February 10 / 6:30PM / My Cell

I can't believe it's already been over a goddamn day since they locked me up.

In the time since my last entry, I've been tortured, lost another fucking finger, and gotten my blood drunk on multiple occasions by Lady Dimitrescu's daughters. I've spent more time unconscious and suffering from blood loss and sepsis than I have been awake and in my own senses. Time was becoming one big blur for a while, but I think that's mostly over for now.

There are three daughters: Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela.

Daniela weirds me out, but she's got nothing on Cassandra. That one's a real psychopath. She took all the joy in fucking up my arm.

Bela is different. She's smart, witty, and crafty as hell. Aside from our fight in the kitchen, she's gone out of her way to avoid hurting me, and to improve my living conditions in this cage. She talks about being above me, like she's a higher form of life – a predator, while I'm prey – but at the same time she's constantly paradoxical. The mattress she gave me, the change of clothes; all of that shit can't possibly affect the quality of my blood for real. It's like she's just making excuses to make me more comfortable around her, and in this dungeon.

So far, I figure it's because she wants me to just fully give in to her and be her little blood-cattle pet. She's thrown the term 'symbiosis' around a couple of times – I get to live, and she gets my blood. But the same time, I feel like there's something more to her actions. Something genuine.

Maybe it's the Stockholm Syndrome talking.

It's hard to wrap my head around it all. Bela's the one who told me Rose is safe, and here in the castle. She didn't need to give me that information, but she did. She could have easily gone back on her word after taking my blood, but she didn't.

It's easier to not think about it at all. I'd rather use whatever brainpower I got left focusing on escaping.

When Ethan first took pen to paper, he'd been hesitant to jot his thoughts down. There was that lingering risk of Bela or her sisters snooping, and then discovering the contents of his journal. After giving it some thought, Ethan figured that Bela snooping wasn't too likely. She held at least some respect for him. The ease with which she decided to return his journal also spoke to that respect. Coupled with how she seemed content for Ethan to maintain dignity in whatever shape or form – a clean change of clothes, the supply of good food, the bed to sleep on instead of the floor – Bela just didn't strike Ethan as the type to violate his privacy.

That left the other two sisters. Their possible discovery of his journal would simply have to be a risk he was willing to take. The little notebook was too invaluable of a tool to be underutilized. As clichéd as it might be, the pen was his only weapon down here. So, Ethan got to work.

Pages upon pages of Ethan's journal went into chronicling the dungeon's layout. His hand grew dark from the pencil's graphite as he hastily shaded in various walls and corridors onto the paper. Some pages bore harsh cross marks to denote their inaccuracy – or at least, what Ethan remembered to be inaccurate.

In pen, Ethan scribbled down his notes of the different passages: the third passageway was littered with broken glass, and you had to watch your step. The torch holder on the second left turn was skewed to one side, like it had been struck by something hardy. The cells towards the middle were the most populated by Moroaice, judging by the fervor and speed with which they closed in earlier.

The mystery door at the end of the dungeon was marked as well – Ethan sketched out the Dimitrescu family crest to distinguish it. In small, neat writing, he noted 'Bela's Room?'

Flipping the page once more took Ethan's map to the first floor. It was still sorely lacking in detail. All his pencil sketched out were the storeroom and kitchen, the dining room, and the corridor that connected them. More scribbles found their way to the paper – of how there were three to four servants in the kitchen each time Ethan had passed the room. Grimly, Ethan drew over the dining room windows in pen to give them emphasis. The bold, dark lines stood out against the shade of his pencil.

Ethan was still reeling more than he cared to admit over the encounter with Bela. A strange guilt wormed its way around his gut when he thought about it. Stranger still was how the guilt tugged in two opposite directions. He cursed himself for chickening out and not taking the war to Bela and her family – for not doing whatever it took to find Rose. In the same breath, he cursed himself for scaring the shit out of Bela, who'd been nothing but helpful the past day. That was regardless of the fact that she was the one who locked him up in the first place. He'd do well to remember that if Bela hadn't locked him up, he would have been strung up and bled dry on meat hooks.

In time, Ethan exhausted his memory of all the turns and twists of the dungeon. From where he sat on his mattress, his head leaned back on the cold stone wall. He let his breath out in a long, slow exhale. A glance at his clock revealed a fair bit of time had passed since Bela returned him to his cell. Ethan had spent the time productively, to say the least. His dark hands and dull pencil could attest to that.

Tucking his pencil behind his ear, Ethan returned his pen to the page of his last entry.

Bela is my best shot to get out of here.

Ink blotted the period Ethan dotted on the page. His pen remained fixed to paper as the thoughts swirled in his head before flowing to his hand.

There's a shred of humanity in there, and I need to use that. I can't fight my way out of here with guns blazing. The shit I pulled at the Baker House won't fly here, not now at least.

Ethan swallowed; the tip of his pen hovered over the page.

There was a part of Ethan – the same part that had died when Mia was riddled with bullets – that was resigned to the possibility that there was no happy ending for him. With how much of a shitfest his life had been the past few years, the prospect of saving Rose, surviving, and raising her unharmed – well, it just seemed farfetched. Having his luck run out and his blood run dry seemed far more realistic.

When he inevitably perished in the effort to rescue Rose, Ethan only hoped he would be survived by the journal. Perhaps he could write a nice, lovely note for her to have someday. That way, Rose could have something to remember him by. Of course, that was assuming he could get her out of here in one piece, even if he couldn't himself.

