All she can see was that sickle, the pain in Erika's eyes, the fear.
Bela Dimitrescu is still boiling as she watches Helga carefully remove the lovely periwinkle dress from Erika, the coagulated blood forcing the fabric to peel like a layer of skin. Erika hisses, careful not to bend too far forward.
Back in the young woman's suite, Helga has already assembled a few washcloths, a bowl of fresh, steaming water, and a small gathering of medical supplies left over from when they helped Erika after Cassandra's beating. Erika sits on an ottoman before the crackling fire.
Bela digs her nails into her folded arms as she peers at the cut that curves along Erika's cheekbone before blooming into the still-fading bruises from Cassandra just yesterday. She nearly gasps when the young woman grunts in pain as Helga applies isopropyl alcohol to the back of Erika's shoulders, cleaning up the dried smears of blood that dribbled down to the small of her back.
With the dress peeled down to her waist, the white band around her breasts is stark against her sickly-looking skin, smaller stains of crimson having permeated through the dress. The cut looks worse than it appears, but still deep enough that it might scar, same with the one on her cheek. The corset was a lost cause, and it now burns in the fireplace.
Bela tries to ignore the honeyed smell of Erika's blood as it permeates the room, through smoke and stain.
Were it not for her mother, Bela would've likely ripped Cassandra to shreds. Bela knew she was bothered, but not to the point that she would try to expose her own sister. It might not be the worst secret she's ever kept from her family, but what is she supposed to tell them? That this young woman's voice had awakened something within her that she's never experienced before? That this woman's voice made her feel . . . alive? Happy?
It might break her mother's heart – to think that her daughter was not happy until this young woman came into her life.
Bela isn't sure how she could explain it herself; mostly because she didn't really care, just that she wanted to feel it again. To drift into that place Erika's voice had carried her before.
It felt like a light had been discovered through a snarling of thorns and barbed smiles. Like she had somehow found a piece of herself that she didn't know she had lost. And within that light . . . a memory. A familiar sense of herself, and yet it was just out of reach. A memory from a dream.
"It's not too deep that it needs stitches, but it will sting for a couple of days. May even restrict your shoulder movements for a day or two. At least until the skin has healed." Helga says, drawing Bela's attention back to the two women.
The water has already turned a milky red as Helga wrings out the now-pink rag. Bela's own stomach hurts, and her neck stings from Cassandra's sickle – the cut a jagged line from the hollow of her jaw to her collarbone. Unlike Erika, though, Bela won't be left with a scar, or even a mark – as it will vanish within the next few hours.
It was something that had stunned her, and made her a little too daring from time to time. She feels no pain, nothing can really harm her. Even with her solidified form, even with the darkened, near blue blood that flows through her hollow husk of being, she cannot be harmed the way mortals can.
Erika thinks her to be conceded, but there is no other way to describe it. Mother had said she and her sisters were born special – reincarnated into something, superior. But all Bela could feel was a sense of emptiness that followed her like a shadow. She had no sense of who she was, who she might've been, what she can become. It terrified her – to know that she was different.
She did not age like the others, same for her mother and sisters, and while she knew there was no blood relation between the three of them, that sense of family was only thing to root in her chest since that endless floating in darkness.
So, she clung to it – clung to her mother, her sisters . . . her family, to chase away that cold, impenetrable black, a glimpse of her once miserable existence.
She hadn't realized just how starved she'd really been before Erika, not just for companionship, but for life. For joy.
Drinking the blood of the slain had become routine after so long; she needed it to survive, yes, but that's all it's really become. As essential as humans drink water, a mindless necessity. She had since lost the amusement that Cassandra and Daniela still have. It just became, priority.
And so, her life had become dull and grey, and being stuck in the castle during the colder months didn't help. She had even tried bedding a few of the servants, each one had been tremendously disappointing. Too trembling and scared, so weak and feeble – others even waiting to be feasted upon. After the first few, it quickly lost its appeal; doing nothing to quell the pit of silence within her.
Helga leaves to the bathing room to fetch a new bowl of water, and Bela takes the opportunity to approach Erika. The young woman looks up to her, those beautiful teal eyes seemingly exhausted. A glimpse at the clock on the fireplace mantel shows it's almost four in the evening. Almost time for dinner. But Bela doesn't think she'll be able to tolerate sitting at the same table as Cassandra, for today.
"How do you feel?" Bela asks, not knowing where else to start.
The small shake of Erika's head doesn't help. "Just can never have nice things," she mumbles. Bela's eyes dip to the woman's left hand, at the scar trailing from knuckle to wrist. "Can never catch a fucking break."
Helga returns with clean water and a fresh rag, and as she sets it down, Bela steps over, "I'll take care of it."
