Dear Ethan,
Ordinarily, I would say that I hope you slept well.
Given that you did not stir in the slightest when I left, I imagine you slept quite soundly. I do apologize for my sneaky departure. I had to make myself scarce and begin breakfast preparations. It would, after all, be highly unfortunate should one of the servants have happened upon us.
Today is a taste of my favorite: Frigănele. I will hear none of this "Romanian Toast" nonsense.
Do enjoy the meal. I will join you for coffee soon enough.
Warmly,
Bela
Ethan ran his eyes over the note one more time for good measure. The little smile that crept up to his face was still present by the time he stowed it away in his journal. With little further delay, he dug into his meal.
This hefty serving of not-French Toast was fried to a golden-brown, just crispy enough at the edges, while the rest of the slice remained soft and fluffy. The buttery, eggy bread was infused with a delightful hint of vanilla, and a side of blueberry jam. If Ethan had to guess, said jam was prepared fresh right here in the castle as well. It was a welcome change from the usually savory breakfast served to him. The Frigănele was filling, and delectably sweet.
It was almost as sweet as being tangled up in Bela's arms.
Ethan felt his cheeks grow warm just remembering the whole night. If he closed his eyes, he could still picture her head resting on his chest, and her messy blonde hair cascading all over his sweater. He could feel the warmth of her hand on his bare chest, and her hot breath on his nape.
All the heat Bela lent him last night could be contrasted to how cool and empty his bed felt when he woke up alone.
Blinking awake and pawing the blanket to his side in confusion – searching for his bedmate – it was all absurd. Ethan could still hardly believe how dazed he was as his sleepy brain tried to process Bela's disappearance. Equally absurd was the dull wave of loneliness that hit him once he realized Bela was gone.
There was a part of him, that frail, needy, human part of him that craved company – it had been hoping to wake up to Bela's tangled bedhead in his face. He'd been left to wonder what Bela must look like when blinking the sleepiness out of her eyes. Was she the type to stretch and squirm before peeling herself off the mattress? Or would she grumble, turn, and pull the covers tighter over her body so she could catch an extra five minutes of shuteye?
Maybe he'd find out someday. Maybe he was insane.
No – scratch that. Ethan was fairly certain he was insane. He'd simply chosen to accept it for the most part.
Things would have been so much easier if Bela was simply the evil bloodsucking witch that he first thought she was. If she were easy to loathe, their odd bond would never have formed. If he weren't being treated and fed so well, the ease and camaraderie between them would never have set in.
Easier was subjective, of course. The good food, treatment, and company was now topped off with Rose's whereabouts as the bright red ribbon on top. This – all of this – came at the price of the nuance of his relationship with Bela. The second guessing, the self-doubt, and all the shades of conflict that plagued his mind – these were what he had to contend with in exchange for his present setup.
The alternative would have been easier on his mind, perhaps. He'd have less to ponder and ruminate over.
Ethan rightfully regarded himself as a tough, hardy person after everything he'd been through. But, Ethan was also a realist. He was pragmatic. The alternative would not at all be easy on his body, or his will to live. It was not a question of 'if' but 'when´ it was he would break under the Dimitrescu daughters' torture, mutilation, and exsanguination.
The other alternative was that he'd somehow escape, take bloody revenge on his captors, find Rose, and bust out – but that was a pipe dream. The odds of that were as likely as Cassandra beating Bela to the punch and happily unlocking his cell to set him free.
So, Ethan had to learn to make do with the present. Bela, with her kind words and her goddamn curves, was the hand that life had dealt him. It was up to him to either play the hand, or fold.
Ethan was never one to fold.
It did, however, befuddle Ethan just a little that his mind was decidedly un-tumultuous this morning. In the immediate aftermath of Bela's feeding, there had been those hazy feelings of guilt and shame. The emotions were an acid, corroding his mind and dripping all the way into his then-swirling gut.
Now, all Ethan felt in his gut was the Frigănele he may have consumed a little too quickly.
His head was similarly at peace. The mental reminders that Bela was his captor were only firing off because he felt he was obligated to do so; because it seemed like the sane thing to do – to be aware of the roles he and Bela had all but thrown in the garbage.
If he wasn't actively reflecting on the complexity of it all, Ethan was fairly sure the thoughts wouldn't be creeping into his head much.
Hell – if Ethan was feeling bold, he might just argue that his actions, and his mind itself, had never been saner.
Ethan was fully aware that Bela locked him in a cell and could let him out but actively chose not to. Even if she did let him out, Ethan wasn't sure just yet how to proceed. Grabbing Rose and escaping Bela's mother and sisters was a no brainer.
Afterwards? Chris murdered Mia and took Rose away. Beyond Bela, Ethan didn't quite know if he had anyone he could trust or rely on – and Bela wasn't of much use outside of the safety and warmth of the castle walls. Outside the castle, Ethan would have to rely on his own wits, in the middle of winter, to somehow escape with Rose back to civilization. His best bet would be to empty a gun into Chris' chest, steal his ride, and get the hell out of this cursed village – but pulling that off was a stretch
So, it was the smart decision to take things slow, build his rapport with Bela, finally see Rose again, then plan things from there.
As for the symbiosis he had with Bela, Ethan was similarly fully aware that it wasn't at all mutually beneficial in conventional terms. Symbiosis was insects getting sustenance from flowers, in exchange for enabling their pollination. This was more like if a gang of flowers locked an insect in a cage, leaving it with no choice but to facilitate pollination in exchange for nourishment, with the only other alternative being starving to death.
Ethan wouldn't need all the clothes, the warm bed, or the good food if Bela and her family hadn't locked him up to begin with – this was crystal clear to Ethan.
But, it wasn't like Bela had masterminded Rose's kidnapping, or pulled the trigger on Mia. After getting to know Bela the past week, it wasn't such a difficult thing to reconcile her (now questionable) allegiance to Miranda, and how she treated him.
He could almost pardon Bela for digging a sickle into his leg and tossing him in a cage.
Extortion or parasitism was still far more accurate than symbiosis, but to Ethan, that distinction wasn't too important for now. He was stuck with his tapeworm for the time being and had the good luck for her to be kind and empathetic. There were fates far worse than having Bela Dimitrescu as your captor.
After all, what prisoner could say their kind jailer fended off early-stage hypothermia with their own body warmth? What prisoner could say they broke down and successfully sought solace in the arms of their captor?
Ethan was fully aware that, emotionally, he was always a hair's breadth away from falling apart at the seams. Such was the price of the trauma seared into his psyche with each blinding muzzle flash of Chris' gun, and each hollow ping of spent brass tumbling to the floor. It was a perfectly natural and human reaction to cling onto Bela as he did. It was, in turn, highly telling of Bela's own humanity to be able to offer him the comfort he so desperately craved.
He couldn't blame himself then for giving that reassurance and security right back to her when it was Bela's turn to open up. There was no need to add layers of analysis to what they'd done – it was simply two people doing the human thing, and offering one another comfort when they needed it the most. It didn't matter how many damn bugs Bela could shift into. She was one of the most human people he'd met in recent memory.
So, Ethan felt he was perhaps a little more sane than he gave himself credit for.
What did give Ethan pause was the tangents his mind had gone on during the feeding – of what Bela's pale neck tasted like, or what those damn curves might look like beneath her nightgown.
Ethan could only chalk it up to the heat of the moment. A brief bout of insanity from his maybe-but-maybe-not insane mind.
Now that Bela's slender figure wasn't wrapped around him, and her muffled moans weren't short-circuiting his brain, he could think a little clearer. Ethan decisively locked last night's train of thought into his mental filing cabinet of 'do not do' and put it to bed there.
Not at all unlike how he'd thought of putting Bela to bed.
No, no.
Into the filing cabinet you go.
Ethan shook his head to himself. If there was a line that could not be crossed – it was that. He didn't even want to articulate the thoughts. The strange friendship with Bela and all the barriers they'd smashed through – that was okay. That was normal, or at least, normal given the circumstances. But the next line wasn't one that could be drawn in the sand, where it would be easily blown away. It had to be chiseled out on hardy stone, never to be erased; a barrier of reinforced steel that no erratic emotions could crash through.
With any luck, Bela shared the same sentiments all around, and there would be no trouble on that end.
And speak of the devil – the signature click of Bela's heels grew audible from around the corner and down the dungeon corridors. Ethan glanced at his clock, revealing Bela's arrival to be at a record early time. There wasn't much more time to ponder or worry if Bela was as generally calm and collected as he was about last night, and all the barriers they smashed.
Bela's presence brought with it the smell of coffee wafting down the halls. It had him cracking a small smile, which grew only wider as Bela made her appearance.
She carried her saucer and cup in one hand, and Ethan's usual #1 Dad mug in the other. In the warm glow of Ethan's lamp, Bela's elegant features were all the more striking as she offered him a smile in greeting. She tilted her head slightly to shift a few loose strands of – freshly combed, Ethan noted – wavy golden hair out of her face.
"Hey, puppy."
The fondness in her voice was enough to send Ethan's stomach in another twirl.
There wasn't anything that really set her greeting apart from any other thus far. It was just the coalescence of the homely scent of coffee, her warm tone, that damn smile, and that goddamn pet name – it all sent Ethan's heart into an erratic beat. He was too busy trying to calm it down to reply to her.
