Bela was on her hands and knees meticulously pressing the washcloth, now filthy from use, to the stained carpet. There were no shortage of footprints of wine and blood that had been stomped onto the carpets on the second floor. In the wine room alone, it was taking an inordinate amount of time blotting out the drying patches of bloody wine. This was the latest of several incidents in which they had needed to get spilled blood and wine out of fabric. It was why Bela was already intimately familiar with her homebrewed concoction of dishwashing soap, white vinegar, and water, to deal with the countless stains.

Cassandra stood not far away on bare feet, mopping the floor Ethan had similarly soiled with his slopping footsteps. She kept her head down as she toiled away. They had not exchanged a single word since Daniela took Ethan away not long ago.

Footsteps from up ahead alerted Bela to her mother – who had just finished inspecting the secret chamber at the far end of the wine room. She exited the concealed doorway with her head stooped low. She kept a hand to the thick ushanka atop her head as she passed the frame, which was dwarfed by her towering figure. As she straightened up, she eased the creases out of the fur winter jacket she had draped over her usual dress. Her mother had yet to bring it up, but it was quite apparent that she was planning on leaving soon. Again.

Her attire said as much. If the attire did not give it away, then it was a fair assumption just the same. She spent far more time out there with Miranda than she did here at home these days.

Lady Dimitrescu's sharp eyes settled over Bela and Cassandra in turn before she broke the silence.

"The man unlocked this room by placing the wine down in the bottle holder," She spoke factually, "It does not appear anything was taken. The strongbox is empty, but it was empty to begin with."

Bela and Cassandra alike had stopped their respective blotting and mopping to look at their mother.

"Am I missing something, Cassandra?" Lady Dimitrescu's head swayed, tilting to one side to look at the daughter in question. Her powdered forehead creased into a tight frown as she scrutinized Cassandra. "Was the man meant to take something from the hidden room? Was that part of your… game?"

There was a beat of silence before Cassandra shook her head. "No, mother. I instructed him to take the wine up and leave it in this room, then return to his cell before time elapsed."

Bela watched Cassandra closely – from the firm hold she had on the wooden mop, to the blank, emotionless slate she wore on her features. Cassandra was decidedly neutral. Too neutral, Bela would even say.

But Bela said nothing, and turned her attention back to blotting the carpet stains. Cassandra wasn't worth her words. Not after what she'd done.

Their mother finally nodded her head in acceptance. "Very well then. I must be off at once to see Mother Miranda." She began to cross the space with long strides, taking care not to muck up her daughters' cleanup work. "Those pesky men in the mountains have been thinning the wolfmen's numbers at an alarming rate."

Bela held her tongue. Even if she did bother asking for more details, her mother was never one to give them out. That had always been her method of operation – to keep Bela and her sisters away from Mother Miranda and her dealings. Bela had tried to pry some time ago, long before Ethan became a prisoner in the dungeons. She was curious of the business her mother got up to, and how evasive she could be about it all. All Bela got for her efforts were a scolding and a week assisting the servants in their cleanup jobs.

Yet Bela yearned to pry just the same – who else would be able to give her up to date news on the mysterious, murderous Chris Redfield? Ethan had not given a whole lot of detail, but it didn't take a lot to put two and two together – that it was this Chris person who was killing lycans left and right. She would have to bide her time for a moment longer before she could learn more about Redfield's movements and activities. For now, all she could do was keep her head down and blot the stained carpet.

Pausing by the door, Lady Dimitrescu's authoritative tone seeped back into her voice. Bela tensed at the sound of it; the cloth in hand hovered over the current stain.

"I will return in the afternoon, before I set out again for the rest of the night. When I get back later, I expect you two to have inspected the storeroom."

If Bela's shoulders tensed any further, her muscles may just begin to spasm. She had to consciously release the silent breath she had been holding.

Ethan's entire lower half had been soaked in blood and wine – and that wasn't counting the fresh blood splattering his clothes, the thought of which was enough to make Bela's heart ache.

The state of the stockroom was undoubtedly bad, to say the least. The man would not be that drenched in wine if he hadn't smashed at least a good handful of bottles. With how emotionally turbulent Ethan had been the last time they spoke, it was a fair guess that he had broken more than a handful of bottles.

The rag in Bela's hand trembled from the death grip she held it with.

This whole damn mess could have been avoided. If Cassandra wasn't so damn bloodthirsty, and Ethan didn't sign his own death sentence with broken wine bottles –

Bela let out a shaky sigh which went unheard by her mother and sister.

"I want to know what happened down there, and the extent of the damages to our stock." Lady Dimitrescu's lip curled in a sneer fierce enough to send a shiver down Bela's spine. "If that wretch turned our supply into his personal shooting gallery –"

She took in a sharp inhale to calm herself, but her sizzling eyes still bore into them – and particularly at Cassandra. After releasing a slow breath, she asked, "Honestly, Cassandra – what were you thinking?"

Cassandra's fingers shifted along the handle of the mop. She kept her head down as she bobbed one shoulder up in a shrug. "I assumed the man would be too busy running for his life to stop and make a mess of our supply."

Another sigh from their mother – frustrated and exasperated.

"The man-thing is pathetic, mother. How much damage could he have possibly caused?" Cassandra attempted to downplay it all, even as Lady Dimitrescu's eyes narrowed her way further. "It is safe to assume we will find little more than a few broken bottles."

"Assumptions are not assurances. You would do well to remember that." Lady Dimitrescu wore a tight scowl as she spoke, "Maybe I should have you spend a month working alongside the maids. Perhaps that will teach you not to do anything as reckless as this – all based on a flimsy assumption."