But who was he kidding? She was a baby. They were in the middle of bumfuck nowhere in the mountainous Romanian countryside. If he wouldn't survive to look after her, who would?

Ethan didn't have any answers.

All he had were more goddamn questions and doubts.

His pen hit paper before he could swallow the thoughts down.

I can't say for sure if this is the right decision. My gut tells me to run and fight one moment, and then to be friendly and sincere with Bela the next. I don't know what to do. All I can do right now is sit tight, watch, and wait for the opportunity to get out of here.

Ethan rubbed a hand up and down his tired face. Journaling usually helped him get his thoughts in order. Lined up all his priorities so he could knock them down. Now, he was just getting more stressed out. This was going to be the last time he rambled on about the dichotomy of Bela's personality in the damn journal.

Absentmindedly, Ethan flipped to the next blank page. He was thinking too much. His mind may be his greatest weapon down here while pitifully unarmed, but that didn't mean he had to overthink every goddamn thing nonstop.

His pen drew long strokes across the paper. He eased up on the pressure to keep his lines light.

Shutting his brain off was what he needed. It had worked overtime memorizing every damn turn in the dungeon.

Ethan shifted his grip on the pen – with just a little difficulty thanks to the missing finger – and returned it to the page. He changed up his strokes. From lithe and gentle, Ethan shaded in an encroaching grey, to an inky, all-consuming black.

Truly, it was a miracle he remembered as much as he did. The map probably wasn't perfect. He had enough crossed out pages to show for that. But Ethan was confident it would be accurate enough in a pinch, and any missteps he took would be quickly rectified.

The vague shapes on the page took form. Harsh shadows quickly contrasted the bright highlights. An outline was formed. A face – elegant and feminine in form.

Ethan's hand moved practically of its own accord. He'd gotten more than one good look at that face over the past day. The minutes ticked by, and the tension began to ease from Ethan's frame.

The odd tattoo was sketched with a light hand to her forehead. Long, dark, curled eyelashes allowed the bright eyes to strike the viewer with their clarity and intelligence. High cheekbones lent to her youthful appearance. Full, dark lips parted in a grin that was as endearing as it was mischievous – ready to cut him down with sharp wit.

Ethan took his time refining the shape and the lines of the wavy strands of light hair which stopped just below her collarbone. The pendant and its intricate details demanded attention, only to better accentuate the slender neck it was wrapped around.

Bela was beautiful.

Still a bloodsucking bug-mutant – but a beautiful one. Ethan could admit that to himself.

The thought was fleeting, gone as quick as it had come when Ethan eyed his finished sketch. The likeness was uncanny. He could nearly feel Bela's gaze on him from the page. A glance at his clock revealed an entire hour had gone into Bela's portrait. Having little else to do while waiting, Ethan scribbled Bela's name under the drawing, then began a rough sketch of his point of view from the cell.

Ethan had expected their third feeding to follow after Bela handed him back his journal. Instead, she had made herself scarce and said she'd be back soon. Ethan found himself dreading it a little less than he expected, considering how unpainful the last two feedings went. The only thing that gave him pause was the likelihood he'd be knocked unconscious at the end of it all. Though maybe Bela could be bargained with in that regard – maybe she was amenable to drinking less so he didn't pass out again.

The bars of his cell had barely been sketched onto paper when Ethan heard a rush of footsteps. It was a far cry from the collected, measured, and sharp click of Bela's heels on the roughhewn stone floor. Ethan set his journal down and fixed his attention on the corner leading to the dungeon proper.

The footfalls grew louder until a figure all but skidded to a stop in front of his cell.

It was a servant.

In her trembling hands, she carried a meal tray which nearly slipped from her grip from the sudden stop. A veil covered her features, but that didn't stop her current disposition from being painfully easy to read. She was shaking, and her head made quick, snappy glances towards the path she'd come from. The woman's small frame rocked with shallow breaths – both terrified and exhausted.

Ethan got up to his feet and began closing the distance. "Hey, what's wrong?"

The woman slid the meal tray into his cell with little ceremony. The water carafe bumped into the deep plate, nearly toppling over.

"Wait!" Ethan took a large step and reached between the cell bars for the servant, grabbing her by the wrist before she could withdraw and flee. He ignored her alarmed gasp in favor of asking, "What's going on? Why are you running?"

In the lanternlight, and standing this close to the woman, Ethan could just barely make out a confused face behind the dark veil. "There are monsters down here!"

Ethan nearly thunked his head against the bars to punish his stupidity. Why else would this woman be running scared? The Moroaice were starving, and she was a fresh meal ripe for the picking. With how casual Bela was whenever she rounded the corner, Ethan nearly forgot how froth with danger the underbelly of the castle was – even if they'd just personally passed there themselves.

"Right. Yeah. Shit, sorry." Ethan shook his head. "What's your name?"

In between short breaths, the woman managed to answer, "Zoria."

"Zoria, I'm Ethan," He gave Zoria what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Can you please help me?"

She tugged her arm in the effort to free it from Ethan's grip. "I need to go!"

"There's a baby in this castle." Ethan kept his hold firm for a moment longer. "Do you at least know where she is?"

With a deep inhale, Zoria steadied her voice. "Tatyana would know. Now please, I must go."

Tatyana. The one who gave off the vibe of a head servant.