At his silence, Bela shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and Ethan's eyes did their best not to follow the sway of her hip.
With familiar teasing in her tone, Bela asked, "Did you miss me this morning?"
This was good. This was easy ground to get back on.
Ethan fell into his well-rehearsed façade of indifference. With a light scoff, he shook his head, "Miss you? I didn't even notice you leave."
Bela pursed her lips in consideration. "Really now? Is that why you held onto me as tightly as you did when I tried to depart?"
His cheeks were already growing warm as he fired back, "I thought you said in your note that I," His hands came up to form air quotes, "did not stir in the slightest."
The devilish grin Bela wore was as endearing as it was annoying.
"Which do you believe is more likely? Did you cling onto me like your life depended on it, or did you snore through it, blissfully unaware?" Bela drew out a long hum.
If Ethan were being honest with himself, the former was much more plausible. After waking up alone the past week, his subconscious would have likely attempted to keep Bela in place. Regardless, he wasn't admitting that and giving Bela the satisfaction.
"Whichever it was, I didn't wake up when you left." It was Ethan's turn to grin at her as he remarked, "Seems to me like you got a lot of practice slipping out of men's beds without them noticing."
Bela's jaw dropped and she let out a harsh scoff. Her lip curled in both irritation and amusement. Her mouth hung open for a moment longer as no sound came out, and Ethan counted that as a win.
Bela took a step closer, motioning with his mug in hand. "I will pour your coffee right down the drain, you ingrate."
Ethan's hands came up in a placating gesture as he offered what he hoped was an apologetic smile. "Hey – hey. Let's not do anything hasty."
Fierce amber eyes narrowed his way in silent challenge.
"C'mon, Bela – leave the coffee out of this." The amusement slipped into Ethan's voice with a light chuckle.
After a few more moments of Bela's simmering glare, she relented. Bela was still rolling her eyes by the time she flitted through the cell bars and came to a stop at the foot of his bed. Ethan gratefully accepted the hot mug of coffee. He scooted over to allow Bela space to make herself comfortable.
It was an altogether unnecessary move on his part. He was reminded of this when Bela sidled up to his side, tucking her legs in under his blanket in a familiar motion.
The annoyance was well and truly gone from Bela's gaze as she smiled and raised her cup towards his.
Ethan's brows pitched in mild confusion. Regardless, he clinked his mug against hers in a quick toast.
"Cheers," Bela smiled from around the rim of her cup.
"What are we toasting for?" Ethan nudged her shoulder with his as he wrapped both hands around his warm mug.
Bela's light giggle filled the air as she answered, "To last night's good sleep – of which I am sure we both needed."
With more earnestness than he probably should have presented, Ethan mused, "Yeah, last night was okay."
Bela hummed in agreement before taking a long sip of her coffee. She licked her lips as she regarded him almost coyly. The smirk forming on her features told him he wasn't going to like what was about to follow.
"You know… you were right about what you said the other day."
Ethan narrowed his eyes at Bela, and his voice was thick with suspicion of the trap she was laying for him. "What?"
"Your man-body isn't as soft as it looks."
Ethan cringed hard, and all but prayed for the mattress to swallow him whole.
Bela laughed all the more at his discomfort. Ethan should have learned his lesson by now – that his adverse reactions would only ensure that Bela would dig into the wound further. That was how puppy went from a one-off tease to a pet name that admittedly no longer made him wince.
The only upside to this was that Bela was back to giving him shit and pushing his buttons. It was a relief that last night's smashed boundaries created no awkward divide.
Things between them were just as they were.
She soon followed up to correct herself, "Oh, but you are comfortable though."
As if to prove her point, Bela casually wrapped one leg around his, and squirmed closer to his side. The kitchens must have been warm because Bela prickled with an abundance of body heat. It was a welcome contrast to the dungeon's morning chill. Ethan, whether subconsciously or not, shifted closer to her in turn.
Well, perhaps things weren't exactly as they were.
Days later, a bloodcurdling scream pierced the relative peace and quiet of Ethan's lunch.
The meal tray on his lap nearly clattered to the floor as he shot up to his feet. He propelled himself off his mattress and forward, towards the cell door. The anguished screams bounced off the dungeon walls, making it impossible to tell how near or far the source of the sound was.
It was by instinct that Ethan's hand went to his hip, pawing for the holstered pistol that wasn't there. The absence of cold, weighty steel in his hands had Ethan fidgeting. To keep his restless hands occupied, Ethan wrapped them around the cell bars; he pressed his face up to the wall in the effort to peek around the dark corner, but it was to no avail.
These were the sort of sounds he'd had the good fortune to not hear throughout the mostly tranquil ten or so days. The sounds he had gotten used to were mundane and perfectly unalarming – the rustle of his sheets in the darkness, the clink of his silverware during a hearty meal, and even Bela's light, rhythmic humming when thoroughly absorbed in her books.
The current shrieking was as far as can be from those almost homely sounds. These twisted screams were accented with anguish and torment. Only someone fully aware of their impending, gruesome demise could produce such screeching.
Joining the screams were its common bedfellows – the noise of thrashing and struggling. Ethan could just barely make out shoes skidding on the rough stone floor, and fabric tussling and flapping. If he strained his ears, he could just barely pick up cries of protest, and pleas of mercy.
A deep pit formed in Ethan's gut as his grip tightened on the cell bars.
Someone was about to be butchered. That poor soul was going to have the meat carved off their bones, and their blood drained for the Dimitrescu House's sustenance. All while Ethan was stuck in his cage, with no way to help.
It was just like when he'd erupted with frustration when Elena and all the other villagers went up in flames. Their blood-splattered, fiery demise had all happened so fast, there was barely any time to assess what had just happened. All Ethan knew was that he met some (mostly) sane folks, and within the next five minutes, they were all dead.
Ethan knew he was a magnet for this type of shit.
You introduce him to any person or group of people, and things would inevitably go down the shitter.
That police officer in Louisiana was just doing his job, and what did he get? A sharpened shovel through the brain – something Ethan didn't think was even physically possible at the time.
He met and married Mia, and look how that turned out – with her going missing and being presumed dead, only for her to be found, and then wind up dead for real a mere three years later.
It was the same for this entire village, Ethan knew. He was a fucking harbinger of demise at this point. It was foolish to think he could be of any help to that person screaming down the halls. With his luck, if he managed to get free, he would just arrive right on time to witness one of the sisters flaying that person alive.
The chilling screams grew faint and distant. Their reverberation off the walls lost their clarity and volume. In time, Ethan was left with nothing but the deafening silence hanging in the still air. He spared a glance at his nearly finished meal and found his appetite decidedly absent.
It was likely the opposite for whichever sister had dragged that person around the dungeons and to parts unknown. Their appetite was likely being sated at that very moment.
The tormented screams were a grim reminder of it all – of just who was keeping him under lock and key in this dungeon.
Not everybody was kept in a tidy cell, fed three meals a day, and had their blood taken in mostly painless extractions. The treatment Ethan was receiving was the exception, not the rule. What he'd just heard – and it was a miracle he hadn't heard this sooner – was the status quo.
Most people who entered this dungeon never made it out. They were dragged in against their will, kicking and screaming. Their flesh was food, and their blood was life-giving nutrition for the Dimitrescu family.
Bela's kind words, playful conversations, and gentle embraces were a shroud over Ethan's eyes and judgment. Far too often, he was overlooking and conveniently forgetting the bloody and murderous nature of her family.
It was easy – even excusable, Ethan would argue – to look past Bela as simply his captor. With how well he'd been treated, he could (mostly) ignore the fact he was locked in a cage. Even Bela's prior feedings could be disregarded, as they'd led to him learning more of Rose's condition and location. The fact that said feedings weren't at all unpleasant added to that. But how Bela and, likely more particularly her family, treated other people – that wasn't something to easily look past.
Capturing, murdering, and eating people were not things that Ethan could easily ignore – especially with those screams serving as a stomach-churning reminder. Ethan knew his sanity may be questionable for growing so attached to Bela. But he liked to think his mind and moral compass weren't too far gone. That was considering he felt physically ill hearing the grisly fate of the sisters' latest victim; an odd feeling akin to guilt was brewing inside him.
To make matters worse, Ethan wasn't quite sure what to do about any of this. Would any good come of talking to Bela about what he'd heard? This was a way of life to them. What Ethan considered to be abduction, murder, and not-quite-cannibalism, the Dimitrescu family would consider to be simply dinner preparations.
Before the thoughts could continue to stir within him, footsteps began echoing off the walls.
Ethan had grown intimately familiar with the sharp click of Bela's footfalls by now. Whoever was approaching had similar even steps, but lacked the distinct sound of Bela's heels. There was some relief to knowing it probably wasn't Cassandra or Daniela, since those two had worn heels the last few times he'd seen them.
It wasn't much of a surprise when a servant rounded the corner. Ethan gave the woman a once over in the attempt to distinguish who she was. The lack of the signature bracelet crossed out Zoria. The largely calm demeanor ruled out most other servants, since nobody came down here without looking scared shitless. Ethan observed the woman's straight back and matronly bearing, and could make the safe deduction this was probably Tatyana, the grand chambermaid.