Cassandra held her tongue. It allowed a brief bout of silence to fall on the room as she kept her head bowed and her eyes to the floor. Their mother appeared satisfied with the lack of a retort. She crossed her arms over her chest; her voice was gravely serious, "As pathetic as the man-thing may appear, you best remember he is not as harmless as he looks." Under her breath – more to herself than anyone else, she muttered, "He killed Uriaș, after all."

Bela looked up at her mother. She was unable to stop her eyes from widening and her mouth from dropping open in a mixture of disbelief and surprise alike.

She knew Ethan was tough. She had heard from Tatyana just how thoroughly he had torn through the lycans in the village below. What Bela had not heard until this very moment was that Uriaș himself was sent after Ethan. The towering giant with his massive hammer appeared nigh invincible the few times Bela had laid eyes on him. Even the brutish lycans and the feral vârcolaci gave Uriaș a wide berth, lest they get caught in the massive swings of his hammer. There was an odd, probably misplaced sense of pride which bloomed in her chest as well – to know that Ethan was capable enough to defeat giants such as Uriaș.

Though, it also sent a small shudder up Bela's frame. Ethan could have murdered her before she knew what hit her if he'd opened that dining room window on that day, which felt so, so long ago. Cassandra was lucky the great hall was void of such windows as well. Cassandra may be as fierce and vicious as they came, but if Ethan had the advantage of the cold on his side, the fight would have ended before it even began.

"Goodbye now, daughters." Their mother gave a terse smile. "You two behave."

Bela cleared her throat, which felt rough from disuse. "Take care, mother."

"Goodbye, mother." Cassandra added quietly.

Lady Dimitrescu bent low to get clear of the doorway, and out she went. The distinctive click of her heavy footfalls began to grow distant as she vacated the area.

With their mother gone, Bela turned her attention right back to the stain she was doing her darndest to blot out of the carpet. Similarly, Cassandra's mop splashed into her bucket once before returning to the floor. Past the dark curtains obscuring the windows, the sun was beginning to rise behind the mountains. The first rays of light started to peek into the wine room.

There was some consolation to the fact that the carpet she was working on was red. The wine didn't leave too bad of a stain, and it was considerably easier to blot out. Ethan's blood on the other hand was darker. Its sweet smell filled her nostrils as she thumbed over the drying droplet on the fabric. Rather than whet her appetite, it only made her sick.

Bela's grip tightened on the washcloth in hand. He was hurt. Even before tussling with Cassandra in the hall, he'd been hurt. If all the spilled blood and tears in his clothing were any indicator, then he had not been hurt lightly, either. It had been serious resistance that he faced in the dungeons.

All of this could have been avoided if she had just gotten her act together sooner.

Ethan's words last night had cut deep. She couldn't recall the last time someone had wounded her as harshly as Ethan had.

Even now, Bela felt her throat dry and her heart ache to remember Ethan's voice. It hurt her as much as any damn open window could. Bela could excuse his anger, and the raging and ranting over wishing to see Rose. That was his daughter – all he had left of Mia – and Bela, whether she wanted to admit it or not, played a part in ensuring Ethan was separated from her. He was well within his rights to be angry. It was a miracle it had taken him this long to pop his lid like he did.

Bela could even forgive the big bitch remarks towards her mother. There was no love lost between Ethan and her mother. After his earlier snark, he was not earning any points in her favor either – the exact opposite even.

And it was not by the castle matriarch's wishes that Ethan was being cared for like he was. If it were all up to her mother, Ethan would have been strung up on hooks and periodically bled for feedings until Miranda deemed he was no longer important.

Everything that had followed – those were the steps Ethan had taken too far.

You don't know loss!

Bela had shared a part of her with Ethan that nobody – not even her sisters – had seen before. Her murky, fractured memories of the past were not something she and her sisters could talk about with ease. There had been precisely one time that Bela and her sisters had shared snippets of what they remembered. That bonding session didn't end well, and everyone just felt awful afterwards. That line of discussion was summarily dropped and never again picked up – lest everyone go through a round of hurt all over again.

It was only with Ethan that Bela could trudge up those memories. Ethan – their prisoner – understood her. The absolute last person that should be taking the time out of his day to be compassionate to her – and Ethan had done that for her, and more. In and of itself, it did not make any sense. The insanity of it all was not lost on Bela, but she had long since stopped caring about that.

It was likely no coincidence either that said memories were gaining more and more clarity as the days went by with Ethan. Though just as possible was that her brain was fabricating things – trying to fill in the blanks and gaps in her head. Regardless of the variations in minute details, Bela remembered much of the important things. The things she dared not share with anyone. Some of them she didn't even know how to share with even Ethan.

But she had shared some private, innermost thoughts with him of her long-gone life. There was a time she lived in a humble home that doubled as her clinic – not a towering gothic castle that bore witness to countless slaughters. Bela had parents who taught her everything she knew, and armed her with much of the skills she used for the rest of her adult human life – not a nine-foot-six countess for a mother, with claws sharp enough to rend steel.

Bela consciously stopped making comparisons, lest the thoughts snowball and her emotions grow unstable. She was already at wit's end. Breaking down in front of Cassandra was the absolute last thing that she needed.

The point was that Ethan was well aware of what Bela had lost: her entire fucking life, as he might word it.

Even if Ethan had yet to learn of the gory details – the things that kept Bela up at night and drove her to tears in her most vulnerable moments – he knew.

That's what stung the most. After they'd all but taken turns breaking down in each other's arms, Bela would have liked to think that such low blows were beneath them. The same went for his remarks over his blood – that it was as simple as a trade of his blood for her information of the going-ons in the castle – and in particular, Rose.