Ethan gave Zoria a last look, searching for anything to tell her apart from the other servants. The dark veils made it difficult to do so. His eyes fell to her wrist, which he still held. A bracelet with beads of different colors, and what looked like the bones of small animals.

It would have to do. Ethan released his grip on Zoria's arm.

"Thanks." Ethan gave her a grateful nod of his head. "Take care on the way back up."

Zoria wasted no time starting the return trip. She rounded the corner and disappeared from view without so much as a glance in his direction. Ethan watched her go with a grimace fixed on his features. For her sake, Ethan hoped she was a fast runner. It was odd that Bela would send a servant down here to give him food instead of doing it herself. That was a first.

Ethan shrugged to himself as he acknowledged the fact that Bela was, after all, the daughter of a noblewoman. Perhaps it wasn't that odd for her to have servants do her bidding for more menial tasks like meal delivery. Though Zoria or any other servant's efficacy was questionable when it came to traversing the dungeons. It was hardly an easy feat dodging the Moroaice.

The savory aroma wafting from the meal tray triggered a hungry rumble from Ethan's stomach. Cabbage rolls of meat and nuts – sarmale – were joined by a hefty serving of polenta and sour cream. Dinner looked to be more traditionally Romanian than the meticulously curated high-iron meal from earlier. Maybe this was the servants' cooking this time around.

Ethan took the tray on over to his bed and set it onto the floor. Upon easing himself down on the soft mattress, he picked up the deep plate.

It revealed a note underneath. It was off-white stationery with floral decorations along the edges. The Dimitrescu family crest occupied the top center portion of the paper. In looping, elegant handwriting, it read:

Dear Ethan,

I find myself occupied with some matters for the moment. I am unable to join you for supper. Rest assured; you will see me again soon enough.

Enjoy the meal. I made sure that Zoria and Olga provided you with a large helping of food. You need it to continue recovering your strength.

Have a lovely evening.

Yours,

Bela

The note was carefully tucked in between the pages of Ethan's journal. For what future use it would serve – he wasn't sure.

Ethan could appreciate the extra mile Bela went to ensure he got a lot of food – and true enough, this was a big serving before him. As Ethan got his first bite of the spiced meat, wrapped up in the fermented cabbage leaves, he mused over Bela's attentiveness. He tried to not look so winded after their encounter with the Moroaice, but apparently Bela saw through that as easy as breathing. Which, Ethan admitted, was a good thing in the end. He wouldn't say no to the extra portions of sarmale and polenta provided to him.

It felt oddly quiet digging into the meal all by himself. Almost lonely. The hum and rev of cars cruising along highways was noticeably absent – a sound Ethan hadn't heard with any degree of regularity in a long time. The stray crunch of snow underfoot was similarly missing, given that Ethan had no neighbors down here to speak of. The Moroaice didn't count.

Bela's voice was missing as well. No inquisitive questions or playful jabs were thrown his way during this meal.

Ethan felt it wasn't a good sign for his sanity that he was beginning to miss her company.

He was no stranger to isolation. He had his ways of coping. In the years that Mia had been presumed dead, music, podcasts, and audiobooks were his lifelines. They kept the air busy and full of activity. They made it easier to get out of bed and live his life instead of just sinking into the crippling depression of losing his wife.

Ethan had no such coping tools on hand while he was down here in the dungeons, after losing Mia for the second and final time.

After the Baker House, Ethan thought that maybe isolation and loneliness were going to be a thing of the past. Being reunited with Mia filled him with that hope, which one could say Rose was born from.

Having the rug pulled out from under him with Mia's murder should have been enough to quash whatever hope he had left. Chris could have shot him in the head next for all Ethan cared. Ethan was one step away from ramming his head into the stone wall until his skull caved in. The only thing stopping him from calling it quits was the fact that Rose was out there.

She'd been kidnapped by Chris goddamn Redfield and then somehow ended up in this castle. Ethan had no idea how to connect points A to B. That was another thing he needed to commit to his journal – another mystery to uncover while he still had some of his wits together.

The castle matriarch would likely have the answers. Alas, so much as getting an audience with Lady Dimitrescu seemed nigh impossible, especially with how little she cared for his man-blood. Bela probably knew a thing or two though. Ethan could try to bargain for more information using his blood.

The other lead was Tatyana. If she knew where Rose was being held, then perhaps she was privy to other information. Hell, maybe she was Rose's designated caretaker. If Rose was as safe as Bela claimed, then that meant she was being looked after.

Ethan set his now empty plate back down on the silver tray. The last of the water was consumed, and Ethan returned the tray to its position by the slot on the door.

To keep himself occupied, Ethan opened his journal. Bela would either wrap up her business and see him soon, or possibly wait until the next morning. Or, she'd barge in while he was asleep and ask him to relax – maybe she wouldn't even bother to wake him. Being asleep was about as relaxed as one could get for a blood feeding. It was hard to say just yet what schedule and routine Bela and her sisters adhered to. Her mention of having breakfast with her family hinted that perhaps their body clocks were more human than not.

Ethan eyed Bela's note once more, admiring the finesse that went into her handwriting. After staring at it for a moment longer, Ethan squinted and leaned closer. Under the lamplight, Ethan could just barely make out the depressions on the paper – from the writing that had been done on stationery on top of this note.

