I play for the better part of an hour, never once looking towards Bela or Alcina or Cassandra or Daniela. I take short breaks between pieces, allowing my fingers brief moments of rest between applause. Lady Dimitrescu doesn't stop me, doesn't pull me from the piano as I had originally expected, but I don't deny the possibility of punishment.

Through the music, I tell my story. The pieces stitching together like a quilt, drawing forth the memories of my past and present. I don't look towards the future. Don't fill myself with false hope or inevitable dread.

It feels baring, yes, but I can express my life through an instrument better than through my own voice.

To do that . . . it's like giving a piece of my soul, my heart. Both so shredded and broken and cracked that I know if it were to bear another blow, I would not recover.

I catch movement out of the corner of my eye, and I angle my head slightly to see Lady Dimitrescu stepping through the crowd.

It says enough.

I draw my final piece to a close, my fingers lightly grazing the keys do the note is just a whisper. I withdraw my hands from the piano, placing them in my lap for a second before rising from the seat. Applause resounds throughout the hall, many masked faces smiling at me – truly smiling at me.

I take a bow before pivoting to Lady Dimitrescu and kneeling into a deep curtsey. Movement catches my eye behind her, and I see Bela stepping forward. I don't waste any more time as I close the lid and make my way over to her in the calmest stride I can muster. I see Bela look over her shoulder towards Cassandra, still leaning against the column, the man she had been seducing still loyally nibbling on her neck and whispering sweet nothings in her ear. The middle daughter just grins at me before turning her attention to the man.

Bela takes my hand and guides me through the crowd, our pace controlled without trying to look too much in a hurry. I expected her to lead me out into the courtyard, but instead she guides me into the annex of the hall and courtyard, halfway up the steps to the second floor. I catch a glimpse of the grandfather clock posted at the door: one-thirty in the morning. I'm surprised I'm fatigued at this hour.

"What?" I ask.

Bela looks down at me, that one step between us giving her added height. "Why didn't you tell me you could play?"

I fold me arms with a small grin, "You didn't ask."

Bela pouts, her lips pressing into a thin line. More out of trying to hide her own smile than actual irk. She blinks a couple of times, her lashes fluttering in the light. The chews on the inside of her lip before she says, "You . . . didn't sing."

I then blink, wiping my sweaty palms on my thighs. "No, I didn't. I wouldn't."

Bela's brows gently tent, pinching the skin. The expression seems so foreign on her, so gentle and feminine. "Why?"

I shrug my shoulders. "It seemed important to you. Who am I to take that away from you? Especially when Cassandra was just trying to start another fight, or embarrass me."

Or take away what we share together, I think. But I don't even know whose voice that is.

Bela's golden stare rakes over my body, and I try not to shift in this strapless, fitted dress. Her eyes blink, and her façade is in place once more. She moves past me to descend the stairs. "You're dismissed for the evening."

"What? Why?" I begin to follow after her. "Shouldn't I explain myself to your mother?"

She stops and turns to look up at me, her golden curls spilling over the front of her shoulder. "You don't have to explain anything – as per usual. You didn't embarrass her."

"But I did take some attention off of her, when I was supposed to remain anonymous."

"I don't think it'll be a big deal."

"You said that last time."

"And I just said it again." she grins, making me bristle.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No, not at all. There's an afterparty starting in half an hour, and trust me when I say, you don't want to be there."

My stomach sinks at the mention – at the thought of the men and women I've seen the sisters trying to seduce all night. Lady Dimitrescu has been speaking with so many I wasn't able to tell if she was truly interested, or just trying to lure them into her trap.

I think back to the dungeons, to the monster I'd seen in Duke's room – all haggard and teeth and leathery skin, completely devoid of humanity. To the many more women who had lost their lives in this forsaken castle.

"The party will go on for a few hours, can't say for certain. And whatever you do, whatever you hear, or what you think you hear, you don't leave your rooms."

"But Bela –"

"No buts," she nearly snarls at me. "I mean it, Erika. We won't be the same as who your used to."

"You mean there's worse?" It sounds more sarcastic than I mean.

"Much worse. I'll only say this again: Don't. Leave. Your. Room."

I heartbeat of silence. "Yes, My Lady."

Bela turns without another word.

This is wrong.

I should warn them. I should do something.

And yet, I follow. I follow Bela down the steps to the bottom. I stay rooted in place as I watch her leave – heading back into the hall where chatter and laughter flutter out towards me. My body only moves when a part of my brain reminds me of the dangers of staying behind, alone.

I try to find a part of me that would walk back in there and warn the men and women of their impending fate. A part of me that would accept the consequences of my actions, even at the cost of my own life.

