Daniela, but with black hair. Her personality was so much more hostile than her doppelganger however; a telling difference save for the yellow pendant wrapped around her neck. She reclined in a chair next to the bed, casting a bored expression at her prey, the tell-tale sickle waiting in her lap.
Fauna narrowed her eyes at the insults, "There's blood under your damn mouth right now. What's your excuse?"
The tattoo on the woman's forehead crinkled as she touched the wet blood under her lips. Digging into her cloak pocket, she retrieved a handkerchief before furiously throwing it into Fauna's face.
Oh, she was one hell of a bitch.
"I should cut that vile tongue right out of your mouth," she seethed, her anger exploding from her bared teeth, "Unlike you, I'm not a pig. This," she draws spinning circles around her mouth for emphasis, "is to show you your place, man-stink. Clean yourself up! Disgusting."
Without warning, the woman flies out of her seat, sickle drawn to point at her prey's throat. Her face is hovering in front of Fauna's, her wild grey eyes are cold and vicious like the landscape outside.
"You're the luckiest bottle of Sanguis I've ever seen, but it won't stay that way," she sings cruelly while pushing the blade to press against Fauna's flesh, "Mother may have plans for you, but so do I. You'll be splattered on my face soon enough."
The blade digs a little deeper, drawing a drop of blood, but those dead hazel eyes stare back into the ashen abyss, simmering slowly. Fauna shoots her hand up from the sheets to grab the woman by her wrist in an attempt to force back her blade.
"Put up a fight, pig, give me a reason to gut you," the cloaked fiend spat.
"CASSANDRA, COME HERE! NOW!"
A booming voice echoes from the halls, splitting through the doors. Lady Dimitrescu barked for her daughter who freezes at the summons before she glares back at Fauna.
A light, heartless cackle slips from Cassandra's mouth as she retreats, bugs assimilating her form slowly, turning towards the door, vaporising into a cloud of flies.
"You'll see me again, pig, and you will regret it." said the flies in parting words.
The door slammed open from the force of the bugs, buzzing down the hall till nothing was left save for the flickering candlelight.
Her name was Cassandra and she was a real bitch, just like her mom.
Sighing, Fauna pinched the bridge of her nose before drawing her hand back, staring at the very dry blood. Bitch she may be, Cassandra was unfortunately right, she needed to clean up. Looking at the handkerchief, Fauna gripped the edges, opening it out. There were stubborn bloodstains that left little brown marks over the white fabric and a few small holes scattered around. The bigger holes had been patched poorly, the black threads puckered and haphazardly poked out. That thing had been through the wringer and no amount of washing could salvage the stains.
Worn though it may be, the stitching was a sign of great love; an attempt to cherish what time ground down. A treasured item. Cassandra obviously loved that piece of cloth and Fauna, who once knew of precious things, mellowed -still pissed- but mellow.
Throwing away what you love, it was a tale of loss she knew all too well.
That unhinged bitch was still extremely dangerous of course, but the whip she cracked was held in the same hand she held that handkerchief.
Another feeling she knew all too well; thoughts of her precious knife bubbled in her mind and popped when reality reasserted itself.
Pocketing the sullied fabric, Fauna carefully manoeuvred to the bedside, wincing as her arms bore her weight. When her bad leg touched the floor, she stifled a groan, feeling the sickle wound sting from under the bandage.
Work through the pain.
A light knocking graced the wide open doors as a person poked their head through. It was a woman, a maid to be precise, who took tentative steps into the ornate room. She seemed unnerved, most likely by Cassandra.
Who wouldn't be?
"G-Good evening, ma'am," she spoke softly, bowing her head, "I was told to come to you as soon as you woke," she walks forward slowly, her hands non-threateningly to her side.
Evening? Fauna thought I slept that long? In this fucked up house?! I was pretty beat up but still.
She shook away the thought, bringing herself back to reality and looked at the maid.
Studying the servant's anxious body language, Fauna noted that the maid wasn't afraid of Cassandra, she was afraid of her. Covered in blood, having the grisly expressions she did, who wouldn't be?
That was probably for the best. She wasn't too keen on new people being in her life anyway.
"How are you feeling, ma'am? I tried to patch you up the best I could," she lowers her gaze before flicking it back up to Fauna's searing eyes.
"I'm doing better than yesterday," Fauna replied in monotone, her gaze never leaving the scared maid. It was a short response, enough to say what she needed to.