He tried his luck and slid the note underneath a blank page. It was like something out of a bad spy movie when Ethan started shading the blank page with his pencil – attempting to get a rough read on the imprint on Bela's note. To his surprise, words grew legible here and there along the length of the page. No one sentence was completed, but some phrases and words stood out, darker than the surrounding shading.

The subject. Amputation. Injuries. Wounds… sealed over. Sepsis. The condition.

They were only fragments of the whole piece, but it was enough to put two and two together. It was a report of some sort that Bela had prepared about him. It was probably going to wind up in her mother's hands, if it hadn't already.

Ethan wasn't sure if he was supposed to feel uneasy about the development, because he felt… nothing, really. Bela's interest of his healing capabilities was no secret. While her natural curiosity was certainly a motivator, Ethan never doubted that she had likely been prying so as to be able to report the information to her mother. For now, there was no telling where that would lead. His moldy infection and ability to rapidly heal would have been discovered eventually. There was no ill will to harbor towards Bela for passing her findings along.

The note was tucked away, and he returned his focus to a fresh, blank page.

Time continued crawling along as Ethan chronicled in his journal – of all the things he did not yet know, the things he did know, and the things he needed to know. They ranged from Chris' motive for murdering Mia and kidnapping Rose, to speculation of why the Dimitrescu family was keeping hold of Rose. Other mysteries were scrawled down as well – like the strange whirring sound in the dining room.

The blanks and question marks grew with each page that Ethan flipped. The journal was getting more action the past couple of hours than it had the entire year.

Along with the detailed pages worth of notes and speculation that Ethan wrote, he also used the whole spread across two pages to prepare a mind map of sorts. There, he put down all the major players involved in Rose's kidnapping, Mia's murder, and his current imprisonment. Chris and his goon squad, the Dimitrescu House, the other freaks at the meeting with the elusive Mother Miranda – they all joined the map.

Ethan was a systems engineer at heart. Back when the smell of sterilized air from the office central air-conditioning system was the scent of his day-to-day. Not bitter gunpowder which stuck to his hands and got caught in the back of his throat. Not blood that stained his skin and every nearby surface imaginable.

He applied the learnings from his career to practical effect – to holistically map out the mess he was in. The whole system, and all the players and variables were accounted for. Connections were drawn. The unknowns were made clearer. A list of tasks was formed.

Find out why Chris killed Mia but not me.

Find out why Chris took Rose and gave her to the Dimitrescu House.

If Chris didn't give Rose up, then how did the Dimitrescu House get her?

Find out what the Dimitrescu House wants with Rose.

Find out where Rose is in this castle.

Figure out the involvement of this Mother Miranda person

Figure out what that weird whirring sound is.

Figure out Bela's alternate motives (if any) for taking care of me.

Dig a little deeper into Bela's past.

Convince Bela to give me more freedom of movement around the castle.

Escape with Rose.

Survive.

Eventually, Ethan's eyelids grew heavy, and his usually neat handwriting took a sloppy turn. With a yawn and a stretch, Ethan leaned his head back against the stone wall. It was ten in the evening, and Bela had yet to make her appearance. It was highly likely she had left him to his own devices for the rest of the night. The not-so-eagerly anticipated third feeding was going to wait, it seemed like.

The journal was tucked under his mattress for safekeeping. The oil lantern dimmed, until flickering out completely. For the first time since his run-in with Cassandra and Daniela, Ethan surveyed his cell in the pitch blackness. He'd grown not exactly accustomed to, but at least familiar with the space. He could navigate the small cell without sight. He knew where the few furnishings he possessed were located. He could perceive the arrival of any visitors through their footsteps rounding the corner on the right.

It wasn't as terrifying as the first time Bela had dragged him in here. The sizeable bed was borderline luxuriously soft. The blankets were thick and warm amid the dungeon's dropping temperature at this hour. It was an easy feat getting cozied up and ready to sleep.

If only getting comfortable in a soft bed didn't dig up memories. If only Ethan weren't so acutely aware of all the things that were missing from him.

There was the absence of the familiar give and sink of the mattress – of his wife's snoozing form lying next to him. There were no soft, unintelligible mumbles, or shifting and ruffling of sheets to interrupt the silence in the air. There were no arms that would wrap around his waist to envelope him whenever he woke in the throes of his nightmares.

Ethan gulped hard and turned over. He gave his back to the wall. It was rough, rigid, and chilly to the touch. Worlds away from Mia's smooth, soft, and warm skin.

Ethan's pillow grew damp with bitter tears by the time he finally slipped into slumber.


The blast of Ethan's shotgun sent buckshot tearing through the charging lycans.

Blood splattered from their pallid, damaged flesh. It painted the dry, dull yellow stalks of wheat with a slick, dark red.

Ethan heard them more than he saw them. There was a rustle here, and a snapping of twigs there. He didn't need to think twice. He'd turn, shoulder the weapon, and squeeze the trigger.

A cry of pain – a howl, rather – would ring out whenever Ethan's shots found their mark. There was a sense of satisfaction to it – to know he was in control for once. That he was the superior combatant, even for only a moment.

He would need to move if he wished to maintain the advantage, however. The hazy wheatfields did him no favors. They closed around him – suffocating and blinding him.

Another rustle, and Ethan went through the familiar motions – shoulder, point, squeeze, click.

Click?

"Shit."

There was no time to slide a fresh shell into the weapon. He needed to move.

His legs were heavy – heavier than the weight of all the shit he'd gone through in the Baker House, and in the godforsaken village he was in now.

