Bela didn't recognize the servant that delivered the oil.
And she made sure to note every servant that comes into this castle. It had started as a means of organization for whom Mother would use as part of her wine, and who actually could do some decent work.
But Bela had never seen that girl before.
The girl had said that her mother sent the oil for Erika, to use it to freshen up before the dinner tonight. But her body language underscored all she said all too perfectly.
Her mother certainly never sent any of them – her own damn daughters – bottles of skin oil.
Bela doesn't trust it.
Erika had been physically shaken at the mere mention of Mother Miranda. And while there may have been some truth regarding the priestess's intimidating presence, Erika had been lying about where her true fear had come from.
It may be a stretch, but that servant's timing was too perfect. Too coincidental.
And she will find answers when she finds her mother.
Then she can shatter that gods-damned oil against the wall.
Dispersing into her swam, a quick fly around the castle eliminates several of the places Bela assumed her mother would be. Leaving only a few – including her mother's personal chambers.
Bela swarmed into her mother's chambers, materializing a foot from the vanity where her mother currently sits, phone to her ear.
The eldest daughter is about to open her mouth when her mother, not even looking at her, holds her finger up. Still staring at her reflection, her mother applies a lipstick of crimson red.
Stepping back with a huff, Bela folds her arms.
"Yes, Mother Miranda," her mother says into the phone, chipper with a near venomous smile. "Of course, everything will be tailored to your liking. You always honor me with your presence, I wouldn't want you to feel uncomfortable."
Bela rolls her eyes; and has a feeling Mother Miranda is doing the same.
"Yes, Mother Miranda." A brief pause. "I will see you tonight."
She hangs up the phone and continues to apply the rest of her lipstick. Bela doesn't protest. Not that it would matter, the message is clear: she can stand there and scream for her mother until she's blue in the face. Her mother will talk to her when she's ready.
After about a minute of tedious application, just when Bela's patience is worn thin, her mother turns and smiles, "Now, Bela dear, what is it that you need?"
"Did you send Erika some perfumed skin oil?" Blatant, and hinted with more venom that most deem wise.
Her mother blinks, angling her head in the way that gives Bela a glimpse of the creature that lives beneath her mother's skin. "Why do you ask?"
Not a claim, but also not a deny.
"A servant came to Erika's chambers after you had dismissed her. She said that you asked it to be delivered directly to her." Bela's hand grips her arm to keep a leash on her building anger. "But I didn't recognize the servant at all. And I know almost every one of them here."
The narrowing of her mother's brows, the flattening of her lips into a line tells Bela all she needs.
And it terrifies her.
"Who was it?" Bela asks.
"What did they look like, darling?" her mother asks, her gloved finger tapping the top surface of her vanity.
"They had sunflower-blonde hair, baby-blue eyes; looked no older than eighteen. She acted the same as the others, but it to was . . . too perfect. Practiced; to be able to appeal to our ignorance and ego. It's insulting enough they think so shallow of us." Bela grits her teeth, if to relieve some brewing ire. "Mother, did you sent Erika the oil?"
Her mother's eyes have drifted far in thought, narrowing on a spot on the wall. The blinks, having slipped back to her body and looks to Bela. "No, I did not."
"Then who did?"
"I have an idea, and if it turns out to be true, then this might be getting a bit complicated."
"Does it have to do with Mother Miranda?"
Her mother's answering glare is all she needs.
Slowly, with a deathly quiet, her mother asks, "What does that have to do with things, dear?"
"Call it a haunch, or perhaps a tuition. But it also raises another question: why do you even follow her anyway?"
Her mother's face hardens into a cruelty usually directed at Heisenberg. It takes all of Bela's will to steel her spine as her mother stands to her full height. "You will not speak of her that way, daughter."
"Why? Because you're afraid she'll call upon her mighty 'god' to curse you?"
Bela barely finishes her sentence when her mother's gloved hand is gripping her jaw. Her fingers and thumb painfully digging into her cheeks.
"Stay your tongue when speaking of Mother Miranda, child." Her mother seethes. It has enough venom to make Bela stiffen. "That woman might not appear much to you, but trust me when I say you'd be a fool to try and challenge her. She gave me new life. She gave me you three darling daughters, and she also gave me this castle. So you will respect her for the life that she has given us all!"
Bela rips her chin from her mother's grip, avoiding the urge to rub the now sore joint. Her mother's figure is silhouetted against the silvery light of the overcast sky. Hallowing her face and figure until it is morphed into a thing of nightmares.
"I don't know what's rattling around that head of yours, but you will keep your assumptions to yourself until I can get it sorted out."
"And what then?" Bela growls. "You'll just tuck your tail and bow your head like a fucking cowardly –!"
A loud crack sounds throughout the room, and Bela's vision bursts into stars as a searing pain travels across her face.
She blinks, now staring at the plush carpet of her mother's room.
Slowly, Bela turns her head again.
"If you insist on being such a nuisance, then perhaps you'll learn to behave after a night in the cold." Her mother hisses. "You will not embarrass me, or your sisters."
Bela laughs – a cold, joyless noise. "You're not going to do anything, are you? You're just completely fine with letting this woman trespass into your castle, stealing, and taking your things – and ruining the one thing in my life that has made me happy!"
"Oh, you're acting like a child."
Bela tried – tried and failed – to not let the words hit their mark.
There's a roiling essence churning in her chest right now. She doesn't know what to call it.
Until Bela's eyes are lined with silver, "You might not tell me everything about Mother Miranda, but my imagination can fill in the gaps. She's obviously powerful enough to make you wallow like a coward at her feet."