As savage as she was, Fauna had no reason to be aggressive unless it was warranted. She was raised in a home after all, not a barn. Then again, those sisters were raised in a palace yet they behaved like a diseased pack of crows.
The maid smiled, taking her comment as an optimistic remark rather than the stoic report it truly was. It was a misunderstanding that relieved some of the tension.
"I can get a bath ready for you, ma'am," she offers, pointing to the bathroom, her ease is noticeable but the wariness in her frame stayed, "Pardon my manners but, you look as though it would do you well."
Fauna waves her off politely, getting off the bed with caution, "Don't bother, I can deal with it myself."
The maid nods before curtly bowing, "When you're done, the Mistress of the House would like to speak with you," scurrying out of the room as fast as she could, the maid closed the door with a soft click .
That big bitch wanted to see her.
Fauna looked at her leg and groaned. Her plan was to leave the village and her father behind, not be caged like some wild bird; wings clipped and all.
Putting little pressure on her bad leg, Fauna limped to the bathroom, her hands passing over bath salt bottles and exquisite soaps; her boots tapping an awkward rhythm on the tiles. There was a neat pile of folded clothes and clean shoes on the bathroom counter; most likely for her. Some medical supplies sat by the sink as well. They really did think of everything, huh?
At least this cage was gilded.
She began to take off her coat but stopped as she caught a flash of red in the corner. A mirror with nary a smudge or speck of dust.
The cold place in her mind recognized the sight.
Chips of flaky reddish-brown blood were plastered to her face and clothes, streaking across her eyes and cheeks like sinister warpaint. She moves towards the mirror, reaching out to touch the reflection, leaving a slash of decay on the glass. Only her earthy blue eyes were untouched by blood; glossy and empty.
The monster looked back at her and smiled.
Coming back to her task, Fauna plucked at the buttons of her coat, tossing it down with little care. Her pants were next as she undid the belt but her hand sneaked to her pocket, gripping the handkerchief. The messy fabric bunched around her fingers, holding her in time. She walked to the counter, staring at the cloth before setting it down on her fresh clothes.
She looked back at the monster in the mirror.
It looked vulnerable.
Scrubbing a hand through her wet hair, Fauna walked slowly down a dimly lit hall. The bath gave her a much-needed refresher, yesterday was beyond arduous and the minor reprieve was very welcome. Plus, the rotten, organic smell she was giving off earlier that day wasn't great for her sore head.
Not that Fauna minded the odour. She was accustomed to it. Fresh, old, dry, stale, pungent, rotting. She was accustomed to all of it.
Fidgety fingers plucked at her new clothes; a long-sleeved maroon shirt with strings holding the shallow V-neck together, hunting hosen and leather boots. Subtle floral embroidery moved up and down the seams of the shirt, adding an unexpected softness to Fauna's features.
A gentle smile played across her face despite her circumstances and she did well to hide it. Whoever made the shirt had excellent craftsmanship. The hems were razor straight and the pattern-work was sublime. Not a single thread was out of place. Though this castle were a tomb, she secretly admired the little things locked within it.
The little things in life kept her sane, always.
Her stomach growled again. Fauna rolled her eyes as she ignored her body. She really should have asked that maid where the pantry was.
Drawing her attention back up, she set about wandering the castle in hopes of avoiding the bitter noblewoman and find something to eat. After last night's events, she was keeping her distance for as long as possible. Escaping was something she had to do without notice and right now, a bit too much attention was on her presence. Plus, those bug girls travelled fast and had wickedly sharp senses. Her leg would slow her down and if she bled, those damn flies would be on her in a flash.
Idly, Fauna's hand wandered to her side where the leather-holster sat empty under her shirt; mourning her missing knife. She couldn't leave at all without that knife. She needed it back, if it was still there. A balled fist tapped against her side, her rage building and subsiding.
She had to play the part for now.
And soon, she could be rid of this place, hopefully, with her knife in tow.
But to be a monster, to become one and give up her stubborn humanity once and for all made her bear the pain; linger in the castle. A promise was spoken when that super-sized bitch throttled her.
All she had to do was endure.
She would make her a monster true. A glorious creature that hunts living men was on her horizon. The thought of home and the thought of evolving clashed in her head; a bustling ruckus she could not quiet.