They propelled him forth slowly and sluggishly. Like prey ready to be slaughtered.

The shotgun was slung over his shoulder in favor of the pistol he drew from his holster.

Keep moving. Just keep moving.

The tall stalks of wheat formed a near impenetrable wall. They stood tall – taller than any damn wheat he'd ever seen before. They darkened his surroundings – limiting his already shoddy visibility. Any semblance of a line of sight to the exit was lost. He was running blind, like a rat in a maze. Doomed to –

No.

Wait.

There was a light which cut through the stalks. Dim and faint, yet in the darkness of the fields, it may as well have been a spotlight.

Ethan hurled himself forward, willing his lethargic legs onward and towards safety. He parted the stalks as he fled, doing anything in his power to reduce the resistance his tired, fading body had to push through.

The light grew brighter with each moment that passed. Ethan was panting now. His heart hammered against his ribcage in a nervous, exhausted flurry. He was getting close. A little more.

Just a little more.

Ethan broke free from the thick field of wheat. The towering entrance to Castle Dimitrescu was only a short run away. A figure, feminine and slender in shape, stood by the grand entry door to the castle. Her blonde hair stood out like a halo of light – bright enough to guide him out of the maze of crops.

There was no time to process the figure's presence. A feral growl to his side alerted him of the fact he was very much not out of the woods yet.

The beast prowled on all fours, towering over the small houses around it. A wolf with fur darker than any night sky. It lumbered with power in its steps, enough to send small trembles rippling through the earth. Its hungry maw parted, revealing bloody, sharp teeth as it salivated – hungry at the sight of him.

Fuck.

Ethan ran for all he was worth. His fine leather shoes pounded dirt and crunched snow in the effort to put distance between him and the massive wolf. The creature's pants of exertion rivaled Ethan's own, now that he could hear it mere meters behind as it gave chase.

It was close.

Too close.

Close enough for Ethan to feel its slick spit on the back of his neck.

The entrance to Castle Dimitrescu felt impossibly far. Or perhaps he was simply impossibly slow.

Ethan didn't get the chance to contemplate the two. With the beast gaining ground, and hope slipping away, the figure by the doorway moved. Her shining halo of hair bounced with the few steps she took before her form dissipated. In her place was an amorphous mass of insects, still bright enough to light up their surroundings.

The swarm shot forward, fast enough to crack the air past Ethan's ear. There was the sound of impact – solid, like a powerful, meaty punch. It was followed by the tearing of flesh as a blade was introduced to the fray – at least, that's what Ethan assumed since he was too busy running for his life to check.

By the time Ethan reached the door, all he could spare was a glance behind him. Standing alone against the beast, the figure brandished a sickle in her hand. The supernatural glow of her blonde hair lit up the area, revealing all the injuries she'd dealt to the beast.

Inexplicably, he knew that the figure was to emerge the victor. He owed her one.

Ethan stumbled forward in the effort to heave the mighty doors open. They slammed shut behind him with a resounding, final bang. Ethan failed to catch his sudden halt in momentum; he hit the floor hard, landing on his arms and knees.

There was the sharp sound of a pistol's hammer pulling back. Ethan's head snapped up to the source, and his heart stopped in his chest.

Mia stood at the top of the carpeted steps, facing him. Behind her was the stocky form of Chris Redfield, gun fixed to the back of Mia's head.

With a quiver in his voice, Ethan called out, "Chris, wait!"

"Sorry, Ethan."

The last thing Ethan could process before waking up was the taste of Mia's blood in his mouth.


February 11, 2021 / 1:33 AM / My Cell

I had another nightmare. It's been a while since I've had this many. I figured I might as well write down what I can remember, see if it helps.

I fought some of those freaks in the fields, then had to run for my life because a giant wolf was after me. Bela managed to show up to lend a hand against the wolf. I'm a little worried by how my fucked up mind is playing her up to be some sort of helpful savior. All the time I'm spending with her isn't doing my head any favors.

Chris and Mia were there again, too.

"Sorry, Ethan."

That fucker's voice is going to haunt me for a long time.

I'm going to try to get more sleep.


February 11, 2021 / 2:58 AM / My Cell

This shit's getting old. I can't get any damn sleep without the nightmares coming up. After the shit Bela's sisters put me through, I was sleeping mostly peacefully. I guess my body recovered enough that it decided it's time to start queueing up the fucked up dreams again.

I was in the dungeons this time. Those Moroaice were after me. Out of ammo, out of luck, and just… no hope. Then there comes Bela with her bright blonde hair and her mean right hook. She bought me enough time to make a run for it.

Bumped into Chris and Mia, again.

Chris can shove his sorry up his ass.


February 11, 2021 / 4:13 AM / My Cell

Fuck this.

Fuck my dreams. Fuck this castle. Fuck all of this shit.


Ethan woke with a start and a gasp, after yet another nightmare ending with a bullet through Mia's skull. He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes for a moment, rubbing at them in frustration.

If he had to watch Mia's brains get blown out one more time, Ethan was going to crack his head open on the hardy stone walls around him.

It took a moment for Ethan to notice the savory scent piercing through the usual thick, stale air of the dungeon. Turning the knob on the lantern to his side, Ethan filled his cell with light. He squinted, eyes adjusting to the new brightness.

A fresh meal tray had been left by the door. Glancing at his clock revealed it was a little past seven in the morning; this was his breakfast meal.