And fine, maybe that was how it started. Bela would not deny that she had leveraged Ethan's cooperation for an easy feeding in exchange for information. But she had done that twice, before Ethan stayed his hand from that window. That was before he chose mercy, when death was far kinder than anything she deserved after all she had done in her current life. If Ethan had killed her then and there, it still would not have been enough to make up for the countless lives that perished by her hand.

The third time Bela drank from Ethan was different. She had put it off for about a week for a multitude of reasons, such as to test her own limits and see how long she could go without blood. And more importantly, to avoid undoing all the progress she had built with Ethan.

It was a special thing that they had, as undefined, unnamed, and unnatural as it may have been. They were a captor and her captive. Yet Bela knew no comfort like the security she felt in Ethan's arms. The burning desire within her to just connect with the man could not be put into words. Such strong feelings weren't natural for a prisoner like him, and a monstrous jailer like her. But fuck it, as Ethan would say. With each day that had passed, she no longer cared about what was right and proper for the roles they were supposed to play. All she wanted was Ethan's acceptance.

If Ethan could accept her, then maybe she could accept herself someday.

Ethan knew what Bela was – knew what she was capable of. Yet in spite of that, he could still look at her as though she weren't a blood-sucking killer. If someone like him – a man willing to go through hell and back for his family – could look at her and see her as a person, then there may just be hope for her yet. Maybe there was a good ending to this nightmare of a life she woke up to everyday.

That was why she had left the metaphorical ball in Ethan's court that night in his cell. Bela was done asking for bites and drinks. It didn't sit right with her that she, the person who held the keys to his cell, asked for his blood. Consent didn't count if it was taken under lock and key.

That wasn't to say that she had come to his cell that night with the hopes of getting a drink. She had told him the truth that night – that her nightmares were haunting her, and the past clawed at the insides of her skull with a fury. She visited him that night looking for an open ear, and instead found his early-stage hypothermia, and later, comfort in his arms.

Ethan taking the initiative to offer his blood felt iffy, mind-blowing even. After all the blood he had lost both inside this castle and out, Bela would have thought Ethan liked his blood where it was – inside his body. The fact he offered his life-giving blood without asking anything in return was more touching to Bela than she ever had the words to describe.

The little information she did have about Rose – Bela had not meant to give it in exchange for the blood, either. Truth was that it had been on her mind for a while now. The only thing holding Bela back was the gnawing fear that her mother would find out, and there would be hell to pay for both she and Ethan. Under Ethan's covers, wrapped up in his embrace, Bela felt like it was only right to give the last bits of information she had left. In that moment, there was little else Bela had been so certain of. There was a feeling of lightness within her to be able to divulge the information. It was liberating.

All the prior hesitation she'd had was swept away, and it became the most natural thing in the world to help Ethan in his quest to locate and reconnect with Rose. There had been no second thoughts when it finally came down to it.

Maybe – to her family – it was wrong. It was vital information secretly given to a prisoner. If it wasn't wrong, then it was at the very least treading a very fine line that would land her in hot water if her mother found out. Yet whenever Bela thought back to it, she found that she did not particularly care about the repercussions of giving a little info away.

Bela's blank stare regained some focus as she stared at the carpet. Her handiwork had rid it of the worst of the stains. The wet splotches of her homemade stain-be-gone solution would only need to dry, and then the regal carpet would be good as new.

Similarly, Cassandra slung the mop over her shoulder. She picked her bucket up, now that she was done with this room. Wordlessly, Bela straightened up. She took her washcloth and bucket of stain remover with her as she made for the door.

Ethan hadn't splashed his way around this hallway much. There were less bloody splotches to be removed from the carpet here.

"You know," Cassandra began, sounding a cross between nonchalant and irritated, "I genuinely don't think the pathetic man-thing broke that much."

The pathetic man-thing had broken her heart, for one.

Bela would have scoffed at herself for her melodrama, if not for the deliberate silence she was treating Cassandra with.

It was ridiculous to think of all Bela had in store for that night. Truly, the best laid plans were doomed to go wrong. She had spent a week coordinating with the Duke to ensure the right ingredients were coming in. They were quintessential to preparing Ethan's pancakes perfectly – in a combination of what she knew of Mia's batter, and her father's own notes from long, long ago. Hours were spent slaving away in the kitchen to get the meal done just right. Even that damned blue dress made its reappearance for the first time since –

Well, prior to last night, Bela wasn't sure if she ever wore it outside of her room.

Never did Bela think she would be bringing that dress out on Ethan's account, of all people. And all for what – to dress up for her prisoner as she served him his favorite meal? To look pretty for him?

She was a fool. A damned fool.

To think she had been hoping deep down in her heart of hearts, that maybe she could spend the night with him again. Bela didn't need to feed from him. She didn't plan on trying to satisfy any of her other desires either. She would have been perfectly content to fall asleep in Ethan's strong, cozy arms that night. The Cadou made her nigh invincible, physically. The same could not be said for her troubled mind, rendered defenseless amid the tirade of her nightmares. It was only Ethan who could keep the painful dreams and memories away – protecting her during the only time she was vulnerable.

Bela had not ever slept as soundly as that night. The last time she'd slept that well was long before she had been reduced to the blood-starved monster she was now.

Her sleep last night was the exact opposite of how she had envisioned it to be. After fleeing from Ethan's cell, Bela dumped the dress on her bedroom floor, put something cozier on, and promptly curled into a ball under her covers. It was not the first time Bela cried herself to sleep, and pessimistically, it probably would not be the last.