Cordially, she greeted him from behind her dark veil, "Good day, Mr. Winters."
Ethan stared at her for a moment. He had to make the conscious movements to pry his tight hands off the cell bars and relax himself. It was jarring going from listening to those horrific screams to being greeted like this – and all the more considering Tatyana was acting like she hadn't heard all the shrieking.
"Hey," Ethan cleared his throat. "It's Tatyana, right?"
"Yes." Tatyana was all business as she gestured behind him, "Are you finished with your lunch?"
Ethan glanced at his discarded meal tray once before nodding in response.
"May I have your tray?"
This was as good a chance as any to get some information out of the woman. In the days since Ethan – literally – slept with Bela, they hadn't bumped into Tatyana in the kitchens. While Bela was likely well within her means to ask Tatyana about Rose herself, it appeared she was refraining from doing so. Ethan suspected some family-related politics to be at work there. Perhaps Bela didn't want to risk Tatyana relaying her nosing around to the rest of her family.
Ethan retrieved the tray by his bed, but remained where he stood. The warm lamplight did little to illuminate Tatyana's features from beneath her veil. In spite of that, Ethan could feel her eyes on him, watching him expectantly. When he made no move forward, the hand she extended lowered down to her side.
"You look pretty chill to be down here in the dungeons," Ethan observed. "Can't say the same for everyone else who picks up and drops off trays – even after Bela locked up the Moroaice."
There was a shift in the woman's posture – a certain tension set into her frame. After a beat, she responded, "When you spend enough time around the Dimitrescu family, you get used to such things."
The smallest hope kindled in Ethan's chest – that perhaps not every servant who entered the castle was doomed to be bled dry and turned into a Moroaică. Tatyana's statement hinted at tenure. Her indifference to the dungeon's atmosphere – which scared the pants off of most servants – was one that could only be born out of familiarity. Maybe there were more like her. Maybe Bela's family didn't murder as indiscriminately as he thought.
Ethan pulled that thread. "How long you been with them?
Tatyana's fingers flexed at her sides in an apprehensive sort of motion. Just the same, she answered, "Ten years, give or take."
"Wow." It was one of Ethan's rare, un-sarcastic wows. His eyebrows bobbed up as he remarked, "I didn't think anyone lasted long with them."
"Not many do," Tatyana answered in a flat tone which stirred Ethan's gut with unease. "Most are lucky to last six months."
Ethan's hope was stomped into the dirt as quickly as it had arisen. There was no easy way to articulate the multiple thoughts blazing through his mind. He managed out an uncertain, "Why?"
"Your tray, Mr. Winters." Tatyana insisted as if she hadn't heard him.
Ethan remained steadfast, gripping the tray with firm hands and staring her down.
Before long, Tatyana blew out an exasperated huff. She took a step closer to the cell door; her hand came up to lift her veil up and over her head, revealing worn features. She could have easily been not much older than Ethan himself, but stress had clearly taken its toll on her.
Tired eyes glared at Ethan. Her left was a dark hazel, tightened his way in frustration. Her right was a milky white, and the cause of the apparent blindness was immediately obvious – a pale, jagged scar cut from above her eyebrow, and all the way down to her cheekbone.
Her thin lips formed a tight scowl in the face of Ethan's lack of cooperation. She brushed her fingers through a few tangled strands of dark red hair as she spoke in a sharp tone, "You wish to know why?"
At Ethan's nod, she went on, "Because it does not take much to earn the ire of the Dimitrescu House, Mr. Winters. A spilled drink, a misplaced trinket, or even mismatched silverware on a bad day – then you are gone. Down into the dungeons you go, never to be seen again."
There was a fire to Tatyana's eyes which encouraged him to ask with a gulp, "That woman that was just dragged down here – what happened there?"
Tatyana's chest rose and fell with a deep sigh. "Let's just say that Lady Daniela is very particular about how her books are arranged."
Ethan felt the hole in his stomach grow and squirm. "That maid is going to die over a couple misarranged books?"
"My girls have died over less."
Tatyana had a cold detachment in her voice that sent a slight tingle down Ethan's spine. Surely such an inhumane injustice should have weighed heavier on her. Ethan didn't think he'd be able to live with himself if someone under his charge would suffer such a fate over such a small thing.
The grand chambermaid sounded like it was as normal as any other occurrence.
Maybe it was. That itself was fucked up.
"That's it then?" Ethan asked. His face scrunched up in discomfort as he challenged her, "She's gonna be bled dry and eaten because of some fucking books – you're not doing anything about it?"
Tatyana appeared wholly unimpressed with his pitiful attempts at rousing long-gone feelings of guilt. Her lip curled in a sneer as she bit right back, "And who do you think you are, Mr. Winters?" Her dark eyes gave him a once-over as she remarked, "Lady Bela's victims barely last a day, but you – what is it now? Ten days? Eleven?"
Ethan would have to check his journal to answer that. It was becoming difficult to keep track of time.
Tatyana continued with a humorless laugh, "What makes you so special to live this long? What gives you the right to pass judgment on me? I have been trapped here for ten years, not ten days. When you live with these creatures for as long as I have, you will see then."
"See what?"
The fists Tatyana had balled at her sides flexed once before relaxing. The scowl she wore lost its edge as she appeared to make the conscious effort to uncoil herself. With a breath, she elaborated, "You will see that another woman's death simply means that my own life may continue for some time more."
Ethan felt his own grip on the meal tray untighten. The anger at the injustice and the depravity of it all relented by a degree as it sunk in.
Tatyana was a victim and a product of the brutal system, just as much as the Moroaice were.
"I do what I can to guide the new girls. I teach them to stay on the Ladies' good sides, and perform their jobs well." Tatyana shook her head. "It does not matter, in the end. The Ladies need blood like we need water. No matter how careful we are, they will still come to collect, eventually."
"What about you?" Ethan asked, "How come they haven't come to collect from you?"
Through Tatyana's cold demeanor, Ethan could see a sadness locked down deep beneath her gaze. There was a twitch by her scarred eyebrow, and a weight to her words. "I made a mistake once, and only once. I have learned since then to stay in the Ladies' graces."
Ethan regarded her for a while longer, taking a step closer towards the cell door. Tatyana cracked a smile void of any humor. "I have no fantasy that I am special. They would gut me without second thought if they wished." She narrowed her eyes, and far seriously told him, "The same goes for you, Mr. Winters."
"Well," Ethan bobbed one shoulder in a shrug as he reached the cell door. "Apparently, Miranda needs me alive."
"And when she no longer does? Then what?" Tatyana spread her arms by her side as she challenged him to think it through. "You do realize you are a piece of meat to all the Ladies of this castle?"
With a lick of his lips, Ethan argued, "Bela wouldn't allow me to get chopped up and eaten."
Tatyana's eyeroll was nearly theatrical in its exaggeration. She repeated, "Lady Bela would look after you, is that what you think?"
Ethan frowned, but nodded just the same.
"Lady Bela, who put you in this dungeon," Tatyana motioned to the cell bars separating them. "Lady Bela who keeps you fed and content in order to extract your blood with ease?"
The doubt in her tone was grating on Ethan's nerves in a way he couldn't quite pinpoint.
"Have you ever beaten your girlfriend, Mr. Winters?" Tatyana's jarring question was quickly corrected as her dark eyes glanced at his wedding band. "Or your wife, rather?"
"What? Fuck no," Ethan scoffed. "Of course not."
"Has she ever beaten you?"
Ethan preferred not to think of the chainsaw incident, or the PTSD-induced scuffles in bed. Those did not at all count towards what Tatyana was getting at.
"No." Ethan had to pointedly unclench his jaw. "What the fuck are you trying to say?"
"Before I came into the Dimitrescu House's employment, I was living with my… partner." There was distaste to the word, as though Tatyana considered it to be a curse. She spoke flatly and emotionlessly, as though simply stating facts, "He was the breadwinner, and provided for us both. I relied on him for everything, but it was a terrible relationship. He beat me. Do you know how I felt whenever he'd strike me with an open hand?"
Ethan scanned Tatyana's expression for a moment, hoping to find any sort of hint or clue. All he was faced with was her unflinching demeanor. "What?"
"I felt that was his kindness. His fists were bony, and the rings he wore cut my cheeks to ribbons." The monotonous delivery went on, as though Tatyana were speaking of something as mundane as the weather, "So, whenever he would only strike me with his open palm, it was because he loved me – because he cared for me."
The only hint of emotion from Tatyana was a bob in her throat as she spoke. "If he struck me in the sides instead of the face, that was his love for me as well. Whenever he hurt me less, it only meant that he loved me more."
Before Ethan could oppose the statement, Tatyana beat him to it, "I was a fool for thinking so, and I would spit on his grave if that bastard had one."
Despite the sinking feeling in his gut, Ethan asked anyway, even if he had an inkling of the answer, "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you are a fool, Mr. Winters. Do not mistake Lady Bela's open hand for kindness." Tatyana reproached him, "Do not think that just because she feeds you, that she would stand up for you."
"No," It was Ethan's first instinct to deny it – to defend his unlikely companion. "That's different. Bela's different."
"Is she truly?" Tatyana stepped right up to the cell bars to challenge him, "Then why does she not allow you to leave your cell freely? Why has she not taken you to see Rosemary?"
