~WARNING: MENSTRAL BLOOD: Mentions and involvement.~

Like hell I was going to tell those two anything. Normally, I would've throttled myself for such loose language towards the Dimitrescu daughters – and I'm certain other servants would've balked wide-eyed with fear and perhaps even anticipation of my slaughter.

But now, they are the least of my concerns.

Mother Miranda and Lord Heisenberg collaborated into getting me to that dinner. The bastard was stupid enough to believe that the priestess wanted his help, with no consequences whatsoever. But at least it provided me with some form of redemption, as well as give the lord a stinging punishment from the priestess.

I knew she'd want me . . . functional. Perhaps even perfectly pristine like a porcelain doll. I wouldn't mind giving away a few bags of lei just to see Heisenberg suffer. But I'm far from safe. She still wants me; or wants something from me, but I don't know what.

And it's the one thought that still shivers me to my core, even as I now sit swaddled in the fluffy down comforter of Bela's bed. There was no way I would be going back to my own room, especially when it's out of commission. But I knew I'd have to go back there eventually – meaning tomorrow – to retrieve all of my things. I don't trust anyone to get them for me. And thankfully, Bela agrees.

She volunteered to at least get my dagger, which Heisenberg surprisingly hadn't taken. I was hesitant about her seeing the state of my room, if only because I didn't want to reignite that searing hate I'd seen burning in Bela's eyes. If looks could kill . . .

Still, the eldest daughter insisted, and since I had no means of stopping her, I complied, and I'm still waiting for her return.

Leaning back into the small mountain of pillows, I adjust the book in my lap, and attempt to continue to read. Bela had gathered a few titles from one of the few shelves that lined an inner corner of her room, leaving them on the nightstand for me.

The clock on the mantel strikes ten at night, and a yawn finally stretches my mouth wide, my eyes blinking back their dryness. Bela still isn't back yet, and right now, I don't really want to fall asleep without her here.

I try to fight my blushing cheeks as I recall her arms – surprisingly solid when she first brought me to her room, carried me to the bed. She had been surprisingly warm during that time, but perhaps that was just my imagination.

Closing the book and tossing it alongside the others, and glance about the room, fully taking into detail how much of a simplistic lifestyle the eldest daughter lives. It's near respectable. There's no adjacent rooms like in my spacious suite; instead, this room is suitable for a single person.

In a castle full of opulence and gold and filigree, this room is a hidden gem of dark wood and pale navy blue. Despite its initial dark tone, the room feels open and breathable. The pewter colored curtains match the ones encasing the bed, the reflective fabric reminding me of satin despite the material's thickness. White, floral upholstered furniture sits in front of the fireplace – a couch and two armchairs – and at their center, a dark wood coffee table. There's a cherry wood desk tucked in the corner by one of the windows, and a bookshelf built into the wall has vacant spots where Bela pulled some of the stories for me. The entire place feels warm, cozy.

My hand carefully slips over my bandaged ankle, wincing at the tenderness as I carefully press on it with two fingers. I don't know what I'm going to do with this – maybe that's where Bela had gone as well, to speak with her mother, and that's why she's taking so long. Though I wouldn't be surprised if Lady Dimitrescu didn't excuse me, even with an injured ankle. Still, perhaps I should be grateful that it wasn't severed off.

I don't think I'll be able to just lay around in my own misery – I'm so used to getting up early now and doing things with my day. I'll probably be clawing at the walls in a matter of hours. But the healer – whose name I learned is Sandra – gave her orders, and I wouldn't want to jinx myself and make things worse.

Hopefully Lady Dimitrescu will be so frenzied by Heisenberg's intrusion and Mother Miranda's plot that she won't even care what I do with my days until I'm able to get back on my ankle. Or at least put weight on it for more than just a few seconds.

Another yawn pries my mouth open, and I rub my arms, attempting to create some warmth with this thinly strapped nightgown. This is the third one I've changed into tonight: the first one having gotten covered in my own blood, the second one I've wanted to rip off since Heisenberg made me change into it – of which is now ashes in the roaring fireplace, and this third one was upon recommendation by the healer, as means to avoid having the fabric sticking and peeling off the bandages.

It's a lovely dark sienna color, catching beautifully in the light – appearing either red or brown. I gently tap my fingers along the bandages wrapping around my shoulder. I hiss again at the bruise-like pain that travels along my arms. I've hunted and worked with an injured shoulder before; this I can easily manage, but my feet bear all my weight. It'll be the real trouble until it's healed.

