Ethan shut his journal, blowing out a loud sigh. He rubbed his fingers into the tired bags which had started to form under his eyes. The nearly empty pen clattered onto his desk with a rattle.
How it was Ethan kept getting kicked out of women's rooms was a mystery to him, really.
First Bela, now Cassandra – like it was a matter of time now until Daniela similarly gave him the boot for whatever reason, and he would be stuck with nowhere to go but his cell.
The way Cassandra had shooed him out was far, far too similar to he and Bela's last conversation, and that didn't bode well with him one bit. The finality of Bela's words that night haunted him on even his best days lately – of which he had little to begin with.
If Ethan were to be truly honest with himself, he could admit that he was lost. He was so fucking lost, and nothing made sense to his man-brain anymore.
No amount of scribing recent events down into his journal could alleviate the dull throb in his head. Each word he penned down only served to spring up a new theory or guess in his busy mind. If you stuck some goddamn electrodes into Ethan's head, the spinning of his synapses could provide enough power to light half of Romania.
There was just so much to take in, and no way of knowing if he was doing more harm than good. For fuck's sake, he was just a glorified IT guy with a fucked up past – not some kind of trauma-specialized psychiatrist. He was so far in over his head in this castle that he hardly knew which way was up anymore.
Was he supposed to stay with Cassandra? The tears in her eyes and the pain in her voice made him inclined to believe he wasn't supposed to leave her; waiting it out by her side through the storm felt like a prudent choice. Yet the volume with which she bellowed, and the restrained power in her muscles gave him pause – as the risk of getting snapped like a twig was off the charts.
An emotionally distraught Daniela was one thing – enough to give him a good scare and a couple of bruises. But an emotionally distraught Cassandra? Crossing her in such a state was just a painful suicide with extra steps. Ethan knew he could be a fool at times, but even he was aware that he should back off when very explicitly told to do so.
I don't want to hurt you!
When Cassandra of all people declared that she did not want to hurt him – Ethan had to take that at face value, and appreciate the out he was being given – even if he was bent on this just being temporary. Another tactical retreat before he got his act together and reengaged when the time was right.
But when would the time be right? When would it be safe to approach Cassandra again to check in on her? Tomorrow night? The day after that? Next week?
Ethan was still grasping at straws here, but he was willing to bet that Cassandra had unlocked some deep memories earlier – things deep down that she'd repressed for decades. That couldn't be easy to deal with at all, especially since it was anybody's guess if those memories were happy, or if they were more fucked up than her original recollections of torture. And even if they were happy memories, they only served as terrible reminders of all she'd lost. As far as Ethan could tell, Cassandra was wrestling with giants right now.
And the one person – the only person who could say without a doubt that they knew what Cassandra was going through – was just as emotionally distraught at the moment. Bela would know what to do or what to say – or if not, she could at least relate to Cassandra. Be a shoulder for the poor girl to cry on, as Bela herself had gone through this tumultuous experience before, a decade ago.
Yet Bela was nowhere to be seen, and had no idea what had just happened to her sister. That left him and his next to no experience of what to do next.
But he had to at least try, right?
Ethan had been kicked out of Bela's life for the time being, but surely Cassandra remembering something merited a ceasefire in he and Bela's ongoing tiff. Cassandra's psyche had to be important enough to snap Bela out of this funk, if only for the time being. Friction and bad blood and all – they were still siblings, and there had to be enough sisterly love between them to count for something.
It wouldn't hurt to try going to Bela's room. If he knocked hard enough (or kicked her door in), it would probably wake her. She'd ignore him, of course, but if he started shouting that he knew Cassandra's real first name, then that would pique her interest. Bela was a curious person by nature, and surely that would be enough to make her at least reconsider the wall she'd put up between them. If that revelation in and of itself wasn't enough, then he could let slip the half-truth that Cassandra may be a danger to herself – which was entirely plausible, given her current state.
If that got her attention, then at least Ethan could fill Bela in on the developments, and give them both something to do – direct their combined efforts to helping Cassandra through this.
Ethan rubbed his eyes as he all but spat out another frustrated sigh.
Fuck it.
Fuck it all to hell.
It was either he try to do something – anything – or sit on his ass and twiddle his thumbs like a jackass for the next few hours, until exhaustion overcame him.
Ethan was barely on his feet by the time the fluttering of thousands of beating wings grew audible. The violent buzzing reverberated off the twisting turns of the dungeon, and before Ethan could turn his head to the cell door – there she was.
Cassandra was dressed in her usual sporty getup, with a pair of sneakers on her feet, and her hair in a ponytail. Familiar MMA gloves were already secured to her hands – which carried Ethan's own pair of gloves.
"Cass, what –"
No sooner had the words left his mouth when Cassandra flung the door open – hard enough to slam against the bars and rattle the entire cage. Her neutral expression turned into a snarl as she spat, "Gloves on."
With little ceremony, Cassandra tossed the gloves at Ethan. They bumped his chest with a dull thump and fell to the ground before he could react. "Cass…" Ethan kept a placating hand up to her, even as he bent down to retrieve the fallen gloves. "Let's talk about this."
Cassandra's fists trembled at her sides, glaring Ethan down with all the venom of their first spar in the armory. Loose flies buzzed over her head as she glowered and positively radiated so much hostility that Ethan could feel the temperature in the room rise. Through clenched teeth, she hissed, "Put. Them. On."