Ethan's heart stilled upon hearing the name. "Wait – you've seen Rose, right? Is she," Ethan scoffed to himself, and asked for lack of a better question to sum it up, "Is she okay?"
With a cheeky grin, Tatyana urged, "Answer the question, Mr. Winters."
"I don't know, okay?" Ethan snapped, "I guess she thinks it isn't safe – she thinks her sisters might get me if I'm out of the dungeons for too long."
"So, Lady Bela gives you the open palm…" Tatyana drew the words out to ensure there was no misunderstanding her, "…because it is in your best interest, is that right?"
"Cut the bullshit," Ethan snarled and demanded, "Tell me about Rose. Her condition, the arrangement you've got looking after her – all of it."
"If your Lady Bela is so reliable and considerate, then why not ask her?"
Ethan gritted his teeth and did his best not to toss the meal tray aside in frustration. Tatyana talking circles around him with the abuse talk, coupled with her caginess over Rose – it was all riling him up far more than he could've expected it to.
He didn't have a good answer for Tatyana. All he had was speculation as to why Bela didn't visit her mother's chambers personally in order to see Rose. He didn't understand why Bela wanted him to ask Tatyana rather than do the asking herself. Tatyana was making more sense and having more points than he liked, and it only served to stoke his bubbling exasperation.
With a deep breath, Ethan attempted to answer as calmly as possible. "I'll ask her again when I see her. But right now, I'm talking to you, so I'm asking you: is Rose okay? Is she cared for?"
Tatyana looked at him for some time before gesturing to his tray once more. Rather than toss it at the cell wall in irritation, Ethan stiffly bent over and slid the tray through the slot. Tatyana gave him a curt smile before informing him, "As I told you earlier, I am alive today because I stay in the Ladies' graces. This means I do not discuss things I have no freedom to speak of. Lady Dimitrescu would have my head if I told you anything."
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Ethan spat, "I'm not gonna fucking tell the big bitch that you said anything!"
"No, but you may tell Lady Bela, and word may reach her mother, one way or another." Tatyana's stony eyes bore into him, gravely serious, "That's a risk I'm not willing to take. If you wish to learn of Rosemary, then you may discuss it with Lady Bela. Leave me out of it."
The response was on the tip of Ethan's tongue – that it was Bela who told him to ask Tatyana to begin with. The reply stalled there on his tongue, and remained there. If Bela didn't want to extract the information from Tatyana herself, then she had her reason. He had to trust in that for the meantime.
Taking his silence for compliance, Tatyana picked the tray up and nodded her head at him. "Thank you for understanding. Please do not think that I'm trying to antagonize you with my caution and my warnings." With one hand, Tatyana tugged the veil back over her face, and straightened it out. "I am simply erring towards the decisions that hopefully keep the both of us alive. Before I go, I have a suggestion."
Ethan couldn't keep the agitation out of his voice as he asked, "Yeah, got more wisdom for me?"
Even through the veil, the weight of Tatyana's gaze was felt. "Ask Lady Bela to take you to Rosemary. If she accepts, then you will see your daughter, and I will gladly admit I was wrong. If she declines, then at least you shall see her true colors."
The tension was locked in Ethan's frame. There was a vein by his neck that felt ready to pop if he clenched his jaw any harder.
Tatyana appeared well aware of this. She shifted one foot towards the corner leading down the corridors, but hesitated. "Take care, Mr. Winters. This is the first time your cell has been inhabited for such a long time. For your sake, I hope it stays that way." With a morbid chuckle, she muttered, "Perhaps the Lady plans to start a new line of wine with your blood."
Ethan felt each and every synapse in his brain pause.
"Wait – what did you say?" Ethan stepped closer to wrap his hands around the cell bars as Tatyana paused by the corner. "Blood – wine – what?"
It was Tatyana's turn for the tension to seep into her frame. "You… don't know?"
The implications were creeping up on Ethan, sending his heart racing in his chest. "Making wine out of my blood – you're shitting me, right?"
Tatyana's thumbs fidgeted over the edges of the meal tray for a while longer, stopping only when Ethan snapped, "Tatyana!"
"I was joking about you, yes." Tatyana paused, taking a breath. "The Dimitrescu House produces a premium vintage, Sanguis Virginis – you know this, yes?"
Ethan didn't need to be fluent in Latin to pick up on the rough translation. Nausea began to set in as Ethan answered, "That's the first time I've heard what it's called."
Tatyana sighed as she always did – with the weight of the entire world on her shoulders. Or at least – the weight of a decade serving under man-eating mass murderers. "Maiden's blood."
The solemn pause allowed the disgust to prickle across Ethan's skin as gooseflesh.
"The world may think of this name as an aristocrat's eccentricity." A palpable distaste filled Tatyana's voice. "In reality, it is literal."
Tatyana craned her head around the corner once, then glanced back at Ethan. "I must be on my way now. Stay safe, Mr. Winters."
Ethan had no reply for Tatyana as the steady beat of her footsteps echoed off the walls.
When he first rolled up to Castle Dimitrescu, he'd seen the vineyards. It was winter now, so they weren't an all too impressive sight. The thick layer of snow blanketing the area had made Ethan wary at the time – he had better things to worry about than the size of the vineyards.
The adrenaline had been pumping in his veins, and his body was shaking amid the chilly morning air. In contrast, his hands had been the steadiest thing about him. There hadn't been a single quiver as he gripped the crummy pistol, keeping it close to his body where it couldn't be swatted away. He'd been ready for the next wave of lycans hiding in the snow or the thickets, but they never came.
In the aftermath of the game of that asshole with the hammer – Heisenberg – Ethan didn't have time to eyeball the vineyards or the suspiciously humanoid-like scarecrows. The fact that they produced wine was logged into his memory and then promptly forgotten about for the time being. It simply wasn't relevant up until this point.
Because how could it not be any more fucking relevant than this – than the knowledge that they put fucking blood in wine. This was wine that people actually drank. People who had absolutely no idea that women were brutally murdered to produce the fucking premium vintage.
Ethan stumbled backwards from the cell bars on shaky feet. The bile remained bubbling just at the back of his throat – high enough to taste the bitter burn, yet refusing to spill out.
The depravity of it all was nearly incomprehensible. As the room began to spin in slow circles around him, Ethan wished it was actually incomprehensible. Maybe then his brain wouldn't be reacting to this information as violently as it was. Having people unknowingly consuming human blood in their wine was beyond fucked up. There weren't enough words or analogies in Ethan's haywire brain to put a label on any of it.
All he knew was it made him sick.
If his bucket of water weren't used for hand-washing, he would have puked into it by now in the attempt to relieve himself of the nausea.
The Dimitrescu family's predatory and wholesale murder of maids and other villagers was one thing – it was despicable, inhumane, and – for lack of better word – evil. That was already impossible to overlook. If you tried sweeping that under the carpet, you'd simply trip over the mound of bodies beneath.
Now, incorporating the blood of the murdered into a premium wine and selling it to unsuspecting customers – that knocked you a few rungs down the ladder to hell, Ethan was fairly sure.
It made Ethan's squirm all the more to contemplate Bela's participation in the heinous acts. Was she an active participant? Was that her holding the poor maid down as she was dragged to God knows where?
Even if she wasn't actively involved, it didn't at all sit well with Ethan. Inaction made her complicit. It allowed this barbarism to continue unopposed. Her dreamy memories of days gone didn't count for shit if she allowed the slaughter and stomach-churning blood-wine to reach the market. It wasn't human to stand by and do nothing in the face of atrocities like this.
And just because life had clearly seen Ethan was losing it – another factor came into play.
The familiar mechanical whirring began to fill the air, audible only because of how deafeningly silent the dungeon was.
Ethan swallowed the bile down as best as he could and turned to the cell door. He expected to catch barely a glimpse of the sound's source. Instead, it greeted him out in the open, illuminated by his lantern.
It was a drone of sorts. Cylindrical in shape and barely a foot long, it had wheels mounted on either end. The drone was a dark matte black, allowing it to blend in with the shadows. When it made no sudden move to disappear, Ethan took a cautious step forward.
He could make out what looked like a lens to the drone's front – a small camera which was undoubtedly transmitting video to the drone's operator. If Ethan had to guess, this was Chris' doing. It looked like the sort of high-tech gear his team packed.
Ethan flipped the drone off and scowled for the camera.
In response, the drone's wheels shifted, causing it to turn in place by a few degrees, and then back again. The motion repeated several times, causing the motor to whir and hum in short bursts. Ethan squinted at the drone's odd dance in confusion. He opened his mouth to ask it what it was doing, only for the pattern of sounds to hit him.
The drone was churning its motors to produce morse code.
"Shit – wait," Ethan raised a hand towards the drone as he rushed towards his mattress. Chris had drilled morse code into his skull as part of his training – but it was a difficult subject regardless, and he was rusty. He needed to write this down to get an idea of what was being said to him.
Ethan tugged his journal free from its nook underneath his mattress. He returned to the front of the cell, pen and notebook in hand. It was safe to assume the drone had a microphone as well, but just in case it didn't, Ethan gesticulated as he spoke, "Again – Say again."