The housekeeper looks to her perplexed for a brief second, but hands over the clean rag without argument. She instantly keeps herself busy rummaging through some of the medical supplies and medications.
Bela wets the rag and wrings out the excess water, as she's seen Helga do too many times. She turns and stands before Erika, whose brows have lifted, but she doesn't say a word. From her seat, her head levels with Bela's chest, but the eldest daughter angles the woman's chin up and begins tentatively tapping and wiping away the smearing and crusting blood.
She has to take a slow inhale as her anger spikes at the sight of the jagged skin so close to Erika's stunning eyes – so clear and deep as an ocean trench. This close, for the first time, she can see specks of gold swimming within the color.
Her ire must've shown because Erika swallows and says, "You don't have to do this, Bela."
"I'm already doing it," she bluntly replies.
Erika then whispers, "You've already done enough."
Bela blinks, realizing that her words aren't that of blame, but soothing. No doubt she looks like a mess with her sister's blood on her skin and the cut on her neck. The eldest daughter squares her shoulders and continues to clean the cut, keeping a gentle grip on Erika's chin.
God, how is she going to explain her behavior to her mother? Because Bela doesn't have to show up for dinner as long as she wants, but sooner or later, her mother will require a moment with her – either by herself or with her sisters present.
As Erika's hiss, Bela quietly apologizes and clears her mind. Now's not the time to be thinking about it. Especially not when she's trying to help.
Once the blood is clean, Bela rinses the rag and adds a few drops of alcohol before pressing it to the cut. Erika hisses again, but bites her lip. Bela watches her face relax, and waits another minute to ensure it's disinfected before reaching for some gauze.
"I must admit, you sure can take quite a beating." Bela says as she peels apart two small pads.
"I owe it all to my father." Erika says, feeling comfortable enough to stand and step out of her ruined down.
Helga does good work of keeping herself busy with handling it, leaving the room to head to the bathroom once more. There's no coming back from that with that dress, better to just throw it into the fire, too.
"You mention him a lot with almost, everything else about you." Bela presses the gauze to Erika's cheek, careful of her eye.
"He wanted to make sure I would always be able to protect myself. So he taught me how to fight. How to defend myself."
Bela gives a soft smile. "Smart man."
Erika is quiet for a heartbeat, those eyes diverting downcast. "Yeah, he was." She blinks a few blinks before saying, "Are you okay?"
It takes Bela by surprise, enough to pause her hands. "I will be."
"What about you and your sister?"
"We'll work it out." She places a strip over the gauze, setting it in place along the curve of Erika's cheekbone. "We'll have to. We may have our differences, but we're still part of House Dimitrescu. We still represent our mother; and she'll be damned if we embarrass her over you.
"You think I'll be excused from the party?"
Bela gives a beath of a chuckle. "Maybe. At this point, it might be more beneficial." Erika looks over towards the bathroom, where Helga still has not emerged. Bela doubts she's cleaning the dress. She can see the solemn on Erika's face, and says, "There will be other dresses. More dresses in fact. Don't worry about it."
A shrug of her shoulders, making Bela remember the cut along her back. She walks around and begins to apply more gauze, noting the roll of bandages.
"It just felt nice to be pretty, for a bit."
Bela carefully gathers Erika's cornsilk colored hair, a few tips stained red, and twists it before placing it over the front of your shoulders. As she places the last pad of gauze and moves to the bandage, she says, "You are pretty, Erika. With, or without the dresses."
She can feel Erika stiffen, and as if on cue, Helga emerges from the bathroom – making her presence well known.
Both of them look to her and she spares a stiffened smile, mimicking that of irritation and defeat. She doesn't say a word as she walks over to the fire and chucks the bundle of periwinkle into the flames. Taking the bellows, she gives the flames two heavy doses of air. Erika chuckles, the motion bouncing her shoulders and vibrating through Bela's fingertips.
Once Helga seems satisfied with the fattened flames devouring the fabric, she wipes her hands on her apron and says, "I'll see to it that you're brought some dinner, Erika. Lady Bela, will you be joining her?"
Stilling like a doe, Bela looks to Erika. She's never been at a loss for words before. "I . . . don't know. If you don't want company, I understand."
Erika's eyes have widened slightly, and Bela realizes her uncharacteristic action: giving her a choice. Those teal eyes blink at her for a too-long heartbeat. "I appreciate it, but for now, I'd like to be alone."
Bela tries to ignore the pinch in her chest. "Of course. No doubt mother will be looking for me, anyway."
Suddenly she remembers what she had been doing and finishes wrapping Erika shoulders. She's careful to avoid bandaging the white band to Erika as she maneuvers over and under when wrapping, securing the end on the knob at the top of her spine.