"What's going on, Cass?" Ethan asked, for lack of a better way to put it. He complied with her earlier request, in the hopes that it would keep her temper from reaching a boiling point. Though one look at her makeup free face, red eyes, and angry sneer told him it was likely far too late for that. Mind running to formulate his next line to deescalate with Cassandra, Ethan slipped the gloves onto his hands without the wraps. The fit was loose, but that was the last thing on his mind in the moment.
Before he could even blink, Cassandra tagged Ethan in the chin with a jab. His head snapped back from the impact, and he staggered in reverse, bringing his hands up in defense.
Ethan's wide, alarmed eyes fixed onto Cassandra as she kept coming – swinging with all the force of a freight train. There was no form or finesse to her movements this time around; it was more reminiscent of their brawl in the Great Hall, than their armory spars. With Ethan's reflexes now jolted wide awake, he was left ducking and dodging away from Cassandra. As one strike after another rained down on him, he was forced to keep light on his feet, lest his head be knocked clean off his shoulders in a single blow.
Cassandra punched and kicked, and Ethan remained light on his feet as he called out, "Please – let's just talk about this!"
"Fight me!" Cassandra roared, sending her foot up in a kick that could have broken his chin on impact, had he not weaved back.
Ethan's cell felt small when he first woke up in it. It felt even smaller after Bela and he filled it with furniture. Now – with Cassandra nearly frothing at the mouth and swinging for the fences – it felt like a fucking closet. There was barely any space to maneuver, and he had to constantly circle Cassandra to avoid her blows.
As another kick came in, Ethan was forced to jump back onto his bed, landing on the sinking mattress with his socked feet. When Cassandra threw a punch aimed for his stomach, he was forced to bail – leaping to the side and grabbing the cell bars for support with all the finesse of a drunken trapeze artist. Ethan landed behind her, narrowly avoiding her fist as she swung back to face him.
"Fight back, you wretch!" Cassandra yelled.
"I'm not fighting you, Cass!" Ethan brought his arms up to tank the one-two combo of punches sent to his face. His muscles ached and his bones creaked on impact – and he was certain his skin would be blooming with fresh bruises later. When his back hit his cell door – he stumbled, nearly losing his footing – and then naturally his rear bumped into the stone wall across the cell next. "I just wanna talk about what happened earlier." Ethan sucked in a shallow breath, hands still raised in the futile attempt to calm her down. "We don't need to fight, Cass – it's not gonna solve anything."
"Like hell talking will solve anything either!" Cassandra stomped forward, swinging her fist in an earth-shattering punch. Ethan ducked to the side, just as Cassandra's fist smashed into the wall, cracking stone and sending a puff of dust into the air. When her leg swung in a wide kick, he was forced to retreat further – unwittingly ending back in his cell.
"Fight back, man-thing!" Cassandra shouted, fists raised, and voice trembling, "Fight me!" She stalked forward, violence in every stride as she roared, "Do I need to threaten your daughter again?! Is that what it takes?! Fucking fight me, you coward!"
It only got the slightest rise from Ethan – a brief quickening of his heartrate, and a wave of heat rippling down from his head, before terminating in his chest. It might have worked on him a week ago, but not now – not when he knew Cassandra was desperate to get a rise out of him at any cost.
Ethan stood still in the middle of his cell, hands raised in defense, and right back where he started, perfectly stoic. If he wanted to break this cycle of Cassandra's mad swinging and his own narrow dodges, he needed to do something different.
In a leap of faith, he dropped his guard.
"I'm not gonna fight you, Cass."
Cassandra's shaking fist cocked back, ready to knock his teeth out. Ethan winced, clenching his jaw and bracing for impact – but never breaking eye contact.
Then she dropped her fist and let out a loud, frustrated grunt. Just as quickly, she closed the distance, grabbing him by the front of his shirt. They staggered back as Ethan struggled to regain his balance.
Cassandra reeled Ethan in hard – enough to produce a rip along the hem of his shirt. She stopped when their faces were barely inches away. Ethan held his breath, looking into the blazing, all-consuming fire in her eyes.
"Why didn't you kill me, Ethan?" Cassandra's voice came out as strangled as it was angry, and it stunned Ethan silent. "Why?!"
When Cassandra shook him with a violent tug on his clothing, Ethan managed to stammer out, "W-what? What are you talking about?"
"The first day in the armory." Cassandra's grip tightened enough to draw another audible rip of cotton. "You could have killed me, but you didn't. Why? Why would you do that?"
That incident had been long since buried in the back of Ethan's mind. He didn't have any speech prepared to answer the question immediately. He'd thought of it before, sure – in the aftermath of the fight, when he needed to make sense of his probably misplaced mercy in the heat of the moment. But in the days – the weeks since that fight, Ethan considered it practically all in the past now. What use was there thinking about that day, when Ethan was now on such good terms with Cassandra – or at least, he had been on good terms with her.
"Answer me. Fucking answer me!" Cassandra growled as she gave Ethan another shake. "You could have let me crash right through that wall. You could have thrown me into it." There was no denying that. Especially not after all the grappling expertise he'd demonstrated since that day. "Any sane person in your place would have done it – but you hurt yourself trying to stop me." The raw, lost confusion was audible in her unsteady voice. "Why?"