His heart was pumping up all the way into his ears now, almost enough to block out the drone's mechanical whines. Ethan wasn't too sure what he hoped to gain from this, but the exhilaration of contacting someone from outside the castle, even Chris goddamn Redfield, was enough to blot out the nausea.
His shaking hands penned down the dots and dashes before scribbling down the corresponding letters. Within moments, Ethan had the whole message received and transcribed.
Won't leave you behind.
Ethan gritted his teeth. From the near-excitement of outside contact, he felt anger bubbling up in its stead.
As quietly as his fury would allow him, Ethan hissed out, "The fuck you mean you won't leave me behind?"
The almost imperceptible shine of the camera lens stared back at him tauntingly.
"You fucking shoot Mia dead, take Rose – then that's all you have to say to me?" Ethan bared his teeth as he growled, "That's the best you fucking got? Did you spend the whole fucking week coming up with that?"
The drone resumed its erratic movements, and it didn't take Ethan long to spell out the message.
It's not like that.
This all but confirmed that Chris was on the other end of this drone. Only a cryptic asshole like him could stay this vague and elusive over fucking morse code – which, in practice, required the sender to be as concise as possible.
The next message came in soon after.
Will explain in person.
"Yeah – when the fuck's that gonna be?" Ethan still gestured wildly as he spoke – more out of frustration than anything else. There was no way the drone wasn't equipped with a microphone, given how Chris was responding.
Not safe to break you out yet. Not enough backup or firepower. We're figuring it out.
Ethan scratched at his stubbly jawline. He kept his mouth shut before he could cuss the drone out or reach through the bars just so he could fling it away.
A part of him wanted to yell that he'd killed scores of lycans. He'd done so with nothing but a pistol with a faulty slide and a shotgun that struggled to eject spent shells. If he could do it, then surely Chris and his goons equipped with their night-vision and rifles could put up an even better fight.
The Duke's enigmatic message then came to mind – that Chris was supposedly the only reason Miranda hadn't enacted whatever plan she had. He was forcing her into the long game.
Ethan sighed, rubbing the back of his hand across his tired face.
Hound Wolf Squad was essentially a guerilla troop deployed behind enemy lines. If all the training – strategy included – taught Ethan anything, it was that Chris was being surgical and methodical in destabilizing Miranda's plans.
It didn't explain why the fuck Mia was murdered by his hand, or Rose taken – but it did explain why the castle windows hadn't been blown by copious amounts of explosives, and the thundering footsteps of well-armed operators didn't fill the halls.
Ethan didn't like it, but Chris had the best shot of ridding this cursed land of Miranda. The man was trained for this sort of thing. If Bela wanted to help him rip Chris a new asshole, then they could figure that out after Miranda was dead. Ethan had no illusions – he knew himself to just be a shmuck who didn't know how to die or stay down. That wouldn't be enough to take Miranda down, especially alone.
Ethan hated it.
He needed Chris alive to stop Miranda.
Settling the score would have to wait until after whatever bullshit explanation Chris had. Ethan would punch the fucker right in the teeth before anything else when they met in person – but that would have to wait.
The drone stirred Ethan from his thoughts with its mechanical rhythm.
Sit tight for a few more weeks at most. If you can't escape with Rose, we'll get you out then.
Ethan's hand, missing finger and all, was straining to pen the letters down in time. By the time he finished, all he could do was stare at the drone.
Miranda's declaration that he wasn't to be killed was what kept him alive this week. Bela was what made the week bearable – comfortable even. As long as nothing unforeseen came up – which was impossible to predict – then another couple of weeks wasn't impossible.
This, along with Tatyana giving him the bloody red pill over Sanguis Virginis – they were exactly what Ethan needed to remind himself of everything that was at stake here.
His relationship with Bela was a means to an end, and he needed to remember that.
Ethan needed her to get to Rose, and survive until he could either escape, or Chris could break him out.
It didn't matter that the smell of fresh bread in her hair brought him comfort. It didn't matter that he could break down in her arms and feel the safest he'd ever felt in a long time. It didn't matter that he wanted her to embrace her humanity and come out of all this as a new person.
None of it mattered the moment Ethan set foot outside this castle with Rose in his arms.
There was no 'us' between them when this was over. No amount of hazy daydreams of holding Bela's hand by the beachside would change that.
The ache in Ethan's heart, and however much he accepted Bela as she was, blood-sucking and all – that wouldn't count for shit once he fled the castle for good. How real this thing – this friendship but not quite – that he had with Bela was – it wouldn't change the fact she was part of a family of mass murderers. It wouldn't undo the unspeakable things she and her family had done.
Ethan finally nodded at the drone.
"Okay. I'm working on seeing Rose in person to see she's actually okay…" Ethan paused, and tried, "Have you been to Lady Dimitrescu's room?"
The drone whirred its reply out with haste.
No. Can't enter undetected.
"Figures," Ethan muttered. The Lady herself, or the servants' foot traffic, undoubtedly made it challenging to pilot the drone around unnoticed. The motors on that thing were quiet, but in a silent room, nothing that moved was truly quiet.
Hope this helps.
After releasing the message, it turned, and a light flared out from the drone. On the darkest wall nearby, it projected a hazy image, which soon gained a little clarity. The projection was fuzzy around the edges, and flickered considerably, but it was unmistakably a map.
Ethan stepped over to one corner to get as close to the projection as possible. He flipped through the journal with hurrying hands until landing on the last maps he'd drawn. Glancing back and forth, Ethan deduced the projection to be a partial layout of the second floor.
He got to work sketching the map out as quickly as he could. There was no telling when he'd get the chance to explore the upper floor of the castle, but it paid to be prepared. Thanks to the projection's blurry imagery, it was impossible to make out the hand-written notes on the layout. Which room was which was anyone's guess – save for one. A larger room towards the southern part of the map was marked with a crown.
Lady Dimitrescu's room – where Rose was.
Chris was likely playing it safe by not sending the drone into the room. Lady Dimitrescu probably wouldn't be able to see it anyway with how high up to the ceiling her head was. Regardless, Ethan wasn't about to pretend he knew how to sneakily operate a drone better than Chris and his team could.
Once the map was copied, Ethan flipped back to his rough translations of the morse code, and declared, "I'm done."
The projection flickered shut, and the drone rolled back up to Ethan's door.
We're working on hitting Miranda where it hurts. Just need time.
Ethan gestured to the cell around him with a sarcastic smile. "I got all the fucking time in the world, Chris."
The drone was still for a moment. With how uncommunicative Chris was, Ethan could perfectly imagine the little shit staring at his drone controller with that stupid anxious look on his face.
Eventually, all the drone transmitted next was:
Stay safe.
It turned and began wheeling away. Before it could round the corner, Ethan grunted out, "Wait."
The brakes were hit, and the drone stopped to face Ethan once more.
There was no point asking again why Chris had done all he'd done, and was continuing to do. He'd proven to be a jackass when it came to communication, and was perfectly content to be vague and enigmatic to his heart's desire.
Ethan was tired.
He was so fucking tired.
The overwhelming disgust and nausea brought about by Tatyana's revelations and challenging, followed by being confronted by Chris – and not being able to strangle him – it took a toll on Ethan. A heaviness slumped atop Ethan's shoulders and clouded his mind – making him want to lie down and fade into nothingness. It was all too much for one sitting.
Yet Chris' voice was still etched into Ethan's goddamn eardrums, and he could hear it right now, clear as day – as though he were still in his deathly silent dining room.
Sorry, Ethan.
His lips parted, allowing a shaky breath out, before he warned, "This doesn't change what you did, Chris."
No amount of Miranda's spilled blood, or even the recovery of Rose herself would bring Mia back to life.
The drone's blank stare remained fixed to him for a while longer. Ethan wasn't expecting a reply, but it riled him up anyway to see the drone turn and roll away. The renewed flare of irritation didn't last. Ethan had no energy to sustain a powerful emotion like rage.
A numbness was making its home in his chest. The fog in his skull thickened, keeping his thoughts as hazy as they were despondent. His limbs didn't feel like they were his own when he stumbled over to his mattress with nearly drunken steps. Ethan sat – or fell, really – down on the bed.
The harder Ethan tried to focus, the more difficult it became to keep things together.
The violent screaming. Bela's open palm. The blood in the wine. Chris hiding behind his damn drone.
Still no visual, in-person confirmation that Rose was whole and in one piece.
That could be remedied by Bela taking him to see her – but would she? Tatyana's challenge was fresh – too fresh – in his mind. The doubt that stirred inside him was enough to make him feel even sicker.
He needed to lie down.
The room spun in steady circles, prompting Ethan to shut his eyes – going so far as to press his palms against his eyelids.
Long before all this – when the worst things Ethan had to contend with were corrupted files and a sporadic network connection – sleep was an escape for him. A reprieve from the day's issues, when he could keep at bay all the problems clawing at him. In these dungeons, sleep didn't offer that same relief. The meaningless dreams and unbothered sleep from years ago had been since replaced by bloody, haunting nightmares.
Yet as Ethan rolled to his side, curling into a ball, even his shitty nightmares felt like a better alternative to the present, and all the baggage that came with it. Anything was better than grappling with all he'd been forced to acknowledge within the span of half an hour.