It was only when Bela woke up that morning that she realized she had neglected her patrols. She was, after all, a damned fool. She stumbled out of bed that morning on unsteady feet, still pulling her dress on as she made her way to the door.

Then there was that damned barricade of flour to greet her, which she nearly walked face-first into in her hurry to leave. In her freshly-woken stupor, it took her a moment to register just what she was looking at. There were some loose thoughts here and there – that this was a stupid prank, and that she would righteously smack whichever of her sisters was responsible for this – and then it sunk in.

As Bela blotted the footprints staining the carpet, she did a slight doubletake of her dress sleeves. During all the commotion earlier, she hardly noticed the thin layer of flour on her clothes. Straightening her fingers, Bela observed the flour that had gathered underneath her nails. Whereas they had once been a pristine white, they now clumped together in a dark, dirty red amidst all the cleaning.

Seeing blood under her fingernails hit far too close to home, and sent another ripple of unease through Bela's insides.

The splat of Cassandra's wet mop caught Bela's attention as the former took a moment to lean an arm on the handrail. She faced Bela as she gestured vaguely down to the great hall, "Honestly, this whole thing is blown way out of proportion. The game was hardly as dangerous as you're probably thinking."

Bela's only response was to turn her back to Cassandra and continue tending to the stains on the carpet.

Unperturbed, Cassandra continued, "I caught up to him right when he got to the lower dungeon. He didn't shoot a single one of the Moroaice on the way there, and he was still in one piece."

Bela could practically imagine the nonchalant wave of the hand Cassandra gave as she spoke, "He probably rushed through the storeroom and broke some bottles on the way out like a clumsy oaf. No big deal."

A glint of light from the wooden floor was reflecting the grand chandelier overhead. Narrowing her eyes, Bela found shards of broken glass close to the top of the stairs. The potent smell of chemicals stood out from the scent of blood and wine lingering in the air. Moving closer, Bela picked up the intact top half of a shattered bottle of disinfectant.

It was still wet with Ethan's blood.

The slick crimson beaded down the side of the broken glass, mixing with the chemicals before dripping onto the wooden floor.

In the time since Bela's argument with Ethan, the pain she felt over his unkind remarks had simmered down to a duller, more manageable ache. Said ache was even easier to deal with – to sweep aside even – when faced with the peril Ethan had been in.

Bela had done her best to suppress her emotions and her thoughts in the immediate aftermath. When Daniela supported Ethan with his arm around her slender shoulders – Bela compartmentalized. She put on her most stoic face, took her mother's berating, and prepared the materials needed for cleanup. She tried not to think about the sorry state Ethan was in.

But now, faced with the tangible, dripping reminder of his condition – Bela couldn't repress the emotions any longer.

Cassandra was full of shit.

It was anybody's guess why Cassandra was downplaying the threats Ethan faced in the dungeon. Maybe she was trying to appease Bela – to pal around with her after things had grown heated between them earlier. Maybe she was trying to prompt a reaction. Maybe she herself had a twisted perception of what counted as dangerous or not.

One thing was certain: the game Cassandra had planned for Ethan was nothing but dangerous. Bela knew Cassandra's games all too well, knew how she operated.

Of course she did. Cassandra learned every damn thing she knew – firearm handling aside – from Bela. It was from Bela that Cassandra learned how to tear a carotid artery open for maximum blood flow. It was Bela who taught Cassandra how to tackle a human as a swarm of flies – mounting them before they knew what hit them. It was Bela who demonstrated to Cassandra how to hamstring and cripple her prey to ensure they stayed down. It was Bela who shared with Cassandra how to guarantee their victims survived long enough to give them their fill of cruel enjoyment.

Every fucking trick in the sadistic book, Cassandra learned from Bela.

So, there was no way the game she had planned for Ethan was safe.

Cassandra let out a sharp giggle to herself, and the sound was grating enough for Bela to look her way. Mop still in hand, Cassandra was peering over the railing.

"The man-thing was so pathetic." The cruel delight in her eyes was unmistakable as she spoke in between brief giggles. "You should have seen him scraping himself off the floor."

What remained of the bottle then shattered in Bela's now closed fist with a silent pop. It saved her the trouble of resisting the urge to hurl it at Cassandra's head.

There was the briefest moment wherein Bela observed her hand for a moment longer – as if waiting for the blood to leak from her cut hands. It wasn't any surprise when no wounds formed, and no blood oozed free. She was a monster, after all. Monsters like her didn't bleed.

Bela straightened up and retrieved the nearby broom and dustpan she had set aside prior. The shards of glass were promptly swept up. If she put any more force into the aggressive sweeps of the broom, she was liable to send the shards flying down to the first floor.

The carpet climbing up the spiraling flight of stairs was next.

"Here, let me." Cassandra stepped close, fresh rag in hand. Bela didn't so much as look at her sister as the latter dipped her rag into the stain remover. Cassandra crouched down and began work on the carpet. There was little use for Cassandra to mop the steps since Ethan hadn't stepped on the wooden flooring, only the carpet.

Bela moved past Cassandra to focus on the lower set of steps. In the process, Bela got a glimpse over the railing.

The table on the floor below was reduced to splintered debris. A fall from this height could have easily been lethal, especially if Ethan had landed on his head. With how he had been clutching his side, it was highly likely that he'd bruised a rib – or even broken one. He was lucky he could still stand after a fall like that – as lucky as a man like him could be in this situation, anyway.

Bela tore her eyes away from the trail of blood leading from the destroyed table and to the center of the hall. She busied herself blotting the stains out of the carpet, even as Ethan's twisted expression of pain was seared into her mind's eye.