Still rattled and off-balance, the first thing Ethan could answer was, "It was the right thing to do, Cass."
"Bullshit," Cassandra huffed. "That's bullshit and you know it," she shook Ethan like a child displacing anger at her toy. "Tell me the real reason. Was it to get leverage over me? Was it so that I would owe you?" Through the confusion and the rage, Ethan could see the despair in the crinkle of her eye as she whispered, "Don't lie to me."
Ethan gulped.
He couldn't filter himself now. With how fired up Cassandra was, his attempts at tact and softening the blow of his words may be misinterpreted as dishonesty. He wouldn't be able to tell Cassandra the truth if she wound up prematurely breaking his ribs or bashing his teeth in.
It was another leap of faith when Ethan admitted, "I thought about killing you, Cass. I really did." His lips remained parted for a long beat as Cassandra unleashed the full smoldering force of her basilisk stare at him. But, she remained silent and waited. Quietly, Ethan told her, "I wanted to do it. Wanted to do it since the first day you put me through the ringer."
Cassandra pulled in a shuddering breath, and let it out in an equally shaky exhale. "Why didn't you?"
"For one, I promised Bela I wouldn't hurt you. But…" Ethan's gloved hands fidgeted at his sides, fingers digging into his palms. "… the real reason is that I didn't think it was right." He paused as the rollercoaster of the past few weeks ran rampant in his mind – and all the times he'd stayed his hand were ingrained into his very being. "Getting to know Bela and Dani taught me something. Taught me that if I look hard enough, I can find goodness, I can find humanity in the unlikeliest of places." Ethan brought his hands up to hold Cassandra's arms – gently trying to remove them from his shirt. "If there was a chance you had a bit of humanity in you – even just a scrap – then I couldn't kill you. It's as simple as that, Cass, and that was enough reason for me to try and save you."
"Ethan," Cassandra whispered, eyes shut tight. She bared her teeth as she hissed, "I told you not to lie to me."
"I'm not lying," Ethan countered, keeping his voice soft and level. "But you know that, don't you? You know I'm not lying."
Cassandra's eyes fluttered open, carrying a glassy sheen to them. "You didn't kill me because you didn't think it was the right thing to do? Because – because of believing in my humanity?" When all Ethan did was nod in response, Cassandra's face twisted back into that visage of frustration and anger. "Are you mental, Ethan? Have you gone completely off the deep end? After everyone I've hurt – killed. After all the times I hurt you, tortured you – I ate your fucking finger – and you thought that it was wrong to kill me?"
"Yeah." Ethan gulped, not breaking his gaze away from Cassandra's for even a moment. "And I still do."
"Why?" Cassandra shook Ethan once more, the power and rage dwindling away. "How could you say that? After everything – how can you say that I don't deserve to be killed? Don't you think it's just fair? Isn't killing me justice for all those people?" The quiver in her voice grew stronger. "For you?"
Ethan was forced to take it all in at once – and he did his best to compartmentalize.
Cassandra's earlier revelations must have been more potent than he expected, if she now believed she deserved to be punished for all the lives she took.
"For starters, I don't think it's up to us to say who deserves what," Ethan found himself recalling his words to the Duke. "I can't claim to know everything about you, Cass, but I don't think you wanted any of this." He peered deep into Cassandra's sullen eyes. "I don't think you wanted to be a killer."
Her lip trembled, and she swallowed the growing bulge in her throat. In the slightest movement, Cassandra shook her head.
"It's not too late to turn all that around. You still have a chance."
Cassandra sputtered out a laugh – a bitter, sorrowful sound. "A chance – a chance to what? To kill again? To ruin lives again? You think I should still be alive to keep doing that?"
"A chance to try again, Cass. A chance to start fresh." Ethan trailed his hands up Cassandra's arms, settling over her own hands. "You're not solely defined by all the killing. There's good in you, I know it – I've seen it."
"I'm a fucking butcher, Ethan." Cassandra shut her eyes, sending the first tears streaming down her cheeks. "There is no good in me. I'm a monster. I don't deserve that chance."
"Doesn't matter if you think you deserve it or not," Ethan whispered. He drew slow strokes against the back of her hand in the attempt to soothe her. "All that matters is that the chance is there, and that you can take it. And I think you wanna take it, you just don't think you've earned it."
"Because I haven't," Cassandras shook her head, face tightening in frustration. "I haven't earned a scrap of this – this clemency of yours." Her voice dimmed to a whisper. "I've earned nothing of the sort."
"Cass…" Ethan brought his hands up to the sides of her neck, thumbs stroking her cheek. She shook her head no, and Ethan tried again, "Cassie, look at me."
Cassandra Dimitrescu, puffy eyed and utterly broken, met his gaze.
"I forgive you," Ethan let the words out slowly and clearly.
Lips trembling, Cassandra sniffled and asked, "How could you forgive me after everything, Ethan?"
Ethan knew this circled back to the Bakers. After all was said and done, the Bakers had just been twisted into what they were when Ethan met them. He couldn't harbor any hatred for them after he'd learned the truth. The same went for Cassandra, and Ethan had long since made peace with that. If he could forgive the Bakers, he could forgive Cassandra.