Eating was a much preferable alternative than journaling his latest nightmare. The food provided thus far was quite good. It left a better taste in his mouth than the horrors from his dreams did.

Ethan took his time peeling himself off the mattress in earnest. He stretched out, allowing a few satisfying pops and cracks to roll out from his joints. With a slight grunt, Ethan stood to retrieve the meal tray and bring it over to his bed.

For breakfast, Ethan was served an omelet. Cutting into it revealed sliced sausages, mushrooms, ham, some bell peppers, and a helping of cheese. Several slices of the familiar country bread joined the omelet. Finally, he was provided once more with a fancy water carafe, and a goblet to go with it.

Ethan's utensils hovered over the plate for a moment.

The last time Bela had a servant drop food off, she left him a note underneath the plate.

Curiously, Ethan lifted the plate off of the meal tray.

True enough, a piece of stationery was tucked beneath the plate. Bela was fond of leaving notes, it seemed.

Dear Ethan,

I hope you are not getting lonely down there without me! Worry not, I shall grace you with my company shortly.

In the meantime, please enjoy your breakfast.

Yours,

Bela

Ethan huffed out a cross between a scoff and a chuckle. The note was slipped in between the pages of his journal, which was then stuffed underneath his mattress.

The food was delectable. It didn't come as a surprise anymore, not after the past couple of meals he'd been fed. The omelet's texture was a delight, and the sausages possessed a gamey, smokey flavor. The bread was as good as yesterday's – a nearly crunchy surface, contrasted by the soft, moist insides.

It was quiet. Ethan was once more acutely aware of the stillness in the air. As was the case last night, Ethan didn't have his smartphone to blare music or podcasts into the quiet cell. Bela would prove to be a welcome distraction as well. Unless their standoff at the window had put her off that badly.

Maybe that was why she hadn't showed for dinner last night, or now for breakfast. A day prior, Ethan would have scoffed at the idea that Bela could be afraid of him. After their standoff by the window, it seemed much more plausible. The fear in Bela's eyes was unmistakable, try as she might to hide it. After that encounter, maybe she needed a moment to recollect and reevaluate their relationship. Bela could go on for hours about how good his blood was, but was it good enough for her to risk her life over?

Judging by Bela's note stating that she would visit shortly, maybe it was.

Ethan had to use that to his advantage. Test out the lengths that Bela would go to for his blood.

Maybe it would be enough to test her loyalties someday.

Maybe he was pushing his luck.

Only time would tell.

As Ethan finished up with breakfast, the familiar sharp click of heels from down the hall grew audible. With the sound of Bela's footsteps came a comforting smell. It was a scent he had not gotten to smell for a few days now.

Coffee.

Ethan was powerless to stop a smile from making its way up to his face at the sight of Bela. She looked as she always did recently – hood down to reveal her well-groomed blonde hair, and her pretty face in fresh makeup. She carried two cups – espresso cups, Ethan noted – in either hand. Golden eyes glanced at the remnants of Ethan's breakfast before going up to him. Bela smiled a warm smile at him. She didn't at all miss the way he was eyeing the coffee.

"Good morning, Ethan!" Bela greeted.

Ethan wiped his mouth of any possible stray crumbs before responding. "Hey, morning."

Bela paused by the cell door. "Did you sleep well?"

Sorry, Ethan.

Gulping, he shook his head slightly. "No. Not really."

A sympathetic crease formed across Bela's tattooed forehead. "That is unfortunate. Was breakfast to your liking, at least?"

"Yeah. Got your note, by the way." Ethan gestured vaguely to the tray. "Last night's note too."

"Did you miss me?" Bela's smile took a sly turn.

Ethan made it a point to grimace and spoke with a poor imitation of discomfort. "Miss the tapeworm that leeches off my blood? No."

"Oh, that's a shame. I suppose this tapeworm will have to drink both these cups by herself then."

Fuck.

Ethan strengthened his resolve as best as he could under Bela's gaze. She stared him down, waiting for him to take it back.

Slowly and deliberately, Bela raised one steaming cup to her lips and took a sip. She sighed and audibly smacked her lips.

"Okay, okay – fine." Ethan rolled his eyes. "I missed having someone other than the goddamn walls to talk to."

Bela's laughter filled the air once again. It worried Ethan how much he was coming to enjoy its sound. It was such a contrast to his harsh cell's surroundings that he welcomed it, even took some joy from it.

"I apologize for being unavailable." Bela gently bit down on her bottom lip to reel in her giggling. "Family calls. Surely you know how that is."

It made enough sense. They would probably begin to wonder where Bela was if she spent all her time down here with him. How exactly the Dimitrescu Family's dynamic worked, Ethan had yet to determine. They shared meals together – that much Ethan knew. If Bela skipped out on them to be with him, they would surely catch on quickly. The castle matriarch probably wouldn't take too kindly to how buddy-buddy they were getting.

"Will this suffice to make up for my absence?" Bela raised one cup in emphasis.

That smell alone told Ethan it probably would.

"Hand it over and we'll see about that."

Ethan expected Bela to set the cup down through the slot in the door. He was reminded of why expecting anything in this castle was the sure way to make the opposite happen.

Bela's form flitted, allowing her figure to pass between the cell bars. The two cups of coffee were guided by the swarm to pass through the slot before being ushered back into Bela's resolidified hands.

Maybe it was time to relax again.