Her heart ached for him all the more as she vividly recalled the sensation of his face leaning into her palm. After everything – after last night's fight, after Cassandra's games had gotten him hurt, and Bela herself could be blamed as well for failing to protect him – after all of that, Ethan still sought her touch. If only that small connection could have been born from much less bloody circumstances.

His clothing had been torn up in multiple places. Some rips were sharper than others, indicative of cuts from weapons. Since Ethan hadn't been struggling to hold his intestines in with his bare hands, that meant Cassandra had not sliced him open. The apparent shallowness of the slashes to his arms and ribs, as well as the jaggedness of the scars, led Bela to deduce these to be the work of the Moroaice's rusted blades. It was the concrete evidence of how unsafe the damned game was.

Then there was the ripped sleeve, like a rabid animal had mauled his arm. Bela had only gotten a brief look at the gnarled scars on his forearm, coated in drying blood and barely concealed by the ruined clothing. It was still enough to give her an idea of how bad it had looked before Ethan had treated it.

All the blood staining his collar was a fair indicator of how much Cassandra had bitten him. It took Bela a conscious effort not to squeeze the rag in hand too tightly – to not hurl it right at the back of Cassandra's head before pouncing on her and seeking retribution.

His handsome face was a mess. The bloody nose, black eye, and bruising cut on his cheek – they could all be remedied, but that didn't make the poor man hurt any less.

Daniela – bless her heart – did not know a single thing about first aid. If Ethan had no means of looking after himself, he would be spending the next twenty-four hours in immense pain. That possibly broken rib alone would be enough to make him wish for a swift demise. As if the man hadn't been through enough to make him wish for a quick death. Lycans, Uriaș, Cassandra – they brought more than enough pain into Ethan's life.

It blew Bela's mind wide open to think of all the punishment Ethan had endured since this all started – and even before they'd first crossed paths. Having his leg cut off was probably only one of many injuries he survived before arriving in this castle. The man had seven fingers left for fuck's sake, one of those missing three being Cassandra's fault. He could not catch a break.

Despite that, he still managed to joke about his food and entertainment while in captivity, regardless of how beaten and bloody he was. Ethan was made of stronger stuff than most people. Whatever it was he went through with those people that cut his leg off, it had clearly forged him into the man he was today. Such profound inner strength could only be realized in the most remarkable individuals. Bela admired his will and resolve, as foolhardy as he may sometimes be.

If only such power of will and grit were enough to prevent his injuries altogether.

Here Bela was, stuck in the grand hall cleaning up Cassandra's mess – because her mother somehow deemed her partially responsible as well, and for what? For working on keeping Ethan alive? For preventing unnecessary torture? Playing maid was a waste of time. She should be there in Daniela's library – or wherever it was they were. Though the library was a safe bet, since there were few other places Daniela took sanctuary in. Regardless of the where, what was important was that Bela was needed at Ethan's side. She had to patch him up and nurse him back to health. She was useless where she was now.

The minutes had been slowly ticking by, and at this point, Bela wasn't too sure how much time they'd spent on the stairs alone. Her hands had grown cold and numb at the tips from handling the rag for so long. It was when the sisters landed at the great hall proper when they got their first break in the monotony.

It came as a buzzing – a swarm of thousands of beating wings. Bela turned her head towards the source – the dining room, and consequently, the path to the dungeons. Joining the sound was a soft, melodic humming.

Daniela casually flew into the hall, half morphed into her swarm as she carried a bundle of clean clothing in her arms – Ethan's clothes.

She paid Bela and Cassandra no mind as she hummed her song and began gaining altitude, aiming for the second floor.

If Daniela even thought about changing Ethan's clothes for him –

Bela was already halfway to climbing up the steps to chase after Daniela; the rag in her hand hung loose, ready to be discarded completely.

"Bela." Cassandra's voice was heavy with warning, coming from right behind Bela.

"Mother gave us an assignment." The gravity in Cassandra's tone was out of character for her. Being in the right would ordinarily be something Cassandra would love to dangle in front of Bela. Now, there was a certain weight to her words. "We have work to do."

Bela watched the last of Daniela's colony of flies disappear down the second-floor corridors. The humming vanished along with her, leaving Bela and Cassandra in their tense silence once more. All she could do for Ethan now was finish cleaning up as soon as possible. At least then she'd be available to intervene and barge into the library at the first sign of trouble.

But no, Daniela was not Cassandra. There was little chance she would need to actually interfere, even if she was forbidden from taking custody of Ethan until tomorrow. Hopefully. Daniela was a sweetheart, but she had her bad days. On her worst days, people died. The latest body hanging in the bloodletting room was there on account of a misplaced book, after all.

Ethan's injuries probably wouldn't be aggravated as long as he stayed on Daniela's good side. The only true concern was the possible neglect of treatment, which may lead to complications down the line.

Lord knows how many of Bela's old patients were hardheaded, and their failure to take treatment seriously came back to haunt them.

Bela took a deep breath, letting it out in a slow, shaky exhale. She pulled away from the stairs to get back to work, avoiding Cassandra's gaze all the while. Seeing Bela put distance between herself and the stairs, Cassandra allowed herself to focus back on the cleanup operation. Her mop smacked the fine flooring with a splat, and she resumed toiling away.

In the earlier preparations before they started, Bela had lain a tarp out for the broken furniture. Now it was a matter of moving the debris onto the tarp and wrapping it up. The servants would take care of the rest.