"Remember, uh – those people I mentioned? The ones who hurt me really bad – really fucked me up through and through while I was trying to find my wife?" Ethan paused only long enough to note the small nod Cassandra gave. "After I learned the truth about them… that they were just victims – just regular people that got twisted into something they weren't – I was confused, y'know?" He licked his lips, gazing at Cassandra in the effort to focus on her – and not sink into the sea of bloody, traumatic memories while Cassandra still needed him.
"Because I wanted to be angry at them." Ethan frowned to himself as he recalled, "They terrorized the living shit out of me and kept my wife locked away from me – infected her and me with the same moldy shit they had. They turned my entire goddamn life upside down – but it wasn't them pulling the strings." Ethan drew another stroke across Cassandra's damp cheeks. He could blink, and find Bela's own tear-streaked face in his hands – or Mia's, after another trauma-laced nightmare. Taking a breath, Ethan spoke, "They never asked for any of that. They lived their ordinary lives until one day everything turned on its head – and then they were just pawns to something bigger, y'know?"
Bordering on rambling, Ethan shook his head in a sharp motion. "Point I'm trying to make is that I had to learn to let go of the anger before it became all I could think of. Somewhere along the way I had to get it into my head that being angry at them wasn't gonna do anything." He licked his lips and recounted, "My therapist put it pretty well, and I try to live by that – he said the only way to live in peace is to be prepared to forgive."
Eyes shut tight, Cassandra whispered, "You can't forgive me."
"How could I not?" Ethan offered a small smile, "There's more to you than meets the eye. You're not a butcher, not a monster – nothing like that. Not to me. Not anymore. You've just… been through a lot." In the same way that the Bakers had been forced into what they were, Cassandra had not asked to become this ravenous bug-woman. She didn't want to be a killer. That was apparently part of Bela's doing, and if he could really follow that chain, he was willing to bet Bela had not wanted to turn Cassandra into a living weapon either. In the end, they were all victims of circumstances, thrust into lives they never asked for.
"I don't blame you for anything you've done, Cass." A breath, and Ethan added, "That's not to say you can just sweep personal accountability under the rug, of course. I've already forgiven you, but if you wanna really feel like you've earned it – if you're really sorry, and you wanna do right by all the people you've killed, the families you've torn apart – all of that… then you take that chance, Cass. You be a better woman and move past all this killing and torture. You owe it to 'em all to be better." Ethan shrugged one shoulder, adding, "There's no shame in that. No shame in wanting to be a better person in a better world, and leaving all that darkness behind."
Cassandra was still as a rock, looking at Ethan with her teary, forlorn eyes. The only movement she produced – the only indication she was not petrified completely – was the tremble of her lips.
"So, what do you say?" Ethan asked in hopes of prompting a reaction.
She nodded then, sending down more fat droplets of tears. When she found her voice, it just as soon cracked, "I'm sorry." Cassandra sobbed, "I'm sorry for everything."
Ethan was the first to move, bringing his arms around Cassandra to pull her in for a hug. She buried her face into his shirt in that same moment as the cries rocked her slender frame. Ethan ran his hand up and down her back in broad strokes. More and more apologies spilled out as she sniveled, the words growing unintelligible as the grief and regret broke free.
"You're okay, Cass," Ethan mumbled into her hair as Cassandra sank deeper into his hold. The gravity of it all was sinking in slowly. His mind was still playing catch-up – trying to wrap his head around the emergence of Cassandra's remorse – the very same remorse he theorized existed, but remained repressed. It all came undone so suddenly – jarring enough to give his brain whiplash.
And it all came bubbling up to the surface because of that damned Victoria Van Helsing joke. The dam had been broken by it, and there was no stopping this now that it had started.
In between hushes and soft, whispered reassurances, Ethan had managed to usher Cassandra over to sit on his bed. Ethan wasn't sure anyone had ever clung onto him as tightly as Cassandra in those moments – not wanting to release him for even a second, as though he was her final lifeline.
And maybe he was.
He didn't know what Cassandra may have done if he wasn't around.
Sitting on his bed, she continued to openly cry and sob as Ethan did his best to put her at ease. To get her comfortable, Ethan took their gloves off, setting them aside on his desk. Still tightly embracing her, Ethan at one point asked if she wanted to let her hair down. In between sobs, Cassandra nodded, and Ethan took the liberty of gently easing her hair out of the ponytail. He tossed the elastic onto his desk and returned to hugging Cassandra. He brushed his hand through her hair – easing through the loose couple of tangles in what he hoped was a soothing manner. It was all he could do in the hopes that it would be enough to keep her from falling apart at the seams.
"It's not fair," was the first understandable phrase Cassandra sobbed out after a long while. She choked on her tears as she wept, "It's not fucking fair."
Ethan couldn't get a look at Cassandra's face, as she was still pressing it into his shirt. Rubbing his hand over her back, Ethan gently asked, "What's not fair?"
"Bela did this to me," Cassandra sniffled. She carried the tone of a little girl whose doll had been borrowed for too long, and she no longer wanted to share. Ethan could only wish that Cassandra's woes were that simple in reality. "She made me into this – this monster and then left me alone." Another sob, and any words she tried to string together were lost on Ethan. The raw emotion was crashing down on her as an unstoppable tidal wave. Cassandra was left heaving with sobs, unable to express herself clearly.
"You're not alone now," was all Ethan could mutter, lips brushing Cassandra's hair as she clutched onto him even tighter. "I'm here."