A door waited at the end of the hall and she peeked in to see a sitting room, shrouded in total darkness, unlike the halls which had the slightest touch of natural light. It was almost cavernous with high ceilings that domed at the top; it felt lived in and yet, recklessly abandoned. There was a single candelabra standing on a table; a gateway to sight cutting down the dark. Looking around, Fauna didn't spot anyone approaching and continued snooping. Her footsteps were minimal as she gripped the candelabra, holding the handle high, moving around the room and lighting any candles she saw. A corner of the room remained shrouded and she pushed the light closer to open its secrets.
There was a black and white picture in a silver frame.
It was Lady Dimitrescu, smiling softly, her features unburdened and out of character. She wore a wide-brimmed white hat with perky ivory lilies and black feathers resting on the lid. Tilting her head, Fauna examined the portrait longer than she expected to. Lady Dimitrescu looked…younger and happier.
What a beautiful woman, cruel yes, but stunning all the same.
But beauty was a poison to corrode one's guard and she refused to let Lady Dimitrescu's venom collapse her veins.
Yasen always said the prettiest flowers were also the most deadly.
A puncturing sadness made its way through Fauna's hateful shell as her eyes roamed the picture. That woman and the one that tossed her around were two different people.
What happened to you?
Shut up.
A boiling rage threatened to poke up through her mind, simmering at the sympathy.
She choked you, insulted you, allowed her insane daughter to spear you. Don't be a fucking idiot and feel sorry for that devil.
Huffing, Fauna turned away from the picture, discarding her feelings, before looking around the lit room for anything else.
By a series of thick, closed curtains, a black and gold piano drank the darkness, shy to the touch of anyone but dust. She passed a hand over the smooth wood and sighed, her fingers were grey with powder. No one seemed to have touched it in a very long time. The yellowed sheet music at the pianostand attested to that.
The candelabra found its place on the piano cabinet as she lifted the key cover. A row of little teeth waited to be played after their forced hiatus. Fauna accepted, sitting on the bench to pluck something.
A few chords strummed out the piano. For its seemingly limited use, it was certainly well-tuned. Her fingers found their place, in between and on top of the keys. Fauna's good leg worked the pedals with precision and practice as sharps and flats spun from her musings. A beloved song drifted faintly like feathers in the air and she sang just as quietly to its beat and sustain. The cuts on Fauna's fingers burned with each note but the melody soothed the pain.
Moon river, wider than a mile,
I'm crossing you in style, someday.
Her shoulders relaxed as she continued singing, expelling herself of every bitter poison she ever consumed. If she could ever fly, she hoped it would feel like this.
Oh, dream-maker, you heart-breaker,
Wherever you're goin', I'm goin' your way.
"You're playing in the wrong key, bandit." came a commanding, familiar voice behind her.
Fauna stilled herself. For such a warship of a woman, she sure moved quietly. Closing her eyes in annoyance, Fauna knew she herself was to blame as well. She got a little too lost in her music. Lost in her thoughts, lost in her songs, lost.
Clearing her throat, she responded sarcastically.
"Well, excuse me for not having a goddamn teacher," she said without looking behind her.
Lady Dimitrescu circled to the side of the piano, peering down at Fauna with bright gold eyes.
"You can excuse your curt tone is what," she retorts loudly, snobbishly tilting her chin upwards, "How dare you have me seeking you out like I'm some servant!? Are you so daft that you can't even follow even a simple order?"
Pompous ass.
Fauna gritted her teeth, biting back words that would definitely have her slammed against the ground again. Breaking limits was her nature, but death was not an injury easily healed. Drawing in another deep breath, Fauna calmed herself before speaking.
"What do you want?"
Lady Dimitrescu walked behind her prey again; circling like a crow. Rolling the quellazaire between her fingers, the Mistress spoke again, her voice vibrating through Fauna's chest.
'What I want is for you to show some respect," she chided harshly, "and it's Lady Dimitrescu to you, bandit. Impertinence will only hasten your slow death by my daughters' hands."
Fauna sighed.
Remember why you stayed. Remember what you have to gain.
"What do you want, Lady Dimitrescu?"
Endure.
A pleased noise rumbled through the Lady's chest as she heard what she wanted, "That's much better, bandit. Don't forget your place. You are alive by my whim and you can die by my choosing." she paced back to the side of the piano, extending a large finger, she beckoned Fauna to stand and follow her.
"I've business to attend to that involves you." she speaks as she walks, swaying her gait with every word and step, "Do not dawdle."
Fauna took her time getting out of the seat, partly because of spite and partly due to her leg. She hobbled at her own speed behind Lady Dimitrescu, watching with wide eyes as the matriarch ducked under the doorway gracefully, pulling herself forward with ease.