I scoot myself to the edge of the bed, and drape my leg over, touching my toes to the cold rug beneath the bed. I bend my toes forward, then bend them back, curious to see what draws more pain. Nothing too crippling; at least compared to when I bend at the ankle. Or try to bend, before searing pain lances up my calf.

I still can't believe what I had witnessed.

Heisenberg managed to control all of the metal things in my room. I've never seen such magic before. It's terrifying.

My entire body grows cold at the thought of what other abilities the other lords might possess. In a way, it explains why Lady Dimitrescu is so tall. And those claws I'd seen her use . . .

Bela had said there had been pollen on my nose after speaking with Lord Beneviento, and I recall my head starting to hurt during our short conversation.

What powers could Mother Miranda have? What abilities could the Dimitrescu daughters have?

I stiffen as a cold shiver runs its way up my spine. Could Bela or her sisters possess something magical? I try to remember the odd things I'd clocked while working here: they're incredibly quiet, near silent as death when moving about sometimes, I remember seeing Cassandra walking with such grace I thought she was gliding. But what if –

The doors to the room open, and I impulsively reach for the book again, ready to use it as a bludgeoning weapon. But a familiar gait sounds across the room, shoes clicking against the wooden floors as they approach. I lower the book as Bela crosses the threshold into the bedroom. In her arms she holds a couple of shirts and pants, my boots pinched between her fingers.

"You were gone for a while." I say as I toss the book back onto the nightstand.

Her face remains neutral as she says, "Sorry. I had to, collect myself."

I bite the inside of my cheek. She seems more, rigid, than when she left. Seeing my room must've bothered her more than I assumed. To see the broken furniture, the shattered window; there's probably stains of my blood still on the carpet.

Slowly, I ask, "Are you okay?"

Her shrug is too stiff as she walks over to her dresser and drops my hunting boots next to them, opening the middle drawer to place my clothes in there. "I'm not happy."

I would've retorted, but she does seem to be on a thin edge right now. "What do you think we should do?"

She slams the drawer shut, causing me to flinch as she turns. I try to calm my racing heart, try to not let her catch the shift in my scent. The shift of fear. "I don't know. There's so much to sort out."

I scoot myself towards the middle of the bed. "Do you plan on talking with your mother?"

"Absolutely. The real question is: will she be willing to divulge to me? Or will she simply brush it off as Lord Business with Mother Miranda."

"I'm surprised your mother can stand her after the stunt she pulled."

Bela leans against the dresser, folding her arms. Her golden hair hangs in deflated curls, still wearing the crimson-red gown she'd worn to the dinner. A few strands fall over her shoulder. "We don't know that for sure, it's just a lot of evidence points to it."

"What else could it be?"

"I don't know." Bela snarls. "It's my mother's words. And the reality is, we don't even have any proper evidence to prove that. We have nothing to accuse her with."

I lean back into the mountain of pillows again. I gather my hair and pull it over my shoulder, if only because I still feel as dirty as when I had my own blood staining my skin. Sandra did a phenomenal job in cleaning my hair, but I still hadn't properly bathed since my fight with Heisenberg. It was more so of a quick rinse off so I wouldn't look to haggard when seeing Mother Miranda. I didn't even get the chance to use soap.

"Even so, if not for me, how could she not feel betrayed that Miranda let Heisenberg into her castle without her permission?"

"I'm sure she does. I just don't know what she's going to do about it."

"If she'll do anything about it." I grumble.

I can see Bela's fingers tighten around her arm, and I regret my words. But she sighs and moves the conversation along. "You never did say what happened to you."

I run my tongue over the front of my teeth. "I thought after you saw everything, it was obvious. What else is there to say?"

I know the answer to the question. I also know that even if Lady Dimitrescu were to see my room, Mother Miranda might not take her claims so seriously. Only he and I were there when everything happened. It's my word against his, and I know I will lose.

Bela walks over to the bed and leans against the post closest to me. She picks at nonexistent dirt beneath her fingernails. After a moment of silence, she quietly asks, "Did he do anything?"

There's enough ambiguity that I can see the question going both ways. "No, he didn't touch me. Just stabbed me with my own dagger . . ." Bela looks to me with tented brows, "that was floating in the air."