"I remember so much," Cassandra sniffled. There was a small pause, punctuated by her fingers digging into Ethan's shirt. "So much,"
The change in topic was swift, but Ethan didn't blame her. With so much running through her mind, she probably struggled to keep all her thoughts in order. The revelations, the remorse, the sorrow – they all made it impossible for Cassandra to take things one at a time.
"My mother died when I was born."
The statement came out so suddenly and through so many tears that Ethan wasn't sure if he'd heard Cassandra right. He tried to gently pull away to look at her, but she was having none of it – insisting to remain fixed to Ethan's side, her face hidden in the tangle of her hair and the cloth of his shirt.
An audible gulp, and Cassandra added, "I think that's why he hated me so much. Pa blamed me for what happened to his wife." A shudder rocked Cassandra's breath when she murmured, "And he never let me forget it."
Oh.
Oh.
"Fuck," Ethan grumbled, "I'm sorry, Cass."
A birth complication in a remote, rural village. Resentment and hatred born with it – and displaced onto poor Cassandra – poor Victoria – who didn't at all deserve or understand it. All the prior snippets Cassandra had given of her painful, abused life now fell into place.
"He hurt me all the time. Pinned me down. Punched me in the face. Kicked me, whenever he felt like it. I was so weak, I couldn't do anything about it." Even through the weeping, the frustration grew audible in Cassandra's voice – and the way her grip on him squeezed the air out of his lungs.
When Cassandra relented, and Ethan caught his breath, he told her, "You weren't weak, Cass. That was out of your hands. You can't blame yourself for not doing anything. There was nothing you could've done." Nothing short of running away, perhaps – but Ethan knew abusive relationships, familial or otherwise, were a highly complicated thing. Young Victoria probably didn't even see that as an option – seeing herself as incapable of leaving and fending for herself. Even if she did dip out, where would she go? A child was easy prey to the aggressive wildlife in the area.
Cassandra's head turned with fervent shakes – rejecting his answer, though she didn't do so verbally. Instead, she said, "He died of a stroke when I was a teenager."
"Shit," Ethan muttered, unsure if he was supposed to follow up with 'good riddance.'
"I was all alone for a while. Lived from day to day and got by." Cassandra sniffled. "Met a boy my age around that time…" There was a pause, and Ethan could imagine the furrow in her brow when she added in afterthought, "I think."
If her recollection of memories was anything like Bela's, then Cassandra probably struggled to make order of them all.
Cassandra sighed. "I thought he would keep me company when I had no one."
Unease stirred in Ethan's gut. He settled on stroking Cassandra's hair and waiting patiently for her to go on.
"Turns out I was wrong. He was as rotten as my father," Cassandra huffed, and it was a choked, sad sound if Ethan had ever heard one. "We were on and off for years, but it never got better." She shook her head against Ethan's shirt as the words trickled out, "Whenever he told me how sorry he was, and how he would be better, I always believed him." A shuddering breath, and Cassandra whispered, "He hurt me all the time and made me think it was my fault. I was stupid enough to believe I deserved it."
"What a fucking piece of shit," Ethan had to modulate his tone to not growl right into Cassandra's ear.
"I think I was in my twenties when we had a bad fight. I…" Cassandra sniffled, then sighed. "I think I tried to stand up for myself, and then he left me. He made sure I felt like I had nothing after that."
The grumbling stirring within Ethan's insides multiplied; he knew where this was going.
"That's when I tried to end it all."
Ethan held Cassandra tighter. "Oh, Cassie."
Slowly, Cassandra pulled herself back, releasing Ethan from the hug for the first time in nearly half an hour. She looked as rough as she sounded, with the misery etched onto her face from the ever-present furrow at her brow, to the redness in her eyes.
"You see, Ethan – for a long time… that was the last I remembered. Giving up, slipping away and dying, and then," Cassandra gulped, blinking once, twice – sending more tears dripping down her cheeks. "And all I remembered after that was the torture and the pain. So much pain."
Cassandra settled her hands on Ethan's shoulders, and squeezed. "A while ago, when… when you called me that." She gulped, pointedly avoiding the moniker Ethan had dubbed her with. "I remembered everything in between." Her lips parted and trembled. Once the words came to her, she went on, "Everything is hazy. Like… as if I'm watching an old film. Some of the memories are probably out of order. Some are clearer than others. Some are more like… intense feelings or pictures in my head." Cassandra closed her eyes. "But they're real."
Gauging Cassandra's reaction by the second, Ethan cautiously probed – offering a small smile to disarm her. "Were they really all bad?"
When Cassandra opened her eyes, they still brimmed with tears, but she smiled and shook her head. "There was a good man. His name was Boris."
Ethan returned the little smile. He continued running his hand up and down Cassandra's back, encouraging her to go on. "Yeah? What was Boris like?"
"Big as a barn, and loud as a tractor." A small laugh mingled with the tears, and Cassandra sniffled again. Ethan shared in the chuckling as Cassandra took a breath – just long enough to line her memories up. "He was a Russian hunter who snuck into the country during the war – deserted after the conscription." The uptick at the corner of her lip grew when she recalled, "He always said he was a lover, not a fighter – and that hunting was different from warring…" A thoughtful frown crossed Cassandra's face. "I think our village had a lot of that. We were in the middle of nowhere, and that made it easier to avoid conscription. Or start a new life, away from everyone."