Bela's fingers twitched at her sides the longer she took in the sight of the table's remains, and the bloody trail leading away from it. Not even handyman Ethan would be able to help her put this table back together. The top was cracked and splintered. Several legs were broken in half and thoroughly dislodged from the top. The tea set – one of mother's, Bela realized – was similarly beyond repair. It was nothing but an assortment of ceramic shards lying in a puddle of blood and wine. It sent Bela glancing up once more at the second floor – to truly take in the distance Ethan had come crashing down.

Rubbing a hand over her face, Bela fixed her attention back on the damages. She noted that she would need to pay the Duke a visit. Orders had to be placed to procure replacements for the table and the tableware. She could tend to that after cleanup.

In the meantime, Bela got to work moving all the destroyed bits of furniture over to the tarp. As she did, she spared Cassandra an occasional glance once she noticed the brunette paused her mopping every so often. Her hands would tighten around the wooden handle – enough to just barely hear the wood straining in complaint. Her sharp eyes would be fixed on a certain point in the main hall, and a harsh scowl grew on her features.

Bela had arrived in time to knock Cassandra across the room. Prior to that, she was in the dark over how exactly they'd gotten in that position, with Cassandra in full mount atop Ethan and ready to butcher him. The fight had obviously gone south for the man, but it was hard to say what came before that.

While Cassandra was preoccupied glaring at the floor, Bela took her time to steal a look at her sister. Here in the great hall, with all the chandeliers and candelabras now lit and the sun peeking in through distant windows, Bela was able to get a better look at her.

There were small smudges in Cassandra's makeup – by her nose and her jaw, notably. If Bela wanted to make a guess, those smudges looked vaguely to be the color of bloody wine, just like Ethan's hands.

Cassandra turned around, unknowingly giving her back to Bela as the former continued mopping. It gave Bela a peek at the small rips in Cassandra's lowered hood, and a tear at the bottom of her dress. The brunette padded a few steps to the side on her bare feet as she mopped; she had disposed of her broken heel when they first started.

All of that, paired with the sour look on Cassandra's face, lent to the possibility that perhaps Ethan held his ground better than expected.

It had Bela concealing the smallest smile of admiration as she finally transferred the last of the table's remains.

As if Cassandra had been following along Bela's thoughts, the former grunted out, "I had that man-thing right where I wanted him too."

Bela held her tongue. Her energy was better spent sweeping up loose splinters, and trying not to obsessively worry about Ethan's current health, or unhealth. With Daniela as the resident wild card, it was anybody's guess what Ethan's condition was at the moment.

"The nerve of him," Cassandra went on, as if Bela was a willing participant in the conversation. Her stance was squared – as if even now she was prepared for a fight. "He couldn't even match me blow for blow," There was a heat to her rising tone, which grew sharper with each word that sputtered out, "He had to duck and dodge like a slippery fish. He was avoiding my strikes – could you imagine that? That was all he could do to keep up – he knew I would break his pretty face if I landed enough clean hits."

"And that tongue on him," Cassandra all but spat as she curled her lip in anger. The creaking of wood filled the air the harder she clenched her mop. "Such arrogance – as if he could withstand my wrath if he stopped evading me!"

All Cassandra got in reply was silence. Ethan must have done a better job than Bela realized if he'd gotten Cassandra this riled up. It was rare to see her this livid, and that was saying something. Cassandra only got this defensive the times Bela wiped the floor with her long ago, when they used to regularly spar in the armory. Ethan and Cassandra's fight had much higher stakes than their sisterly sparring. It had been a hot minute – or years, to be more accurate – since they last trained together. The thrill of combat no longer gave Bela the rush it once did. Things were never the same since – well, since Bela did a lot more remembering.

They continued their work in silence. There was much ground to be mopped, and more carpets which had been trampled on during the scuffle. There was a vase as well which had been shattered at one point or another. Cassandra glared at the vase particularly hard, but Bela wasn't too sure what to deduce from that. The pieces of pottery were beyond saving, and had to join the broken table on the tarp.

Cassandra recovered Ethan's discarded gun at one point. She went through the motions of loading it before inspecting it in great detail. When she was satisfied, she turned the safety on and kept it in a dress pocket.

Ethan had gotten a single shot out, judging by the lone bullet casing Bela swept up, but it was a wonder where the bullet itself had gone. At the very least, it was safe to assume Cassandra hadn't shot him with it. If that gun had been around when Ethan played handyman in the dining room, Bela was fairly sure she wouldn't have lived through the encounter.

As Bela focused on blotting up yet more stains, she came across a knife lying on the carpet, looking as though it had been tossed aside during the fight. The tip had chipped off, and what remained had dulled out, while the body was bent at an odd angle. It was rather indicative of a powerful impact against a hard, flat surface.

It obviously wasn't Cassandra's blade, but she clearly used it against Ethan. Considering that the dried blood smelled of Moroaice, it seemed Cassandra had not used it too successfully. Otherwise, the knife would still be dripping with Ethan's blood.

Bela tried not to dwell too much on the massive puncture wounds Ethan would have gotten if Cassandra's stabs had connected. She instead wrapped the dull and damaged blade up in a spare cloth and pocketed it.

The passage of time was a blur. At some points, it was like the world around them was simply in stasis as they cleaned. The only indicators that this was not the case were the sun casting light into the castle from distant windows, and the occasional foot traffic of their servants. In particular, Bela observed a handful of maids scurrying by, meal trays in hand as they made a beeline for the second floor. Daniela and Ethan were being fed breakfast, at the very least.

Later, closer to noon, Cassandra heaved a sigh and shouldered her mop once more. She had grown quiet after her attempts at conversation had fallen flat time and time again. It was all business when Cassandra spoke up. "Broken things are wrapped up. Floor is mopped and swept. Carpets are unstained and drying. We should get a move on."