The eldest daughter nods, folding in her lips. She averts her gaze, gazing down at the toes of her slippers.

"You knew." I state with deathly quiet.

She nods.

"And you didn't tell me."

"I didn't think you'd believe me."

A fair point. I don't think I would've believed her either. Still, in place of my anger, betrayal lingers with my understanding.

It feels like my heart feels like it's being pulled in two different directions, bleeding from the barbed hooks and tangled lines.

I don't know what we are exactly, but I know we're not enemies. Calling us friends seems, inappropriate without her verification. But I know she won't impulsively kill me, like I had feared when I first started here months ago. She's seen some of my most vulnerable sides, even when I didn't want her to, and she never blinked one time. Still, she had stated that at the dinner she only wanted me for my voice, and I was fine with that if it meant more pay and a guarantee on my life.

I don't know what we are, but regardless, if I were to ask her, she can very well tell me nothing, and I'd have to live with it.

I sigh, bracing my elbows on my knees, nibbling on the edge of my thumb. "Do you know what you are? Who you are?"

I had asked her this question some time ago, and back then, I accepted her answer out of fear. Now, I'll accept her answer out of respect for her privacy. She had mentioned waking up in a room with Cassandra and Daniela, after an endless drifting in a cradling darkness. She might not even know what she is. How she's never taken it up with her mother, I don't understand.

"I told you before, I don't remember." Bela says softly, knowing it's not the answer I want to hear.

"Nothing at all?"

"Nothing." She blinks. "It's like, pieces from a shipwreck floating to the surface."

I square my shoulders to the best of my abilities, lifting my chin. "Bela, I know your past might be difficult, and painful, to remember. But I have to ask" – I force myself to ignore the slight tremble I see in her hand as she runs her fingers through her hair – "do you have any special, capabilities?"

She immediately snorts. My question seemingly drawing a genuine giggle from her, though I'm not sure how to process that. As quickly as her smile was there, it vanishes. "I do." her voice is soft — and I realize she's staring at me . . . at the bandage wrapped around my shoulder.

I blink, genuinely surprised at the confession. And I say as much, "I appreciate the honesty."

"You've been through too much for me to add another lie." she says, and she takes a step toward me. And I'm all too aware of how low the front of her dress dips. "But I'm not going to show it to you."

"That's fine," I utter.

She stops barely a foot away from me and cocks her head. She removes the combs from her hair – of which I now see are embellished with diamonds and garnets. She unceremoniously tosses them onto the nightstand. "You're not going to insist I do?" she asks.

"No." I bite my lip. "I'm flattered you feel comfortable enough around me to confide such a thing. It leaves more questions, yes, but as long as this" – I gesture between the two of us – "is a guarantee that you won't use those, abilities, to kill me."

She takes another step closer to me, now having to tip my head back to look into her face. "No." She gives a breath of a laugh. "No, I wouldn't."

I could swear hurt lines her golden eyes as she sits on the edge of the bed, fiddling with the tips of her nails. So, I carefully place my hand over one of hers. "It's a piece of who you are, Bela. If you want to talk, I'll be here. Just tell when you're ready."

Bela only sits there.

I swallow, and tuck a strand of my unbound hair behind an ear.

Her eyes are so sorrowful. She bites her lip.

Bela brushes a finger down my cheek – her fingers bumping over the scar beside my eye.

My head goes quiet. Her finger is icy, but I hold in my shiver. Still it ripples along my body, pebbling my nipples beneath my nightgown.

I know this is wrong, but there I am, letting her slide her fingers along the side of my neck, her fingers lingering at the nape. Then she moves her hand until her palms lies flat against my neck, near cradling my jawline.

I shiver, praying she doesn't notice the shift in my scent.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers, her thumb sweeping in longs strokes along the side of my throat.

She had said the same thing before, when the knuckle of her finger traced along that same scar by my eye. I didn't know what it was for, and now, I still don't – whether it be for the pain and suffering she and her family had wrought upon me, or for my life in general and all its events that led me to this castle. To this very moment.

I almost don't mind it, at that thought.

"I'll heal." Is all I can answer with.

Because it's the truth. And it's all I can do.

I've been broken in more ways than one. In ways that still burn and writhe beneath my scarred skin. But I move on. I heal.

I have to heal, otherwise there will be no recovering for me if I allow myself to crack and fissure. If I allow myself to wallow and swim through the pain that's become as thick and as binding as tar. I've learned to numb the pain until I'm made of stone.