The shroud blanketing Ethan's mind grew the longer he remained still in bed. It was not long before his mind blanked completely, as it seemed that was the only thing his body could bear to do.
Blood.
The bitter, metallic tang in his mouth was the first thing Ethan noticed upon coming to. Not that Ethan could tell by taste, but he knew the blood in his mouth at the moment wasn't his own. It was more out of instinct – of the bitter knowledge that more often than not, it was the splatter from an innocent bystander's demise, or one of his horrid, moldy foes.
Opening his, Ethan found himself on the floor, in the darkness of his dining room. Boots hit the wooden floor all around him as figures shuffled about, apparently very busy.
Ethan moved to survey his surroundings, and his face then smeared the nearly gelatinous pool of blood that his cheek had been resting on. His eyes found the source of the blood almost immediately – in the limp form of Mia. The blood leaked from the numerous holes that had been punched in by the hail of bullets. It pooled beneath to give Mia a macabre halo – or was it a pair of wings, smeared and deformed by all the footfalls passing to and fro?
He stared at Mia for a while longer, and the dull ache in his chest only grew and spread. With every weak thump of his heart, he felt the sting all the way up to the space behind his eyes.
Her cascading dark hair, once so neatly styled with their dreamy waves, now clung to her face, matted and bloody. Her once fair skin was void of color, save for the pale complexion of death. There were rips and tears in her bloodstained clothing from the rounds that pierced her body.
Ethan was crawling on his arms and knees towards her before he could think twice about it. He reached for her limp hand on instinct. Her skin was ice cold to the touch, and it was the shivers which finally sent the first tears tumbling down Ethan's cheeks. He entwined his fingers with hers just the same, and set their joined hands on her bloody midsection.
Ethan sniffled, shaking his head to no one in particular. It was easy to think of all the could've, would've, and should've when reflecting on Mia's demise. All the things he could have done, minute or major, which may have meant the difference between life or death for Mia. Now – hovering over Mia's body and holding her cold, stiff hand – all the thoughts were absent.
If not for the lump in his throat, Ethan would have called to her – pleaded with her to wake up.
Romania was supposed to be their fresh start, halfway across the world and with all their heavy, trauma-inducing baggage behind them. With Rose, they were supposed to have the rest of their lives ahead of them. A second chance, free of gunpowder staining his hands, and blood splattering into his mouth.
There was a sound – but not from Mia – which pierced the silence. It was a vague noise of fussing – of a baby being freshly woken. The fretting soon turned into crying, filling the thick air around him. Ethan's head shot up to the source, to one of Chris' goons carrying Rose in his arms, and approaching the man himself.
It was with an ache in his heart and reluctance in his movements that Ethan released Mia's hand. He pushed himself up and forward on wobbly legs. The operator carrying Rose had his back turned. It would be an exceedingly easy thing to snap the man's neck from behind. That would have been Ethan's first vengeful instinct, if not for the obvious danger that posed to Rose.
"Hey," Ethan managed to growl out in protest. He raised a hand to reach for the man – to try and stop him or something. Ethan's movements were far too slow and sluggish, and all he reached was the air.
Unseen bricks and weights tethered to Ethan's legs, weighing him down and slowing his pace – like he was stepping through mud and tar, and not on a bloody hardwood floor. The distance between Ethan and Rose grew, until the operator finally reached Chris.
Then, Ethan's legs came free, and he stumbled forward. He was content to stagger all the way until he could accost Chris, but there were other plans for him.
A hand landed on his chest. Slender in shape, and with fingernails painted black, it stopped him dead in his tracks. Ethan followed the hand up to the arm, wrapped in long, black sleeves. His crestfallen eyes then landed on Bela's face.
Her tattooed forehead creased, and her eyebrows pitched together in a frown.
It cut him just as deeply as Chris' apology when Bela uttered, "I'm sorry, little one."
With a push, Bela sent him flailing down to the ground.
Ethan awoke with a jolt and a sharp gasp. The heels of his palms pressed into his eyes before anything else. The pressure did little to alleviate the mounting ache that pounded in his skull. If he ground his teeth together any harder, they were bound to be reduced to a fine powder. Alas, there was little else he could do to ease the tension filling every fiber of his body.
And of course, because when it rained, it poured, Ethan soon found he wasn't alone.
There was no time to process his cursed nightmare as the familiar, sharp click of heels filled the air. The measured steps didn't fill Ethan with the usual relief and eager anticipation from days prior. The footfalls brought with them a sense of dread, and Ethan could nearly feel the firm hand on his chest, and hear Bela's apology. It was a betrayal – there was no other way to describe how he felt. After promising to help him make Chris pay, and all the information she'd given about Rose, all for that – only to culminate in interposing herself between him and Rose.
The trepidation filled Ethan's body until his hands trembled. Something told him reality wasn't going to be too far off from his latest goddamn nightmare.
Rounding the corner, Bela paused. Her eyes were wide in surprise as they locked onto him sitting up in bed. She carried in her hands the usual meal tray, save for the addition of a cloche – the round ornate cover that went over the plate, kept it warm, and concealed its contents.
"You're awake," Bela observed. "You are usually still napping at this time – I didn't expect you to be up."
Ethan was gripping the edge of his mattress too hard to respond.
The harsh flame swirled within the confines of the lantern. It formed no warm glow of a halo around Bela's blonde head. Instead, the flickering fire cast long, dark shadows behind her dark blue dress. The swaying, amorphous silhouette behind Bela was reminiscent of a cloudy swarm of flies – her true nature, and not the person she was pretending to be.
And what a fool he was, falling for her charade for so long.
Bela paused in front of the cell door. Ethan must have been staring at her hard, because it didn't take her long to realize something was amiss.
"Are you okay?" Her brows pitched in genuine concern, and it simultaneously made Ethan's heart ache and his stomach turn. "Are your dreams troubling you?"
It was that masterful act of hers – that flawless mimicry of human emotion – that had torn his guard down. They hadn't bunked together since that fateful night days ago. It rattled Ethan's mind to think a part of him had been anticipating the next opportunity to fall asleep in her arms again. The security he found in Bela had to stop.
She was the enemy, no matter how many layers of sheep's clothing she wore.
She gave him the open palm, supposedly for his own good, and he happily accepted it all.
With gritted teeth, Ethan shot up onto his feet fast enough to be overcome with a brief wave of nausea. It didn't stop the harsh words from spilling out of his mouth.
"Cut the shit, Bela."
Bela flinched like she'd been physically struck.
Ethan's fingers anxiously flexed at his sides, and he took a step towards the center of the cell. Tatyana's issued challenge was seared into the forefront of his mind; the definitive litmus test to show Bela's true colors.
He had to consciously steady his breathing to speak loudly and clearly, "I want you to take me to Rose."
There was a bob of Bela's throat before she asked, "Why are you demanding this so suddenly?"
A deflection. A non-answer.
In Ethan's frazzled state, it was unacceptable.
"Will you take me to my daughter or not?"
Bela's amber eyes avoided his – choosing instead to fix onto the meal tray in her hands. With a slight sigh, she answered, "It's complicated, Ethan. You know that."
"No – it's really not," Ethan argued, "You either take me to her, or don't."
"Ethan, my family is about to have dinner – I cannot just take you up to my mother's quarters." Bela spoke in a measured tone as she frowned.
"Then what about tomorrow morning, hm?" It was more grunt than hum as Ethan all but bared his teeth at Bela. "After coffee, or whatever the fuck," The pet names Ethan found endearing not long ago now felt bitter and tainted. "When you take me on a goddamn walk like I'm your fucking dog – will you take me to Rose then?"
Bela's silence was damning.
The short stint of time that passed wasn't enough for Ethan to calm his prickling nerves, or slow his nearly ragged breaths.
Her thumbs were fidgeting with the edges of the tray when she spoke up, "I am unsure of my mother's schedule…"
"Then find out," Ethan scoffed. "Take me to Rose when she's not around."
Bela's teeth bit down on her bottom lip, and she spared him an uncharacteristically timid glance before responding, "If she finds out –"
Ethan cut her off with a groan, "Look, if you won't take me to see my daughter because the big bitch says so – then just tell me that!"
It got a rise out of Bela, evident in the angered curl of her lip. Though she apparently had more restraint than Ethan, as she urged in that placating tone, "Please calm down."
"No, I'm not gonna fucking calm down, Bela." Ethan took another heavy step closer to the door that separated them. "You're seriously telling me you won't take me to Rose because it's – what – against your mom's orders?"
"She's my mother – what do you expect me to do?" Bela's own temper was beginning to rise.
"Good, obedient little Bela following orders, huh?" Ethan scoffed. "Was it her orders to give me a bed? Feed me gourmet food? Buy me clothes?"
"Stop it."
Ethan glowered at Bela and continued unperturbed, "Did she ask you to get close to me so I'd let my guard down too? She tell you to fucking spoon me in bed?"
Bela took a long, deep breath, and spoke with far more control than Ethan had, "I understand you are angry right now, but I'm sorry, I cannot simply take you to see Rose."
"Fine – you wanna do this your way, then?" Ethan stomped forward with enough force to send Bela a step back. Ethan gripped the cell door tightly enough to turn his knuckles white. He craned his head to one side, exposing his neck. "Why don't you take a bite then – isn't that how this works? You get blood, I get something in return, right?"