"There, that should do it." Bela says quietly.
"What about you?" Erika asks.
The eldest daughter's fingers brush along the cut at her neck. "I'll be fine. Don't worry."
"You sure?"
A stiff nod as Bela begins to pack the medical supplies. As she brings the tray back over to the nightstand next to Erika's bed, Helga chimes, "I'll head down to the kitchen and request dinner for you, Erika."
"Thanks Ms. Helga. Good luck in dealing with Kathryn. I know I'm not her most favorite person right now."
The housekeeper waves her off before quietly leaving the room. Erika takes the opportunity to walk over to her wardrobe to fetch a new shirt and pants. Bela making herself comfortable leaning on the edge of the bed.
Bela's eyes trail along Erika's long legs – too thin, but still showing shadowed distinction of muscle. Her back shows the same distinction, her once hourglass figure sharpened as her body is still recovering from starvation. Beneath the bruises and bandage, Bela can see little freckles dotting about her skin – an indication that she might've spent a lot of time outside before things turned to shit for her. Must've been the times when she was training with her father.
Instead of a shirt and pants, Bela is surprised to see Erika slip into a sea-green silk nightgown that matches her eyes. Its long skirt stops at the ankles, with a slit trailing back up to her thigh. The thin straps reveal the white bandages, the neckline stitched with silver lace.
When she turns back towards Bela, her brows lift – as if surprised to see her still there. It makes Bela spring to her feet and make her way over towards the door.
"I don't think I'll be needing you for the rest of the day . . . at least until nightfall." She looks back to find Erika running her fingers through her hair, readying to braid it.
Without looking at her, Erika mutters, "Yes, My Lady."
Bela can't tell if she's being sarcastic or serious, she to attempts, "Remember that I still expect you to sing for me, Miss Erika."
That makes the corners of her mouth turn upright, and she looks over. "You sure you don't need that thing looked at?"
Bela rolls her eyes, "I'm fine, Erika. Don't worry."
The young woman strolls over to her, pity briefly weaving into her mind as Bela notices the loose-fitting nightgown. But she doesn't give it much further attention. Erika will get stronger.
"Listen, I never really, properly thanked you for what you did. Whether it be some weird, possessive, territorial thing of you or, because you actually have some respect for me" – Bela bites the inside of her cheek at that – "I really appreciate it. I'd argue you damned near saved my life."
Bela snorts, "Cassandra needs to know her place sometimes." She runs her tongue over her front tooth that the matching words she'd used for Daniela when she dragged Erika to the library. "I don't know what Mother has in store for me, but I'll survive it."
"That must be quite a treat, her discipline. Considering how you guys run around."
Another roll of her eyes. "Well, I'll take my leave then. I'll make sure to excuse you for dinner."
"Hope you don't get in trouble for that too. Feels like you and Helga have been making up excuses for me left and right. How I'm still employed here is a miracle."
"Not like we've been lying. My mother herself gave you a punishment that would bed most women for days. Maybe even weeks. Just don't question it and trust that it's being handled."
Erika nods. "I trust you."
It is so natural, so genuine. So casual it's almost insulting.
But to have that line tossed between them, to have that truth told . . .
"Thank you again, Bela."
"Don't mention it," she says, as if beating her sister is just another casual day in the castle. of course, with how they'd torture servants before, perhaps it really didn't seem that far of a stretch.
Erika recoils at her indifference. "I hope I don't cause you any further trouble."
"Well, it's early yet." The eldest daughter teases as she glances at her bare wrist. "Have a restful evening, Erika."
With one hand on the knob of the door, Bela is about to open it, when her other hand is gently grasped. So much so that she had thought Erika had accidentally touched it in passing.
And as she turns around, another hand grazes the top of her shoulder, and she finds Erika leaning in, closing the space between them.
Her mouth brushes over Bela's cheek. Brief and light and sweet.
"Thank you," she says again, pulling back and turning to head to the bathroom. As if she didn't notice that Bela couldn't move a single muscle, couldn't find a single word to utter.
She doesn't look back. And when the door to the bathroom shuts, it's as if a witch's spell has snapped. Bela blinks, remembering who she is and what she's supposed to be doing.
She quickly leaves through the front doors and into the hall. Her feet routinely bring her down the hall and to the left – bringing her through her habitual trek, but still not knowing there the hell she was going.
Before she knew it, she is flying down the halls, and out an open window. The cooling summer air greets her as she smells dew drops and moss. Moonbeams and starlight swathe her in silver as she soars around the castle spires.
She never had a real sense of being before; always feeling so light and airy she truly did wonder if she was hollow. But tonight, she feels lighter than she ever has before, yet filled to the brim with the brightest light.