"Sounds like a cool guy," Ethan said.
"He was." Cassandra avoided Ethan's gaze, settling her eyes on the crook of his collarbone. She brought one hand back to wipe her eyes before returning to Ethan's shoulder. "It is because of him I survived. He found me when I… when I should have died."
The little mirth on Cassandra's face vanished. "Maybe it would have been better if he didn't find me. Better if I died there instead of surviving and becoming… this."
"Cass." Ethan ran his hand up to the base of Cassandra's head, fingers easing into her hair. "No. Don't dwell on that. He found you, and it's good that he did – because then you got to live a better life, right?"
"It's only because of dumb luck he found me." Cassandra shook her head. "He was coming home from a night of drinking when he saw me out there…" Her voice fell to under a whisper, and she fought to suppress the tremble. "Freezing and bleeding to death on my mother's grave."
A soft huff of a laugh, and Cassandra said, "Boris took me to Bela, and then Bela stitched me back together…" Her eyes carried a faraway look to them, heavy with reminiscence.
It still gave Ethan pause to hear more confirmation of village doctor Bela, even if the woman herself had all but confirmed it weeks ago. To think the sisters knew each other in their past lives was odd, but in hindsight, Ethan should have expected it. The remote village was small, and they all looked roughly the same age. There was no way they weren't at least acquaintances.
"He stayed with me until I was well enough to leave Bela's clinic… and even afterwards, he still stayed." Cassandra's chest rose and fell with a sigh. "Boris never pried and questioned. He simply stayed with me and that was enough. He even chased off that boy who toyed with my feelings and hurt me… Boris was good, Ethan," Cassandra muttered. "He was good to me."
Slowly, she closed her eyes – focusing on the memories.
"I was so happy with him, and I just wish I could remember more about him. Recalling his face and his voice is hard enough. I…" She frowned, the tears beading in her eyes taking that moment to trickle down. "I know we brought out the best in each other. I helped him lay off the alcohol, and he…" Warm, sorrowful eyes opened, pinning Ethan in place. "He taught me to defend myself. To fight. To shoot." Cassandra smiled through the tears and spoke in spite of the croak in her voice, "To appreciate history. To always celebrate good fights. To let go of the pain and move on with my life. That was all him. That canteen of vodka is Boris'. That's all him, Ethan – I remember it now."
"I'm glad you had someone like him, Cass." Ethan smiled. "I'm glad it wasn't all bad."
"He was a good friend." Her eyes closed again, her smile warm enough to melt Ethan's heart. "The best." Cassandra was silent for a beat, fidgeting with Ethan's shirt from where she still held him by the shoulders. When her eyelids fluttered open, she told him, "We were more than just friends, I think. I… I remember it wasn't until much later that things became… until we became more involved with each other."
"That's a lot of words to say you two loved each other as more than friends."
Cassandra's eyes darted up to Ethan, her mouth opening in shock at his apparent audacity to plainly call a spade a spade.
"Tell me I'm wrong," Ethan challenged with a little smile.
When Cassandra gave Ethan her halfhearted glare, he only smiled wider. "The last time I denied my feelings about someone that much, I ended up marrying them by the end of the year."
Cassandra laughed softly, but shook her head. "As much as I hate to say it, you're right."
"You hate to say it – really?" Ethan tilted his head.
"No." She smiled. "Boris was the best thing to ever happen to me."
There was a brief bout of silence as Cassandra appeared to chew the thoughts over in her mind. Ethan gave her all the time she needed to work through the scattered memories, now that the sobbing had diminished.
When Cassandra spoke again, it was with a wry smile. "Victoria Van Helsing." She shook her head. "That's what they called me."
"I'm guessing that Van Helsing wasn't actually your last name," Ethan stated.
"It wasn't." Cassandra gave a dry chuckle. "It was only a nickname that started as a joke between Boris and I."
"But were you an actual werewolf hunter?"
"A normal one at first, thanks to Boris." The memories elicited a bittersweet look on Cassandra's face. "He shaped me into an accomplished hunter. One of the best in the whole valley. Would you believe there was a time the other hunters came to me for advice?"
"I believe it." Ethan pursed his lips and nodded. He took that time to withdraw his hands, as Cassandra was through the bout of emotions – for now. Cassandra did the same, settling her hands down on her lap instead.
A frown soon formed on Cassandra's face when she recalled, "It was in the later years that they gave me that nickname. By then, I was hunting the lycans that kept attacking our people, livestock – and other big game in the area."
"Hm," Ethan hummed. "Fitting nickname, then."
The frown remained in place, only deepening. "That was my gun, Ethan. Boris had it custom made, and it was his gift to me. Wolfsbane was mine – I named it that."
"Didn't you say you found Wolfsbane in the castle?" Ethan stopped and motioned with one hand, "In this life, I mean. You found it in storage somewhere down here?" The implications of this were dawning on Ethan, and he voiced them aloud, "What's Victoria's personal revolver doing in this castle, of all places?"
Cassandra gulped hard. She shook her head in slow motions, sending her dark hair gently swaying side to side. "I remember much now, but not everything. I don't even know if I want to remember everything." The tremble was making a swift return to Cassandra's voice now. "The memories end on that operating table. I can't remember what happened to Boris, and I don't know how or why I became this – this monster. I just remember that table."