Maybe Bela liked it when her prey had caffeine in their bloodstream.

Maybe she would taste the coffee in his blood?

Ethan waited for the inevitable request that would lead to their next feeding. Instead, Bela extended the cup to Ethan where he sat on the lower end of the mattress. Once he accepted it, Bela clinked her own cup against his. She took care not to spill her coffee as she eased down to sit on his mattress. Similar to the last time, she expertly kicked her heels off, then pulled the thick fur blanket over her lap. She scooted back until she could lean on the wall, then shifted slightly to face him. Amber eyes watched him expectantly.

The spectacle of Bela getting comfortable in his bed was more distracting than it should have been.

Blinking a few times, Ethan focused back on the matter at hand – or rather, the coffee in hand.

It's almost like Bela was trying to win him over, one meal and one drink at a time. The espresso cup was filled to the brim and topped off with a thick, creamy foam. A lot of places around the area prepared coffee this way – Turkish Coffee – and it appeared Castle Dimitrescu was no exception.

Ethan took a sip and closed his eyes as he savored the thick, rich flavor. It was a strong, bold taste that rivaled any espresso from back home. While Ethan usually preferred some sweetness in his coffee, this cup tasted good enough that the lack of sugar was negligible.

"Apology accepted," Ethan muttered.

Bela gave a brief, delighted laugh. "I am the only one in the family that appreciates coffee. It is nice to no longer be alone in that regard."

Ethan hummed and responded after taking another sip, "We'll drink up this castle's coffee reserves in no time."

She smiled at Ethan from behind her cup. A silence that, Ethan had to admit, was rather companionable, settled between them. Ethan kept his eyes fixed to the warm cup in his hands. The occasional glance at Bela revealed her to be just as content – comfortably leaning on the wall and taking long, slow sips; she kept her eyes closed and relaxed. The few times that their gazes did cross, Bela would quirk the corner of her lip up in a small smile. He felt sheepish to be caught glancing at her – something he smacked himself internally for.

His odd stolen glances aside, things felt… normal. As if their incident by the window had not occurred at all. The gravity of what had nearly transpired should, by all accounts, have been weighing down on them. It should have put a dent into their odd relationship.

Yet there Bela was, offering him coffee, sitting on his bed, and looking perfectly content to spend time with him. Sure – there was no way Ethan could actually hurt Bela down here. There was no frigid cold that she could be blasted by. But even without the cold, surely Bela was supposed to be at least tense around him.

Fuck – the same could be said for himself, though. He'd been in the position to end her life then and there but held back. Bela had seen his intent in the long seconds his hand hovered over that latch. It was unmistakable that he'd considered it. Being caught literally red handed should have made him uncomfortable now that they were back in the same room for the first time since the standoff.

It wasn't even Ethan's game plan of playing nice with Bela that was getting him so at ease around her. He simply was.

They'd hit a bump in the road, he came to terms with his decision one way or another, and it appeared Bela had as well. What exactly it was that Bela figured out in her time away from him, Ethan couldn't say. He could only assume she had arrived at a similar decision to put the encounter behind them.

In the attempt to give himself a break from his spinning mind, Ethan spoke up. "How was breakfast with the family?"

The question appeared to catch Bela off guard. Her eyes widened for a beat, and she tucked a few wavy strands of hair behind her ear. "It went fine. Mother left in quite a hurry. She alluded to having some business to tend to with Mother Miranda. It appears something is afoot in the village."

Ethan leaned his shoulder on the wall, shifting to better face Bela. "Any idea what's going on?"

Bela blew out a sigh of exasperation. "Truth be told, Mother can be awfully secretive about her dealings."

It appeared this was neither the first nor the last time that the family matriarch had left Bela in the dark. There were a whole number of possibilities why Lady Dimitrescu didn't loop her daughters in on what was going on. Maybe it was on this Mother Miranda person's orders. Maybe it was out of her own desire to keep them uninformed and ignorant. Maybe she was like any other busy, breadwinning mother – she simply didn't have the time, or didn't want to stress her children out with her problems.

Though it was definitely jarring to consider labeling the blood-sucking giant as a breadwinning mother.

"Isn't everyone in the village either dead or a wolfman by now?" Ethan asked, figuring it wouldn't hurt to pry a little.

After taking another sip, Bela replied, "That is what I thought as well. Apparently, there are stragglers."

Good on them. Anyone that stood up to the lycan assholes were good in Ethan's book. He only hoped they would last.

Ethan steered the conversation back to lighter ground. Bela didn't appear too pleased to be talking about the state of the village, so he didn't push his luck. "Was breakfast any good, at least?" He gave her a smirk and added, "Eat any other man-things?"

Bela rolled her eyes. "I will have you know that you and I had the same breakfast today."

It was always so much more mundane than Ethan expected. It was almost alarming how little human meat and blood Bela seemed to consume, especially after she explained her nutritional requirements. Although it was certainly within the realm of possibility that Bela just left the gorier bits of her diet out of their conversation. It worked in her favor to appear more human and normal to him.

"I am curious though," Bela shifted, adjusting her legs from beneath his blanket. "What would be your ideal breakfast?"

Ethan had called it once before, and he would do it again: Bela knew that the key to his blood was through his stomach. With how good the cooking was, he was doomed.

Seeing how legitimately curious Bela looked, Ethan couldn't help but humor her. "Breakfast was always a bit weird for me. I worked the night shift pretty often. So, sometimes I'd have breakfast for dinner."