Wow.
It was a simple routine to Lady Dimitrescu but something truly astonishing for a human to witness.
That bitch could move!
Limping alongside the Lady, Fauna struggled to keep up with her long strides, falling behind more often than not. At some point she stopped trying, choosing to keep her distance.
"Slow the hell down," Fauna mumbled in annoyance.
And surprisingly, despite the garbled quiet of Fauna's voice, she did.
In an act of either hidden sympathy or pure frustration, Lady Dimitrescu idled her pace, silently cursing Daniela's roughness with the experiment. She couldn't fault her daughter for following her nature but currently, the consequences were…annoying.
Her youngest was always too excitable.
They travelled in silence, down the halls and to the grand foyer Fauna never got a chance to see. The rotunda looked like something out of a painting, large marble staircases curved downward into a grand circular tile pattern on the floor. The chandelier sparkled despite the darkness that seemed to devour the castle's interior. Maids scuttled into other rooms like mice hearing a hungry cat.
Two hungry cats to be precise.
Lady Dimitrescu was already quarter-way down the stairs while Fauna looked around. Her internal life was unfortunately very rich; tuning out the world when she needed to be in.
Stupid, stupid daydreaming idiot.
"What did I say about dawdling?" the Lady said tersely without turning around.
Looking down at her leg, Fauna sighed and made the first step. It stung but she limped her way through the pain, clutching the stair rail for much-needed support. A booming tutting noise emphasised Lady Dimitrescu's impatience as she walked back up the stairs, bending to grab Fauna under both arms; whisking her into the air.
Fauna let out a surprised squeak as she felt the weightlessness settle in. The ground seemed incredibly far away, like she was flying. It wasn't how she expected her dreams of flight to come true.
The minty cigarette smoke and the Lady's floral perfume invaded Fauna's senses almost immediately. She smelled like warm roses with a frosty finish. The killer immediately shut down her thoughts.
Don't let her in.
Lady Dimitrescu held Fauna upwards and away from her like a mangy dog, looking straight ahead instead of at her. Despite not wanting to bring attention to the absurd moment, Fauna couldn't help it and went against her tight-lipped instincts.
"Do I even weigh anything to you?" she wondered aloud, watching the Lady's eyes intently.
They were a sharp grey instead of gold this time; much like her daughters' but calm and driven. A worry line bisected the middle of the matriarch's brow that deepened at the question. Fauna looked away and studied the chandelier instead.
"As insignificant as a mote of dust," Lady Dimitrescu replied, brushing off Fauna's comment, "Does that answer your question?"
Fauna hummed in begrudging understanding, her legs bouncing with each step made. Once they reached solid ground, Lady Dimitrescu put Fauna down with a surprising amount of care.
Probably because she would be of no use to her with broken legs.
Leather gloves rub together as the matriarch dusts off the feeling of human from her hands, her pace never slowing. One would think the swaying stroll Lady Dimitrescu kept would make her move slower but she was already at the door, casting a look over her shoulder as Fauna limped her way forward.
"Can you just slow down for one second?" Fauna said, annoyed once more.
Out of the darkness, two footmen pried open the front doors, letting in a blast of freezing twilight air.
A sauntering walk left Fauna behind, stewing in a silent answer.
A large black and gold carriage pulled by white horses awaited the pair and Lady Dimitrescu snapped her fingers; the same footmen opened the door for her as she got in fluidly. Within the booth, she waited for the killer to crawl into her moving cage. Fauna gnawed at the inside of her mouth before trailing behind, allowing one of the men to help her into the carriage booth; a dull thud echoed in her ear as the door trapped her opposite the noblewoman.
Reins cracked as the horses moved and Fauna looked upon the Lady who just…stared out the window. Her gloved hands removed the large black hat atop her head, laying it down delicately next to her. Faultless black curls shone in the moonlight; a shadow spanning acrossLady Dimitrescu's face, dulling the severity of her expression. Though her imposing height still loomed over Fauna, the intimidation thawed to tranquillity.
She almost looked peaceful.
No.
She was peaceful.
"Where are we going?" Fauna piped up.
Might as well find out if today was the day she gets slaughtered.
Long lashes fanned across Lady Dimitrescu's eyes; the grey receded into a ferocious gold once more.
"Phrase your question differently and I'll answer in kind."
There goes that serenity.