Her hands balled into fists on her lap, and Cassandra shut her eyes tight – tighter than ever before. She remained stock-still as she whispered, "I couldn't move. That smell in the air – the disinfectant – it was nauseating. The table was so cold, and – and…" Cassandra bared her gritted teeth. Her face scrunched up as a shudder ran over her body. "It was a scalpel at first. Then a rusty kitchen knife."
"Jesus," Ethan muttered. "Cass, you don't have to –"
"It wouldn't stop, no matter how hard I cried or pleaded. Every day it was something new." The tears were back in full force now, trailing down the curve of her cheek before dripping down off her chin and onto her shirt. "Needles under my fingernails. A vise crushing my leg. A branding iron on my back." Cassandra tried and failed to choke down a sob. "Always something new… Always, Ethan. Every single day I prayed to God to just kill me, and then one day… he did." She gulped and opened her eyes to look at Ethan, "One day I woke up in the castle, and all the pain was gone. I remembered nothing but being beaten all my life and tortured for days."
Cassandra sniffled, "Until now, there's no face to put the blame on." She tried to give a humorless laugh, but only sobbed. "All I remember is my own face and voice. Victoria smiling at me while making me wish I were dead. The pain, the helplessness, the suffering – that's all I had from that life. A life of being worth less than dirt – worth nothing at all."
The tremble in her lip came back, and no matter how tightly Cassandra shut her eyes, she could not stop the sorrow from overcoming her. She sobbed, "I trusted Bela. I trusted her with everything and she turned me into a monster." Her hands came up to press into her face – a futile attempt to stifle the sobs. "All that talk of protecting the family and destroying the enemy and – and all for what?" She pulled her hands down just enough to turn her teary eyes to Ethan. "All to leave me alone when she got her memories back. Because she just can't bear to look at the monster she created."
"Cass…" Ethan looped an arm over her shoulders, his frown deep.
"It's not fair, Ethan," Cassandra sobbed as Ethan pulled her in for another tight embrace. She trembled and wept, repeating again and again, "It's not fair."
Ethan held Cassandra close, giving his reassurances as best as he could – but she was inconsolable now. In between cries of 'it's not fair,' and 'I never wanted this,' nothing Cassandra sobbed out was understandable. All he truly could do was be a steady, constant presence for the poor woman in what was undoubtedly one of the most difficult moments in her life. He could only hope it was enough, if only for the time being.
It must have been maddening. Try as he might to put himself in Cassandra's shoes, Ethan could only imagine the horror of it all. To know nothing but a life of suffering – to foster a hatred for people, and to dehumanize and kill them and eat them like animals – then to suddenly recall a life of happiness and peace among the very same people she slaughtered.
Jesus.
Ethan idly pressed his lips to Cassandra's hair, giving a hushed, "I got you, Cass," under his breath. "I'm here."
He tried not to think of how reminiscent it was of doing the same to Bela – or Bela doing the same to him.
It was then that it dawned on him.
What Cassandra was going through now – minus the feelings of betrayal – was what Bela was going through now – no, what she had been going through the past ten years, and was still struggling with today. All that trauma, and viewing herself as a monster – those feelings had resurfaced with a vengeance, in the same way Cassandra was experiencing it now. It painted a gruesome juxtaposition between their mundane lives and the vicious throes of atrocities they carved across the valley in blood.
I am poison, Ethan. Cassandra is the walking, talking proof that – that corrupting people is all I'm good for.
Ethan buried his face in Cassandra's hair as she continued to sob.
Hearing it from Cassandra herself shed more light on it all than he could ever hope for. There may still be some details missing from the puzzle – but all the essential pieces had fallen into place.
The sisters woke up as bug-women. Bela woke up vicious and angry. Cassandra woke up traumatized and reeling, and placed all of her trust in Bela. One way or another, Bela used that trust to weaponize Cassandra's trauma into violence – perhaps so that she would not be alone in the mindless slaughter. Maybe she tried to do the same to Daniela, but there was no direct confirmation of that; all he knew was that Daniela noped out of the hunts early on. Once Bela regained her memories, it was adios for her, as she was then stuck confronting the duality of her two lives. She shut her family out, and in the process, Cassandra was left as the last huntress of Castle Dimitrescu. Now, Cassandra had to grapple with the same terrible dichotomy that Bela was dealing with.
Who would've thought that Daniela, with all her compulsive urges, obsessive need for order, and feelings on a hair trigger, was also the most emotionally liberated among the sisters? She struggled, sure – but more with her psychological problems and deadly anger issues. Daniela didn't seem to ever particularly revel in causing pain – the remorse always set in for her, even if it occasionally came to her late. Hell – Daniela consciously distanced herself from the maids, as she was acutely aware of the danger she posed. She never liked the killing, and never sunk into the depravity of the massacres like Cassandra and Bela.
Maybe it was because Daniela got out ahead. Even without a firm grasp of her past life to anchor her, Daniela had made the decision to stop joining the hunts.
Ethan could guess that maybe it was all the art and literature. Aside from being a good outlet, it kept the redhead in tune with humanity and the mundane things that people do as they live their lives. That wasn't to say that well-read people couldn't be killers – but more that it had likely given Daniela a harsh contrast (one that she preferred) to the dehumanization and wanton slaughter of people.