But then I also think of Lacy – I see her rose-cheeked face, her innocent smile; I think of those aquamarine eyes hardened with the burden of the past two years, yet still able to shine with an inner happiness I've never been able to achieve since the passing of our father.

She's the reason why I'm here. That and my pride.

And I'm here to send a portion of my pay out to Luiza so that she has her own money to spare, and to use our father's insurance for emergencies only.

I certainly can't keep doing that if I'm dead in the ground, or served on a platter.

Yet even with death looming over my head like a shadow, I am here – dressed in finery, adorned in gold – free of the other daughters' abuse, even at the cost of my shame. Claimed like property.

I try to reason with myself – try to convince my mind, my soul, and my heart that my father would do the same. That he would choose his family over the lives of others he's never met. Never had interest in.

I don't owe these people anything. And they'll have a much easier time dealing with their loss than I did.

I gather my gown and head out towards the courtyard. The black fabric of the dress clings to me like tar, and I feel sick to my stomach as I begin to quicken my pace to my room. I lost one of the confounded shoes on the steps in the main hall, but I keep going.

Once I get to my doors, I slam them shut, with the reverberations rattling the draperies. I shed the dress and chuck the jewelry onto the vanity. I rip the mask from my face, tossing it unceremoniously to the floor.

Naked and alone in my rooms, I lock every door and window, pulling the drapes shut and dragging any rugs away from the doors. I may not be able to keep the Dimitrescu family out of my room, but at least I'll be able hear them coming.

I don't have my arrows or knives with me, but they did allow me to keep the rope; and I can do enough damage with the bow if I swing hard enough. I don't know what to expect with Dimitrescu and her daughters drunk off of blood, but it certainly can't be good.

I prepare a snare at the base of the front doors. Laughable in comparison, but at least it'll buy me enough time to run.

Once I'm satisfied – and my body gives a rough shudder from the cold leaking in through the castle cracks – I aim for the bathing room and prepare myself a bath. I scrub the cosmetics from my face with a soap smelling of crisp pear and fresh wildflowers before cleansing my body with it. And just because I can, I drain the tub and refill it again with hotter water, going over my body a second time until I'm tingling pink.

I drain the tub a second time and leave the water running as I pour pitchers of water onto myself to ensure I am completely suds free. I wring my hair out and put in some sweet-smelling oil until it glimmers like platinum. I comb through it – a little too roughly – and dump any strands into the garbage before changing into my silk nightgown.

Feeling refreshed, I walk back out towards the living room and pull a book from the shelf. Exhaustion has finally settled into my bones, and I know I'll be asleep the moment I lay my head on the pillow. Still, I climb into bed with the book, snuggling into the mound of pillows at the head of the bed. I pull the curtains surrounding my frame halfway closed.

I turn the mahogany red book over in my hands, searching for a title, but nothing is even written on the spine. I'm certain it wasn't an encyclopedia, so I turn the pages and begin my journey.

I only made it an hour into the book before my eyes close, and the next thing I know, I wake up to a dulled fire and a room enclosed in darkness.

I scramble from bed and yank open the curtains of the window closest to my bed. Moonlight immediately floods over my bed, stark silver against the gradient grey in my pampered prison.

I yawn and wander over to the fireplace, squinting my eyes at the clock on the mantel. Four in the morning. I'll have to be up in another hour. Just because Bela had a long night doesn't excuse me from my duties. Had I'd remembered, I might've protested going.

I'm about to add more wood to the fire when I hear a scream rip through the halls.

It startles me that I drop the small wedge of wood. Half of it touches the embers, stirring a small cloud of them.

I stand and wait. Listening.

I make quick work of the fire, blowing life back into the flames with the billows and a small bit of kindling. The shadows warp and dance around my room, but I can see. And everything looks as I left it –

Another scream, and this time I sprint towards my bed and pull out my makeshift knife I crafted out of a pair of scissors I swiped from the Gabriella earlier in the night.

The scream is bloodcurdling. It ices my blood, and it's the longest four seconds of my life as I listen to the pain it emanates.

Then it goes quiet again.

I prowl towards my double front doors, careful of the snare. I press myself against the door on the right, flattening my ear against it.

I don't hear anything, no matter how hard I strain to listen. The only comforting fact I can focus on is that it sounded far off. Nowhere near close to me – but if I'm far enough away that I could still hear it . . .

I fight a shudder that rattles me shoulders, pebbling my nipples beneath my down. I already miss the warmth of my bed, and a part of me just wants to climb back into it. An investigation would be pointless. I know in the back of my still-drowsy-but-adrenaline-induced-mind what had happened. I know of the wailing reported by the other maids, afraid that ghosts roam the halls.