"Ethan." Bela's tone bordered on scolding.
"Come on!" Ethan's voice was as sharp as a whip, "Drink my fucking blood and then take me to Rose in the morning!"
"I don't want your blood." Bela refused.
"Isn't that all I'm fucking here for?" Ethan straightened his head out as he pressed on. "You said this shit is symbiosis – you hold up your end of the bargain then."
Bela frowned deeper and remained silent. The lack of a response and her largely calm demeanor was only agitating Ethan further – but at this rate, there was little Bela could do or say that wouldn't drive Ethan up the wall.
He should have expected this from her, really. Save for the mild irritation in the throes of their banter, Bela never appeared to get too riled up. She was the model eldest daughter – calm, collected, and level-headed. But, as Ethan had been constantly proving, he was a fool. It should come as no surprise that a fool like him failed to expect Bela's neutral disposition.
"If you won't take me to her, then at least tell me something useful. Why is Rose in this castle? What does Miranda want with her? How'd your mother get Rose from Chris?" Ethan curled his lip as Bela's promise from nights prior came to mind. "And did you find anything on Chris – how we can get to him?"
As the silence drew on, the afternoon's revelations found their way to Ethan's head. With it came another wave of nausea. Ethan's face twisted in disgust as he added, "And what the fuck is up with the wine? Why put blood in the wine?"
The meal tray in Bela's hands trembled for a moment before her grip untightened. A huff came out – a rough, frustrated sound. With a helpless shrug, she answered, "I don't know. I have nothing on Redfield yet."
"Bullshit."
"I swear – I don't know. Mother does not tell us these things!" Bela's own voice began to raise to match his. "Gathering information on Redfield is no easy feat when I can't even leave this castle. I need time." Taking a beat to breathe, Bela added, "And it's no more than a few drops of blood in each bottle. It is completely diluted by the wine."
Ethan's hands left the cold cell door so they could dig into his hair in exasperation. "It doesn't fucking matter how little blood goes into the wine, Bela! What matters is that it happens at all!"
Bela's eyes avoided his in what may have been guilt, but Ethan didn't want to make any assumptions. Guesses and filling the blanks would get him nowhere.
"Jesus Christ," Ethan muttered under his breath, pushing off the cell bars to turn around. He rubbed his hands into his face, wishing he could just as easily rub all the insanity away. It was one of those times bloodying his face into the nearest stone wall was a tempting release into sweet oblivion. There were no odd, probably misplaced, feelings of betrayal if he just brained himself on the wall. There were no moral quandaries and murky, questionable friendships to contemplate.
Rose was the only thing that kept that grim option off the table.
The silence was interrupted by the soft clang of metal. Turning around, Ethan found his meal tray now on the floor, laid out by the slot in the door. Bela crossed her arms over her chest – looking more like she was hugging herself than anything else.
"I'm sorry, Ethan."
Bela's tattooed forehead creased in that familiar, empathetic way of hers. Ethan hated that he could now doubt the sincerity in her words.
"I know this is highly frustrating for you. To have your daughter so close but be unable to see her." Bela sighed, "You have been through so much, and I wish there was more I could do. I know how difficult it must be with Rose, and the loss of your wife –"
Ethan bit back in harsh reply in the face of Bela's condescension, "You know how it feels? Look at you with your big castle and your family of murderers," Ethan scoffed, "You're responsible for loss, you don't know how it feels to lose people! You don't know loss!"
Sorrow welled up in Bela's eyes. There was the smallest shake in her bottom lip.
The regret soon followed, and Ethan wished he never opened his damn mouth.
"You don't know a damn thing about me, Ethan."
Bela did not turn and walk off as she always did. Instead, she morphed into a swirling mass of flies and shot around the corner to get out of sight as quickly as possible. The beat of hundreds of wings grew inaudible within moments, and Ethan was left surrounded by the silence of his overstepping.
An apology was on the tip of Ethan's tongue, but muttering it out to his empty cell would not absolve him of the guilt.
Ethan stepped forward until he could knock his head on the cool bars of his cell. He glimpsed around the corner as best as he could – not that there was much to see from his position.
He'd been displacing.
All the mounting frustration and conflict from hours prior – they all bubbled up until there was no keeping them down, and Bela was the easy outlet to dump it on. She didn't deserve that.
He had precisely one person in this castle who he could call an ally in any shape or form, and he had summarily destroyed that connection in under five minutes. His stupidity clearly knew no bounds – that was easy enough to see in how easily he was swayed by Tatyana's words.
There was some truth to what she'd said. Ethan had enough of his marbles to acknowledge that, at least. This thing he had with Bela carried enough parallels to an abusive relationship to make any couple's counselor cringe.
Ethan's connection to Bela formed precisely because she was the only one he had to rely on. The fact that Bela was so warm and welcoming in her own odd way – that only made it easier to fall into their rabbit hole.
And, again, Ethan had to kick himself for doubting Bela's sincerity, or conjuring up ulterior motives to her actions. The hurt on her face brought about by his lashing out wasn't something that could be faked. In his fear, anger, and frustration, it was easy to paint Bela up as a monster. It was easy to think she was a master manipulator that played him like a marionette doll.
It was far more difficult to acknowledge he'd began to accept Bela, regardless of her family's crimes against humanity.
Ethan didn't know what that said about him.
If he could just separate Bela and her family as different entities – it made his life and his rollercoaster of a mind much smoother.
Bela was kind. She was considerate and thoughtful. She cared for his needs, both physical and emotional, and was clearly motivated by far more than just his blood.
The Dimitrescu family was cruel, predatory, and abusive. They followed the bidding of a mad cult leader. In their castle, scores of people were lured in and slaughtered like trapped rats.
Bela was part of the Dimitrescu family, whether Ethan liked it or not. Such intrinsic connections could not just be ignored or forgotten.
But at the same time, Bela was not just a Dimitrescu. Her family did not define her or all she could be.
She was a doctor once – or something of the sort. She had a family – a real family not born of mold and Cadou. A mother who played with her daughter in the snow. A father who fought for his country and passed his blue eyes onto his daughter.
Ethan's error had been his failure to remind himself of that – that Bela shouldn't be crucified solely for all the Dimitrescu family had done. He was wrong to call her out – to tell her that it wasn't complicated. Truth was that there was little in Ethan's life that had ever been as complicated as his present scenario.
He'd given Bela shit for not taking him to Rose, yet conveniently overlooked all the things she had done for him. He used it as ammunition against her, rather than acknowledging them as the acts of kindness that they were. All the strolls around the castle, the delicious food, and the emotional support – Bela would be in deep water if her mother found out the extent of their relationship.
Tatyana was wrong. Demanding to be taken to Rose was never going to get him anywhere. It may have looked simple on paper, but so was anything else that was purposely oversimplified. In reality, things had a dozen different moving parts to consider and account for. It wasn't at all outside the realm of possibility that Bela was within her power to take him to see Rose. But just the same, it was a no-brainer that such an arrangement probably took preparations.
As Bela had said, her mother had to obviously be absent from the castle during such a trip. It would also be prudent to clear the floor and immediate area of any maids going about their duties. The ever-looming danger of Cassandra was another factor as well. If everything could be dealt with somehow, then all that would stop Bela from arranging the meet would be principle. At the rate their relationship had progressed, Ethan didn't doubt Bela was leaning to his side more and more.
Bela wasn't an open palm to the Dimitrescu family's closed fist. It wasn't a suitable enough analogy. Ethan rejected it now in its entirety. Bela was exactly as she was – no analogies needed. She was the one who bandaged the wounds her family left. She fed him and kept him company in the cage they locked him in. She held him through the pain and turmoil her family and Miranda's plans caused.
Ethan caught a glimpse of his reflection on the sheen of the meal tray's cloche. A downtrodden, sad, wretch of a man. His behavior towards Bela tonight was far more monstrous than she'd ever been to him.
Heaving a heavy sigh, Ethan picked up the meal tray, taking it over to his bed. The guilt over coming at Bela so hard would hang over him for a while. Eating food she undoubtedly personally prepared for him would only exacerbate it, but there was nothing to do but get it over with. It would be a bigger insult to Bela if he let the meal grow cold and forgotten.
Ethan pulled the cloche off, revealing the meal underneath. The tug at his heartstrings was more vicious than any thus far.
Pancakes. Breakfast for dinner.
They were a fluffy stack of two, topped off with sliced bananas, raspberries, blueberries, and an exaggerated dollop of cream. A miniature crystalline jar was filled with thick maple syrup, dark gold in color and indescribably mouthwatering. Short sausage links and thick strips of bacon flanked the pancakes on either side, providing a savory contrast to the sweet pancakes.
The guilt swirling in Ethan's gut was nearly enough to dash his appetite away. There was no doubt that it would only intensify the remorse Ethan felt, but he lifted the plate off the tray. A note was tucked underneath the plate, just as expected.
Dear Puppy,
It took me some time preparing the right ingredients, but I am absolutely thrilled to serve you this meal. I did my best to recreate your wife's batter, based on what you told me last week. This is a mix of that, and an old family recipe.
My father met some Americans during the war, when things were beginning to settle down. Apparently, they exchanged culinary notes. My mother put the recipe together based on what father learned, and voila.