Fauna bit her lip to suppress her ' vile tongue' , bouncing her leg unconsciously before asking again, "What are we going to do?"
Rumbling from the beast, a musing hum came from the Lady, her golden eyes forcing Fauna to hold her gaze.
"Much better," she drawled playfully, a hollow smirk on her blood-red lips forming a laugh, "We, dear bandit, are going to show the peasants below why House Dimitrescu reigns supreme."
Her laughter skipped like stones on water, disrupting the surface of Fauna's mind. Snow-dusted trees crawled past them but she pretended not to see.
Bitter chocolate, sweetened wine, rotten, spoiled and sublime.
That was the taste of such a fleeting laugh.
Decadent as the kiss of death.
"Where the fuck is it!"
Upturning the butchered clothes, Cassandra dug through the pockets over and over again, trying to find her handkerchief. The fresh one she meant to throw at the experiment still remained stifled in her cloak. She got too cocky, too frenzied to have noticed till it was too late. It was for show, an act of intimidation, a way to show who was superior but she didn't have her mother's finesse.
You're too brash, Cassandra, you don't think before you act, Cassandra. Ugh.
Roaring in frustration, Cassandra stomped from the bathroom to the bedroom, all but turning the mattress over. Desperate hands clawed the sheets, searching for what she lost in the heat of the moment.
"Treasure hunt?" came a lilting voice within a drumming legion of flies.
"Not now, Daniela," Cassandra seethed, rumpling the quilts from her brutal grip, "I don't have time to play with you."
The youngest child floated towards Cassandra, hovering around her before falling backwards on the bed. She looked up with a smile and patted her sister's hand.
"There there," she cooed, "I'm sure you'll find what you're looking for,"
Sighing, Cassandra let the tension run out of her body before joining Daniela on the bed, falling flat on her face.
A series of mumbles were drowned in the sheets as the middle child spoke.
"Whadya say?" Daniela queried, leaning in closer with inquisitive enthusiasm.
"I said I threw mom's handkerchief at the experiment by accident and now I can't fucking find it! I thought she'd leave it behind but guess what Cassandra? You were wrong again! I told her to clean the man-stink off but I threw the wrong fucking thing." Cassandra belted out, almost garbled by her rage, turning her head to face her sister, "That piece of shit took it with her!" a gloved fist hits the sheets in anger, "FUCK!"
Daniela frowns sweetly, raising an arm to pat her angry bug's head, trying to hold back a giggle at the insanely copious swearing, "I mean," she said slowly, "You did tell her to clean up aaaaaand…you threw her a handkerchief. You probably shoulda thought of that before, eh? Especially since mom's doing the thing. The…" Daniela pauses, thinking hard, "the stress test! It might get a bit messy over there so I think Makeup will need it."
Cassandra pressed her lips together in minute frustration, staring at her sister's beaming smile. The baby of the family, so loving, so tender, so crazy.
Sighing again, Cassandra frowns, "She better not use it. I never go against mom's orders but I'll gut that fucking pig if my handkerchief comes back looking like the cellar."
Daniela hummed in understanding, closing her eyes as she spoke, "I guess we'll see what the virgin does."
The anger slowly left Cassandra as she curled up on the bed in uncharacteristic vulnerability. Daniela always had that effect on her; for solutions, she went to Bela, for comfort, she went to the baby. Lofty dreams and sugar-sweet words popped from that funny mouth, even when she was ripping out a human's throat with her teeth, she shone brightly.
I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream,
I know you, that gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam.
The gentle singing soothed Cassandra into complacency, lulling her into the world only Daniela saw. The two sadistic flesh-eaters curled up on the bed, the song still floating around the experiment's room; Daniela's voice still weaving the fairytale like a needle and thread.
Their mother used to sing to them, back in their earliest years. Cassandra remembered those days with bittersweet fondness.
You'll love me at once.
Where did the time go?
The music room, the piano.
She never touched it again.
The way you did once.
Why did she stop?
She used to play so well; sing so well.
Upon a dream.
Cassandra's heart ached for the mother's love she no longer received. That handkerchief was the last thing she had.
The last thing.
You never know what you have till it's gone.
End Note:
The wiki said Lady D was a jazz singer named Miss D and I intend to use that information very liberally.
Crimes of Passion aka Everyone Has Mommy Issues, Freudian Nightmare: A Thesis.
In conclusion, I would like to quote the meme: Daddy issues make u a people pleaser but mommy issues make u like. a sociopath.