But still, I carefully open the door and peek my head into the hallway.

Nothing.

Not a single sound safe for the ticking of a grandfather clock a few paces down to the right. The castle is silent once again.

I step out into the hall and begin searching the right-hand side. I don't bother knocking on all the doors, more trying to look for a distinct smell – the smell of blood and rot and mutilated flesh.

So far, nothing.

I don't know why I'm doing this. It's not going to make a difference. It's not going to bring that woman back. I can't save her now. Perhaps it's just for my own safety. Or I am actually so bored in my room that I'm actually looking for something to do.

I scour the left-hand side of the hall, turning a corner to peek down further. Still the halls are empty and silent. Not a single other pair of footsteps to be heard. I sigh, but keep the knife close to me as I head back to my room.

I'm about a few feet away from my front doors when a tall female figure appears before me. The moonlight from the open window turns her mask silver, and her golden hair – having sighed into relaxed curls – gleams.

"Going somewhere?" Bela asks. Her voice is not entirely of this world.

I suppress a shudder. "I thought I heard something," I say, and I am keenly aware of every movement, every breath I take as I near her. She must've taken her victim to the atelier.

The button of her blazer has been undone; her bare chest painted with whorls of dark blue woad, and pigments of every color are dotted and smeared in her hair. The tips looking as though they'd been dipped in the pots. And from the smudges in the paint, I know exactly where she's been touched. I try not to notice that they descend past her flattened midriff.

Her deep crimson mouth is smeared and dribbling with red. I don't want to know what it is.

I am about to pass her when she grabs me, so fast that I don't see anything until she has me pinned against the wall. The makeshift knife drops from my hand as she grasps my wrists. "I could still smell you," she breathes, her painted chest rising and falling so close to mine. "I searched for you, and you weren't there."

She reeks of blood and wine. When I look into her eyes, remnants of something primal flicker there. No kindness, none of the wry humor and gentle reprimands. The Bela I knew is gone.

"Let go," I say as evenly as I can. Words might not mean shit to her right now; still riding the ecstasy of her kill, the blood, the wine, she is half-wild.

"You drove me mad," she growls, and the sound trembles down my neck, along my breasts until they ache. "I searched for you, and you weren't there. When I didn't find you," she said, bringing her face closer to mine, until we share breath, "I had to deal with the other."

I can't escape.

I'm not entirely sure that I want to.

"She asked me not to be gentle with her, either," she snarls, her teeth bright in the moonlight. She brings her lips to my ear. "I would have been gentle with you, though." I shudder as I close my eyes. Every inch of my body goes taut as her words echo through me. "I would have had you whimpering throughout it all. Begging. And I would have taken my sweet, endless time, Erika." She says my name like a caress, and her hot breath tickles my ear. My back arches slightly.

Her hands release my wrists, her fingertips sliding along my forearm until they reach y elbow, and withdraw as quick as a blink. And my knees buckle as she lets go. I grasp the wall to keep from sinking to the floor, to keep from grabbing her – to strike or caress, I don't know.

I open my eyes. She still smiles – smiles like an animal.

"Why should I want someone's leftovers?" I say, making to push her away.

She grabs my hands again and bites my neck.

I cry out as her teeth clamp onto the tender spot where my neck meets my shoulder. I can't move – can't think, and my world narrows to the feeling of her lips and teeth against my skin.

She doesn't pierce my flesh, but rather bites to keep me pinned. The push of her body against mine, the hard and the soft, makes me see red – see lightning, makes me grind my hips against hers. I should hate her – hate her for her stupid bloodlust, for the woman she'd been with tonight . . . who she killed tonight.

Her bite lightens, and her tongue caresses the places her teeth had been. She doesn't move – she just remains in that spot, kissing my neck. Intently, territorially, lazily. Heat pounds between my legs, and as Bela grinds her body against me, against every aching spot, a moan slips past my lips.

She jerks away. The air is bitingly cold against my freed skin, and I pant as she stares at me. "Don't ever disobey me again," she says, her voice a deep purr that ricochets through me, awakening everything and lulling it into complicity.

Then I reconsider her words and straighten. She grins at me in that wild way, and my hand connects with her face.

"Don't bite me like some enraged beast." I breath, my palm stinging.

She chuckles manically. The moonlight turned her eyes to the color of roughened gold. More – I want the softness of her body crushing against mine; I want her mouth and teeth and tongue on my bare skin, on my breasts, between my legs. Everywhere – I want her everywhere. I am drowning in that need.

Her nostrils flare as she scents me – scents every burning, raging thought that was pounding through my body, my senses. The breath rushes from her in a mighty whoosh.

She growls once, low and frustrated and vicious, before prowling away.