"Bela –!"
"Erika trembled at the mere mention of her name. And not just because of the title she holds. Something happened, either to her, or to someone else, but Erika fears her more than she fears you. Now this unknown servant comes along, delivering some skin oil the day that you're hosting a dinner for her in this castle!" Bela's voice trembles, her lips quivers, but it grows in volume. "Don't you see how that's a little bit coincidental?"
Her mother gives a slow, controlled exhale, "What would you have me do? What are even inciting, Bela?"
"I think Mother Miranda wants Erika. For whatever reason, she knows about her, and she wants her. She wants to take her from me. And you cannot let that happen! You need to tell her fuck right off!"
"You will lower your voice and talk in a civil tone."
"Why?! Isn't this my home?! Isn't it?! Isn't this where we're supposed to talk about our problems?!"
"I am your mother! You. Listen. To me."
Bela can feel her breath fighting in her throat, but she swallows the gathering lump. She can feel tears – tears stream down her face as she looks into her mother's eyes – her eyes.
"My entire existence, I've been suffering. I have been, so lost. I'm losing my mind."
Her mother's expression softens – another expression only saved for her, Cassandra, and Daniela.
"Every day, I wonder why the hell I'm here. Who the hell I am. Who I was before I became . . . this." Tears flow now, Bela steeling her knees to keep from collapsing to the floor. "I hate not having memories. I hate being this, empty shell of a person. And you don't even see it. You don't even care!"
"Of course I care, honey. Of course I care." Her mother breathes. She takes two steps towards her, kneeling down and placing a hand on Bela's shoulder.
More tears flow from Bela's eyes. "Then what is a woman without memories? I want to know you, mother. To love you as they did before. I want to be with you in my heart. In my blood. But I can't because I don't know who or what the hell I am."
Her mother's eyes widen, enough to see the whites around. Bela knew early on that she was never her mother's daughter. Never a proper Dimitrescu.
The moment Bela saw that portrait of the three former daughters in the entrance hall, she had questioned her existence ever since.
She is not a daughter by blood – but a replacement for something their mother had once lost long ago.
For a while, she was okay with that. But even before Erika had come to the castle, thoughts of who Bela was before had always swarmed in her mind like the many flies she can become.
Was she even a Bela to begin with? Or perhaps she was a Kelly; a Fiona; or Jaimie, or Ana, or Mary.
"I'm grateful for the life you've given me, and my sisters. Even if for your own selfish reasons. But as good a job as you did raising us, bringing us to full consciousness, there's always been something missing." Her voice is a broken whimper. "A void. A void that Erika has been filling in ways that I can't even explain. But I love it, Mother. I love it." Her mother's eyes – the eyes they share – is lined with silver. "I've always followed you without question. I've never asked anything of you." She places her hand on her mother's shoulder, stepping into her in an embrace. "Please, let me have this. Don't take her away from me, mommy."
She can feel her mother stiffen, and for a moment, Bela prepares herself for disciplinary strike.
But then, her mother's hands rest upon her back. And for the first time, Bela hears a quiver in her mother's eloquent voice, "You poor tormented creature. How could I not have felt the depths of your pain? How could a mother have left her child so alone, in the dark?"
She can feel her mother pull away, her hands still on Bela's shoulders.
"Losing a child is the greatest pain a parent can ever go through. So when Mother Miranda promised another chance at having a family, I couldn't say yes fast enough. For a while, it was hard for me to try and raise you, because I knew you weren't my daughters. But I was so wrong. Now, whenever I see their faces in those paintings, they feel so intuitively . . . false. You are my true daughter, Bela. I'm so sorry if I made you feel like anything less."
Feeling as fragile and tiny as a child, Bela steps into her mother's embrace, wrapping her arms around her neck.
"Erika?"
"Let me be, for now. I need to think. While I don't fully believe in your conspiracy about Mother Miranda, I will investigate."
Pulling back, she wipes at Bela's eyes with her gloved hand and tucks a strand of Bela's hair behind her ear.
"In the meantime, go back to her. Continue your day as normal, and let me know of any. . . abnormalities. I will excuse her from tonight's dinner. And, bring me that skin oil. Perhaps there is something to be made."
Bela sniffs, relief flooding her in place of her tears. "Thank you, mother."
She rests her hand on Bela's cheek, of which she presses into. "Now go on." She says brightly. "Preparations are still to be made. Send me a formal report of the servant you saw."
Bela nods, a more hop in her skip. "Yes Mother."
She leaves her mother's chambers, ready to near run down the hallways back to Erika's room, but she pauses with a sudden thought.
She turns back and peers inside the room, but then she finds her mother leaning into her vanity. Her hands clutch either side of the table, and Bela half expects her to throw it.
But her mother stays there, her head hanging.
Bela stiffens when she hears her mother sniffle.
Her mother looks up into the mirror – into her reflection and carefully wipes her eyes, but her hand covers her mouth as a sob wretches her body, sending her doubling over. Her mother's shoulders shudder – allowing a moment of weakness; unaware of Bela's peering eyes.
Her mother allows only a few suffocated sobs to escape before she rises to her full height.
Bela slips further behind the wall.
She hadn't meant to hurt her mother with her words. She was merely speaking from the heart – or whatever she has left of it.
Bela watches as her mother pulls out a tissue and pats her eyes, careful not to smear any makeup.
Before she has a chance to notice, Bela quickly scatters into her swarm of flies, searing down the hallway back towards Erika.