With a quick survey of the hall, Bela found herself in silent agreement with her sister. There was little more cleaning to be done here.

Cassandra appeared well aware that she was not getting a response, so she went ahead and turned around. She led the way to the dining room with Bela in tow. The doors parted to reveal the floor here had already been mopped of Ethan's slopping footsteps. Cassandra inspected the scene a moment longer, looking for anything amiss.

Bela on the other hand was staring at the now-locked window by the doors leading to the courtyard. It was an odd feeling which settled into her bones whenever she found herself back in the dining room, thinking back to that fateful day with Ethan. There was the creeping fear which tingled up her spine whenever she really replayed the day's events – and just how long Ethan's hand had hovered over that window latch. Such fear was natural, and Bela had since learned to not beat herself up over it – after all, who wouldn't be disturbed recalling their potential brush with death?

Yet at the same time, thinking back to the incident brought a sense of hope. It was a turning point of sorts. Things between the two of them had only changed for the better since that day (barring last night's argument). After the day was over and the – hopefully minimal – mess in the storeroom was sorted out, Bela looked forward to repairing bridges with Ethan.

Cassandra eventually began moving, and Bela followed suit. They pushed down the hallway – equally clean and tidy – and into the kitchens. Even before the kitchen doors swung open, Bela could make out the savory aroma of cooking meat within. Lunch preparations were underway.

In the kitchen, a handful of servants were mulling about and tending to their duties – including one maid with a mop in her hands. At the sight of the sisters' entry, all the maids tensed and ceased what they were doing, save for one. The tall, familiar figure of Tatyana was easy to make out from the rest, and it was an easy guess that it was by her orders that the maids started cleaning the nearby rooms.

Cassandra had made a similar assumption, as she opened with, "Thank you for the assistance, Tanya."

"Always a pleasure, Madam Cassandra." Tatyana bowed her head once before turning Bela's way to add in greeting, "Madam Bela."

Bela spared her a courteous nod in return.

"We are preparing to send lunch out to Madam Daniela and Mr. Winters." Tatyana motioned to the meal trays on one countertop. "Shall we set the dining table for you two, madam?"

Bela could feel Cassandra's eyes settle on her for a beat, before the latter answered, "We are preoccupied at the moment. Mother wants everything in order for her return in the afternoon."

It was good Cassandra was finally beginning to read the room. The absolute last thing Bela wanted to do was share a meal with her bloodthirsty sister – or listen for a moment longer of how much Cassandra enjoyed Ethan's torment in her damned game.

"I see," Tatyana nodded slowly. "Shall we set aside some food for later?"

With how things stood, it was hard to say if the rest of their cleanup operation would last well into the afternoon or not.

"We will let you know, Tanya." Cassandra paused for a beat, adjusting her grip on the mop slung over her shoulder. "Could you prepare a wheelbarrow? Leave it at the entrance to the second level of the dungeon."

The other maids in the room visibly tensed further. They all but pressed themselves into the counters and walls behind them – as if hoping to be swallowed whole and hidden from the Dimitrescu sisters. They knew what was down there. They knew that nothing but blood and death awaited any who were sent to the bowels of the castle.

They knew what that wheelbarrow was for – or more precisely, for whom it was for. They had worked alongside them once, after all. Talked to them. Befriended them. Not that it counted for anything in the end.

Tatyana, being no stranger to the storeroom, simply nodded.

"Prepare the ledger as well." Cassandra fidgeted with the handle of her mop. "We will need to take inventory of our stock."

"Very well, Madam Cassandra." Tatyana gave a sharp nod of her head.

"…One last thing," Cassandra fixed their head servant with a lopsided grin. "We are the same shoe size, yes?"

A beat of silence, and even the tense maids exchanged looks of confusion.

"I believe so, madam." Tatyana eventually answered.

Cassandra shifted her weight from one bare foot to the other, "May I borrow your shoes? Mine are currently…" There was the slightest irritable twitch by the corner of her eye. "Indisposed."

From behind the veil obscuring Tatyana's features, Bela could clearly picture the perplexity on her face. There was another befuddled pause before Tatyana nodded and began slipping her flats off. Cassandra readily stepped forward to accept them. The shoes were pulled on, and she gave the woman a clap on the shoulder before preparing to depart. "You have my gratitude, Tanya."

They were out of the kitchen in moments, and began the descent into the dungeon proper.

The request for a wheelbarrow didn't bode well with Bela. It implied Cassandra was expecting a number of bodies to be hauled out.

Cassandra's game was nothing remotely close to being a safe game. Poker was a safe game. Hell – Russian Roulette was a safe game compared to the shit Cassandra pulled.

On cue, Cassandra explained, "The pistol was nearly empty. That means the man-thing fired numerous rounds in the dungeon. We may have several Moroaice to dispose of. Maybe one or two."

The unease continued to manifest in Bela as a knot twisting her insides up. Cassandra wasn't fooling anyone with how she downplayed what Ethan went through. If there were bodies to be pulled out, there was a fight. If there was a fight, there were more opportunities for Ethan to have been harmed – not just harmed, no. That was putting it lightly, as if Cassandra were narrating the risk. Ethan had a brush with death was what happened. He'd nearly been killed. Eaten alive. Butchered and torn to pieces. Reduced to nothing but a sticky red puddle and a pile of gnawed bones.

Bela had been a fool to think things could have gone on peacefully for any longer. It was only natural that the serenity of her odd friendship with Ethan had been shattered. Good things didn't last long around her. They never did. It was probably the universe's way for balancing out all the pain she had brought into the world. At this point, she may as well accept that the trend would only go on. This was her fate for all the atrocities she'd committed.