"Can I stay with you tonight?"
Cassandra's voice was so small in Ethan's cell that he nearly missed it. He would've pulled back to look at the woman, but he knew well enough by now that Cassandra appreciated every scrap of dignity she could preserve.
"Of course," Ethan answered. "Do you wanna lie down?"
Her response came in a faint nod against his neck.
"Let's get you tucked in then," Ethan said, slowly extracting himself from Cassandra's arms. The brunette released him, arms dropping limply to her side. She stood up just enough for Ethan to pull the thick fur blanket back – and she promptly crawled into place underneath it.
Ethan reached for the oil lantern on his desk. When his fingers secured the knob, Cassandra cut in to whisper, "not all the way, please."
He glanced back, seeing Cassandra's teary eyes, and her furrowed brow. Ethan offered her a small smile, for whatever it was worth. "Sure."
Ethan dimmed the lantern, leaving it bright enough to cast a soft warm glow on the room. He hummed, glancing at Cassandra for approval, who nodded once. Ethan reclaimed his position sitting on the edge of the bed, while Cassandra had curled up into a ball underneath his blanket.
Out of what Ethan knew was purely courtesy, Cassandra began, "I don't want you to be uncomfortable. There's room for two of us if…" Her warm, damp eyes avoided his. "You know."
Ethan smiled at the offer but shook his head. "It's fine, Cassie." For good measure, he tugged the blanket up by another inch – ensuring she was warm. "You just get cozy there, okay?"
Her fine brown eyebrows remained furrowed, and the crinkle on her tattooed forehead persisted.
"I'll be fine," Ethan said – adjusting his position for good measure. He climbed over Cassandra's curled legs beneath the blanket, then carefully sat down with his back to the stone wall; he kept his legs bent, socked feet planted just past Cassandra's legs. Not the most conventional sleeping position, but one – Ethan wasn't going to be sleeping much tonight, and two – he didn't want to subject Cassandra to any spooning. He liked to think he could read signals well enough, and this was not Cassandra inviting him to a damn cuddle session now of all times.
Cassandra had to crane her head back to look at him for a moment – as if making sure he would be okay, and that he wasn't bullshitting her. Then she sniffled, wiped the tears from her eyes, then placed her hand limply on her side, just by her hip. Her fingers flexed in what was a clear nonverbal message – which Ethan received loud and clear.
Ethan obliged, reaching for Cassandra's hand. Their fingers intertwined, and Ethan gave a firm squeeze before settling their hands on Cassandra's side.
Nothing else was said after that. Cassandra simply laid her head down on his pillow and fell silent, save for the occasional sniffles, and the sobs, quieter than the grave. Ethan held her hand the entire time.
Seconds bled into minutes ticking idly by. Ethan was left turning the night's events all over in his head ad infinitum – trying and failing to truly grasp the horror that came with Cassandra's revelations, even if there were countless highlights that came with it – with Boris leading the charge that brought good times into Cassandra's life.
When Ethan wasn't thinking of Cassandra and the horrors she lived through, he was back to thinking of Bela – and how much better armed he now was to talk to her. Not a lot of time had passed since Bela had shut the door on him, but the information he'd gleamed in the little time was invaluable. It shed much needed light and context on Bela's struggles. Ethan needed to see Bela again – soon. He'd check in on Cassandra tomorrow as always – but once that was out of the way, it would be time to reach out to Bela again. In the night, when all was quiet, and she would have no excuse to avoid him.
He'd knock the damn door off its hinges if he had to.
It must have been nearly an hour until Cassandra stilled completely, save for the occasional twitch and mumble, and her breathing evened out when she finally had no more tears left to cry. Ethan held her hand the entire time, his thumb drawing slow strokes over the soft skin on the back of her hand.
When sleep took Cassandra, and nothing but the sound of her soft breaths filled his cell, Ethan was left alone with his spinning thoughts.
It wasn't until hours later that the sheer exhaustion overcame Ethan, and he fell asleep, his back to the wall, and Cassandra's hand in his.
A/N: Hey hey, thanks so much for reading! Be sure to hit those fave and follow buttons on the way out, so you don't miss any updates.
I opened comments over on AO3, and will reply to your reviews... eventually again. As I mentioned before, I'd been waiting on reaching the climax of Cass' arc - which is this chapter. We're not 100% done with her yet, but I think this is a good point to release the floodgates - in synch with Cassandra's own floodgates opening.
Talking about the "wall incident" was one of the things I'd been wanting to cover for a while now, similar to how Ethan and Bela eventually had to talk about their window incident. Felt like no better time to do it than now, when Cass is at wit's end. And now that all's been said, it is a matter of what Cassandra does from here, with the chance presented to her, as Ethan puts it.
For everyone missing the Bethan goodness, I'll ask you to hold on a little longer. We're nearly there.
Apologies again as usual for the late delivery. I cannot overstate how busy this time of year is for me, plus some personal affairs making them even busier. Next chapter should go up by the end of November - or at least, this is my target for that next chapter.
Aaand, give the socials a peek on your way out for some fun behind the scenes stuff, and if you want to stay up to date with how life is beating me into submission and making it hard to write (I partly jest). linktr . ee / sylvesterm
Thanks again for all the support, fellas. I'll catch you around at the next update.