Mother is retiring to bed early tonight, which means I will be able to join you shortly after dinner. I will see you then.
Love,
Tapeworm
Ethan leaned back on the wall behind him, holding the note to his chest.
He owed Bela an apology, and more.
The next chance he got, he wouldn't hesitate to apologize for freaking out. For now, all Ethan could do was eat his breakfast for dinner in silence.
Everything was delicious, which was no surprise. The pancakes were fluffy, and had a healthy amount of chocolate and peanut butter incorporated into the thick of them. The fruits were fresh, and it was anyone's guess where Bela got fresh bananas in the middle of a Romanian winter. The cream and maple syrup were both hearty and decadently sweet, something Ethan didn't realize he was missing so much. The sausages were juicy and seasoned to perfection. The bacon strips were smokey and the perfect amount of salty, giving a wonderful balance to the pancakes.
Ethan didn't know how Bela did it, but she one-upped herself with every meal. Though of course, this meal in particular just hit differently. There was a nostalgia that came with this medley of food, from long before Ethan was dodging mold people and fighting for his life. Bela had also put an amount of care and attention into this meal that could not be understated. It easily rivaled any late-night breakfast Mia put together, minor flavor variations aside.
Those two would have a hell of a time at a cook-off.
Ethan would like to have said he took his time and savored the meal – easily one of the best in years – but that wasn't the case. Once he started, it was difficult to put his utensils down. His tray was cleared in minutes and returned to the slot by his door.
He went about the motions of his routine in the effort to keep himself busy. He washed his hands and haphazardly brushed his teeth over the floor drain. He leafed through his journal, reviewing his maps, sketches, and writing alike. Extra attention went to the assortment of notes he'd gathered from Bela throughout the days. His heart ached all the more as he tried not to think of how her salutations and sign offs had changed over the week.
But he couldn't ignore it – because there was a weight to the words Bela penned down, whether she knew it or not. There were no traces of bitterness left in Ethan's mouth as he reread her last note. Her voice – music to his ears in the solitude of his cell – was clear in his mind. 'Love' was a new one. Ethan couldn't remember the last time he signed an email or a note off with that. It could have been an oddball attempt at humor, given the name that followed, but Ethan didn't know anymore.
All he knew was that he fucked up.
Bela should be joining him by now, but after Ethan had all but spat in her face, that was off the table. The hurt in her eyes had Ethan knocking the back of his head against the wall behind him in dull thumps. Ethan could only fidget with his journal as he stared at the space Bela had been standing before she'd made her retreat.
That dress was new as well. Ethan hadn't had much time to take it in, but he didn't miss the deep blue color, and the different patterns that ran along it. It may have hugged her figure a little differently, but that was the last thing on Ethan's mind at the time.
Ethan's bed was distinctly large and empty when he sat on it alone. Having Bela tucked in either to his side or a short distance away was enough to fill the space. He could picture her next to him, blanket over her lap, features creased in focus as she poured over her books.
He wasn't going to be graced by that image tonight, since he fucked it all up.
The best he could do was wait for her in the morning, or whenever it was she planned to next see him. He could apologize then, and see where things went from there.
Bela was important to Ethan. The complexity, morality, and (in)sanity of it all was up for debate, but that simple fact couldn't be disputed: she was important to him. Ethan wasn't going to let his fuck up ruin all he'd built with Bela so far. She was the one goddamn ray of light in this dungeon, and he needed her around.
It wasn't long before Ethan's lamp was snuffed out, and he found himself tossing and turning in bed. If he remained awake for any longer, he was liable to spiral down the rabbit hole of his ruminations. He'd be kicking himself in the ass for hours over what happened, and that kind of self-flagellation wasn't going to get him anywhere.
There was more insult to injury when the potent smell of fresh bread which clung tirelessly to Bela was painfully absent. One less crutch to rely on in slipping his way into unconsciousness. Ethan bitterly noted that the only bright side was that he was so wrapped up in the regret that he didn't fixate on Mia's demise, and how empty his bed felt.
Time crawled by at a snail's pace before sleep finally took Ethan into its restless arms. It was fitful and turbulent sleep. In the brief times Ethan woke, he could grumble under his breath that he probably deserved it this time around.
All the usual culprits made their appearance in Ethan's haunting, blood-soaked nightmares. All the Moroaice with their rusted weapons and long nails. The lycans with their overbearing numbers and chilling howls.
Chris with his suppressed pistol, deafeningly loud as it splattered Mia's blood all over Ethan's face.
Bela made her appearances too, here and there. Her role was once more no longer adversarial. With her blonde head of hair and unwavering support, keeping Ethan's foes at bay, she was the only thing that made sense. She was the only constant he could rely on.
Unfortunately, not even Bela could do anything to stop Chris. No matter what, Mia would always be reduced to a limp heap on the floor, unnervingly motionless. Rose would be taken away, and they were powerless to prevent it. These events were doomed to happen and keep happening. It was a grim reflection of reality – something Ethan didn't want to put too much thought into just yet, especially not while in and out of sleep.
Ethan lost count of the times Chris had grunted out his shitty apology by the time he stirred. Despite the utter lack of rest, Ethan felt more conscious and lucid this time around. It was like he was really waking up, and not just glimpsing awake, only to slip back under moments later.
He rubbed the sleep – if it could be called that, with how unrestful it was – out of his eyes. Ethan rolled onto his side, reaching for his lamp. With a turn of the knob, Ethan brought the flame to life, keeping it small to spare him the headache. The light was enough to illuminate his clock, which revealed it was still in the dead hours of the morning. With how the Dimitrescu family operated, it was far too early to wake up. Breakfast wouldn't be arriving for a few more hours, and he couldn't be expecting company at –
A light clicking echoed off the dungeon walls.
Ethan sat up.
The clicks were sharp – indicative of heels on the rough stone. Yet the gait was different, lacking Bela's measured, even steps.
Ethan's blood ran cold, and he tore the blanket off his body so he could stand up. His head swiveled around – searching for anything that could be used defensively.
The heeled footfalls were methodically silent. Only a hunter prowling their favored territory could walk with such deliberately light steps.
All Ethan could do was ball his fists at his sides and lock his jaw in place. There was little that could hurt the Dimitrescu sisters, and that went doubly so in the underbelly of the castle, far away from any windows.
Ethan could hear his heart beating all the way up to his ears by the time the silhouette rounded the corner. Even if the dim lamplight had been absent, Cassandra's wicked grin was unmistakable.
Around her finger, she twirled around a large keyring. Her other hand landed on her hip as she came to a stop by his cell door.
"Hello, man-thing. How about a game?"
A/N: Thank you so much for reading, and for your patience amid this little delay! Again, I cannot express how grateful and how lucky I am to have such considerate and understanding readers. Your overwhelming support is what makes this story possible, and don't you guys ever forget it. Please don't forget to drop faves, follows and leave me a review so I know how you felt about this latest rollercoaster ride.
This is a whooping 15k words, and is once again the new longest chapter. Don't ever say I don't know how to make a comeback after a break lol. I could have split this chapter up, but it was important to maintain the flow of these things mounting on Ethan, one after another, until it reaches this point he unloads it on poor, unsuspecting Bela.
Ethan's mind goes on a bit of a journey in this chapter but I feel like it's appropriate given everything. At the start, there's this tranquility, this acceptance he's found with Bela. Then the slap in the face comes in the form of a butchered maid, and Tatyana's real-talk(TM). Chris making contact soon after, reminding Ethan that he himself is powerless, and has to rely on Chris, who killed his wife - this is a *lot* to take in. It's what has him reverting to this older, *easier* mindset that Bela is a means to an end, and he can't get attached. Then the lad goes and picks a fight with her after a shitty nightmare, lashing out because it's exceedingly easy to do. It takes the realization he hurt Bela to get him back in his senses, a sort of middle ground to where he was during the fight, and waking up the morning after. I feel like if you're faced with the complexity of all these emotions, you're bound to swing back and forth as well until you feel out what makes the most sense to you. Maybe. Maybe I'm a little insane too after all this.
This isn't the last we'll see of Tatyana either. I'm eager to include her in future chapters, as she forces Ethan to rack his brain. Ethan may be even less displeased about things this time around.
The vicious cycle of what the servants of the castle go through is something I've been trying not to shy away from. I feel the family's depravity is often overlooked because of the daughters and Alcina herself all being big tiddy goth waifu material. Whenever I put myself in Ethan's shoes, I feel the family's bloody crimes are what I have the most difficulty "forgiving." To me, it's a larger affront than anything else, especially if I were treated extremely well as a captive. So, this is something Ethan's gotta figure out over time. At the moment, the best he can do is not condemn Bela completely for the sins of her family alone. Though, of course, this is probably something they'll need to hash out down the line.
And, as you have all been anticipating, heeeeere's Cassandra! My, oh my, what fun shall they get up to?
I'm not making promises when the next chapter drops. Obviously next Sunday is cutting it close, so pencil the Sunday *after that* as a possible next date. I'll see what I can do. Regardless, I assure you guys this story is not being dropped, no matter how long the breaks I take are.
Thank you once more for the overwhelming support, and I'll catch you all soon. Enjoy the rest of your week, and stay safe out there.