Bela's eyebrows pitched together in slight confusion as she repeated, "Breakfast for dinner?"

Just talking about it was enough to send a slight rumble of hunger through his stomach, even if he'd just eaten. The thought of Mia's cooking had that effect on him. Her food was out of this world.

"Yeah." Ethan smiled. "Like, breakfast-type meals at six or seven in the evening."

"And your wife put up with your odd eating habits?" Bela returned his expression with a teasing smile of her own.

It should have been disconcerting – hearing his captor casually joke with him about the good times he had with his late wife. Ethan couldn't process Bela's words that way.

It wasn't his captor mocking him. It was just Bela teasing him.

"Mia was very supportive. Usually, she was the one who cooked breakfast." Ethan could nearly hear Mia's whisk stirring into a bowl. He could smell the fresh batter on the stove. "Pancakes. She had this way of making them from scratch. Mixed peanut butter, chocolate chips, nuts, that sort of stuff into the batter."

Ethan watched Bela's smile grow wider as he went on with an audible fondness in his voice. "She'd top that off with some sliced bananas, cream, and a bunch of maple syrup. On the side, it's usually thick-cut bacon, and some sausages."

There was both hurt and comfort that came to Ethan's heart as he talked about it. Hurt, in that those days were long over – Mia would never again greet him with a hearty breakfast before she went to bed, and he went to work. The latter came in the act itself of talking of Mia and his life with her. It kept those lost days alive. Even if she was gone, at least she could live on in the stories Ethan told of her. It helped that Bela was a good listener.

"A lovely breakfast by a lovely woman, hm?" Bela hummed, smiling at him as warmly as ever. It sent another pang up Ethan's chest – once more, equal parts sad and happy.

Ethan sipped the last of his coffee and set it down on his tray. "Yeah. No better way to start my night, really."

Bela's attentive eyes watched him for a moment longer, as if taking in the sight of him. Quietly, almost to herself, Bela muttered from behind her cup of coffee, "I'll remember that."

If she planned on whipping him up some pancakes, Ethan definitely wouldn't object to that.

Bela drained her cup and set it down next to his on the meal tray. Turning back to Ethan, she clasped her hands together and grinned. "Are you ready for your next walk, puppy?"

The sweet, questionably genuine way with which Bela used the pet name sent a small flutter rumbling in Ethan's stomach.

He really had lost his mind.

"Jesus Christ – look, call me man-thing all you want – anything, really. Just don't fucking call me puppy."

All of his glaring earned a pout from Bela. She retorted, "But a tapeworm needs her puppy!"

"Oh my God," Ethan groaned into the hands he pressed into his face. "You're insane. You're fucking insane."

This was his fault, really. If he hadn't shown such an outward aversion to the name, Bela probably wouldn't be rubbing so much salt into the wound. She laughed freely at his expense as she pulled her heels back on and stood up. By the time her damn laughter simmered down, Bela finished smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress. She looked down towards Ethan expectantly, waiting for him to stand.

He was silently waiting for the last of the pinkness of his cheeks to fade away.

"I promised I would take you out again." Bela smiled gentler this time – no longer teasing and mocking her puppy. "Allow me to uphold that promise."

Ethan wouldn't pass up on the chance to explore more of the castle. Still, there were risks to be considered. Their last jaunt through the dungeon was more eventful than he'd been prepared for. "It's a little early to get chased by the Moroaice, don't you think?"

"Fret not. I took some measures to ensure our safe passage." Bela winked.

Traveling through the dungeon without having to worry about the former servants was one thing – Bela's proactive approach was another altogether. The fact she'd gone out of her way to make the path safe spoke of her foresight. If Ethan's deductions were right, then this trip today wasn't going to be the last. Bela was planning on taking him topside again in the future.

Bela extended her hand for Ethan to take and pull himself upright. The warm, dancing light of his lantern gave Bela's blonde head of hair a nearly ethereal shimmer. Like an angel's halo.

Ethan cleared his throat and banished the memories of his dreams from the night prior. He accepted Bela's hand, meaning to use her as support as he got to his feet. Bela instead all but yanked him upright and into standing with her inhuman strength. After taking a moment to regain his composure, he asked, "Where are we going?"

"We are paying the Duke a visit."

A/N: Thank you so much for reading, my dears! Don't forget to drop a fave and a follow if you haven't yet. Do write in with a review and let me know how you felt about this chapter. It's always such a joy to read your thoughts and feedback of my work - truly the highlight of my day!

I know I write quite a bit about food here, and in the past chapters. Part of it is because food can be such a core part of people finding comfort. Whether intentional or not, Bela is, as Ethan thinks, winning his blood (or heart?) over, one good meal at a time. It makes his captivity a little less shitty, that's for sure.

I've also been waiting for quite some time to bring Ethan's journal in! The guy's a frickin' artist, judging by the sketches he has in the in-game journal. I feel like that sometimes gets overshadowed because we focus on his mangled hands, or his singleminded drive to find Rose. Instead of the sketch of the trio and Lady D from his POV on the hooks, Ethan sketches out a little portrait of Bela - since that's who he's been spending so much time with recently.

We're gonna finally see The Duke in the next chapter! I hope I do the big guy justice, and I can't wait to see how you all react to his appearance. Until next time, you fellas take care. I'll catch you soon.