Arriving at the bottom of the stairs and the entrance to the dungeon corridors revealed that the mess in front of Bela's door had been cleaned up. The only evidence that there had been a makeshift blockade to begin with were small traces of flour in front of the door. No clock. No tick-tock spelled in flour on the stone floor. Not a single indicator of the time and effort Cassandra had put into her game.

"You have to admit, the wall of flour was a good idea." Cassandra nudged Bela's side with her elbow. "I got that from the old days, remember?"

Bela wished she didn't.

Cassandra wore a fond, almost dreamy smile. "That one spring in the early days. We were on the hunt, and you could smell our prey, but we couldn't find them."

They were days that Bela now wished she could scrub from her memory in their entirety.

"It turned out they were hiding in the basement." Cassandra's grin turned into soft laughter as she went on, "They lined the hatch with sacks of flour so that we wouldn't hear them, but that keen nose of yours sniffed them out."

And they slaughtered the family within. Men, women, children. It didn't matter. They spared no one when they painted the basement red. They ripped and tore and bit until nothing was left. Those people in the basement weren't humans to Bela and her sisters. They were meat and blood. Sport and entertainment. Some fun to break the monotony.

How it was Bela had so easily agreed to the idea of being a higher form of life was a mystery to her sometimes. Winter was enough to kill her and her sisters. They weren't like humans, who produced their own body warmth. What kind of higher life form were they when the weather could be lethal?

The irony wasn't at all lost to her either, that a man named Ethan Winters was their latest catch. Like his namesake, he could easily destroy Bela and her sisters if he truly set his mind to it. They were a measly broken window away from certain death – she would know, after all. Being at Ethan's mercy was not an experience she ever wanted to relive.

Bela only hoped it would never come to that. She did not want to ever find herself in a position wherein Ethan put her family in harm's way. It would only be instinct for her to intervene and protect her sisters.

Just like it had been instinct for her to intervene and protect Ethan. Truth was that deep down, if it really came down to it, Bela knew she would hesitate if Ethan and her sisters clashed in a lethal battle. She didn't know what she would do with herself. The answer should have come easy to her – that she would defend her sisters in a heartbeat.

Now, it was not a clear and cut decision. That in and of itself worried Bela beyond words.

With a sigh, Bela plucked a torch from the nearest wall. There was no use brooding over the cursed old days while Cassandra grinned at her. The pathways were dark, and the sconces had to be relit.

Seeing that her latest attempt at conversation had failed yet again, Cassandra resumed her mopping. Ethan had left his path of bloody footsteps leading away from the storeroom, and the maids, with good reason, hadn't delved into the darkness to clean up. Nobody in their sane mind stepped into the dungeons, especially if the path was unlit. That went doubly so for the storeroom. Tatyana was the only one to make trips down there and come out of it alive.

It was a silent trek they made along the corridors. With each sconce that lit up, no gangly silhouettes stood out from the darkness. Bela had expected a ghastly moan here or there from the Moroaice. Instead, they were faced with the foreboding silence. The only sound that reverberated off the halls was Cassandra's mop smacking the rough stone floor. Bela watched her sister as they walked. The brunette's head turned back and forth like on a swivel, scanning each and every shadow for signs of the Moroaice, which never came.

The lack of bodies littering the halls was a good sign, but Bela wasn't about to hold her breath. The absence of dead ghouls here only meant they were elsewhere. The living Moroaice would need to be dealt with after cleanup was completed and their mother was satisfied. Bela would take the time to wrangle the ghouls all over again and lock them up in the numerous cells.

If Ethan was ever going to go on a stroll with her again – if he ever even wanted to – she wanted to be prepared.

Through the twisting turns of the labyrinthian dungeon, Bela and Cassandra eventually navigated their way to the stairs leading down to the storeroom. Bela paid no mind to the dried blood and other markings leftover from victims of days gone. There was nothing she could do for the long-dead people who'd left those drag marks on the floor.

From the top of the stairwell, Bela could see blood pooling at the bottom of the landing, illuminated by flickering torchlight. Cassandra peered over Bela's shoulder, probably wondering why she stopped.

"Well, what do you know," Cassandra had a sense of almost wonder to her tone. "Looks like he did fight the Moroaice after all."

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! Do please fave, follow, all that stuff, and leave me a review to let me know what you thought of this one! It makes my day hearing from you fellas!

I wound up dropping the "interlude" prefix because this turned out to be a full length chapter. The next chapter as well is going to continue right where this leaves off, and I'm even more excited to share that chapter with you in time.

I realize not a whole lot *happened* in this chapter, but I hope you guys enjoyed the delve into Bela's mind, where we start to see the things that have been driving her as of late, along with all the guilt and demons that have been eating her up. I think in her case, it sort of comes with the territory of trying to connect with her humanity. Whereas before, even if Bela remembered stuff, she didn't actively embrace her human side, because that means confronting all the inhumane stuff she's done as well. It's only with Ethan that she's starting to make these tough choices, and it's no easy thing for her. We get into more of that in the next chapter, when the sisters arrive in the infamous storeroom. Quite the mess awaits them there, and I'm very eager to post that.

Dishwashing soap + white vinegar + water is a result of my google-fu for home remedies for both wine stains and blood stains, and combining them. Please do not try that at home.

As for schedules, expect Chapter 21 next Sunday, or perhaps this time again next week. Then I might take a little extra time to work on Chapter 22, depends on how busy my workload is with my actual day job, and other stuff. In the meantime, you fellas stay safe out there, and I'll see you soon.