That hole of icy silence, the well where I've shoved all of my pain and fury since the beginning of my existence, it still exists, still glows like an iridescent stone where my heart should be. It holds all of the unspeakable thoughts and words and vitriol I've refrained from saying; to spare those who would be on the receiving end.

I don't know what could happen if that silence breaks. I view it as more of a leash for whatever monster crawls beneath my skin, according to Donna. Perhaps even according to my father. But at least I knew he still loved me; despite whatever it was he'd seen in my eyes.

A tear streams down my cheek before I even realize my eyes had lined with them.

I think . . . I think that's the first time someone has, apologized to me. For, anything. And I don't know what to do.

I've never heard it from my mother; never once from any of the other villagers safe for Luiza, and even then, there was always this wall that divided us, that shielded her understanding from really seeping into my thoughts, into my heart. A wall I'd built myself out of spikes and iron and barbed wire.

"Erika?" Bela says softly, angling her head; allowing more of her loose curls to fall over her shoulder.

I blink and peel myself away, running the heels of my palms along my cheeks. "Sorry," I mutter.

But the words seem to be an unleashing, as more tears form and flood faster than I can control them.

Out of everything I've ever faced in this cruel world, this woman is the only one to ever apologize. To ever acknowledge what I've done, what I've been through; acknowledge her contribution to it, and apologize.

And I know somewhere deep down inside of me, I am grateful for those three simple words.

A thin crack forms in that hollow silence.

I begin to weep. For myself, for Lacy, for the fact that I should be dead and have somehow survived.

"Erika." Bela whispers, brushing away a tear before another follows.

I bury my face in my hands as I bow over my knees.

I weep harder, and she sighs. Not out of annoyance, but out of. . . something. I don't know what.

The comforter and sheets whisper as she adjusts herself, and though I try to fight her, her grip is firm as she grasps my wrists and pries my hands from my face.

Her arms sweep under my own, and I gasp as I'm lifted into her lap. No different, no better than a child. I can feel her legs parted beneath her crimson skirt – of which is hiked up to reveal her thighs and the garter belt holding a lace pair of stockings.

Bela doesn't care as she settles me against her chest, my head resting in the crook of her neck, and her arms wrap around me. More of her golden hair falls over her shoulders, curtaining my vision, but I hitch a breath at how it reminds me of sunlight at dawn.

I cry for everything I've lost, every injury I've ever received, every wound — physical or otherwise. I cry for that trivial part of me, once so full of color and light — now hollow and dark and empty.

Her hand caresses the back of my head in a tender touch, her cheek resting against my forehead. The other rubbing comforting circles along my back, my body shaking. I can hear her heartbeat, steady and strong and real.

Her arms stay bound around me for the minutes I weep, not once fidgeting as my tears soak into her skin, into her dress. I wipe them as best as I can, trying to control my breathing, accompanied by her gentle shushing like I've done to Lacy when she awakens from a bad dream.

At one point she hands me a handkerchief, and she allows me to peel myself from her chest as I distastefully blow my nose into it. Her hands gently brace along my hips, and I don't move them.

Gods, I feel like such a mess. And I probably look it too.

My nose is quickly cleared, but I know it is lobster red along with my cheeks; tingling along with my puffy, red-rimmed eyes. I hook my hair behind my ears and take deep breaths, pressing the heels of my palms to the bones of my cheeks.

In the darkness, I can see fireworks of color, dissipating quickly into the inkwell of darkness. "Sorry," I whisper.

"Don't be." Bela answers with heartbreaking gentleness.

She gives me a tender smile as she leans forward.

I pull away, but her hands are like velvet shackles. I can do nothing as her mouth meets with my cheek, and she licks away a tear. Her tongue is hot against my skin, so startling that I can't move as she licks away another path of salt water, and then another. My body goes taut and loose all at once and I burn, even as chills shudder along my back. It is only when her tongue dances along the damp edges of my lashes that I jerk back.

She chuckles as I flinch back, a sound of grotesque effortlessly bursting its way past my lips. I wipe my face as I glare at her.

Her smile shows her perfect white teeth. "I figured that would get you to stop crying."

"It was disgusting." I wipe my face again. More in timing than the act itself.

"Was it?" She quirks an eyebrow.

I sniff and wipe my eyes again, trying not to smile.

"Do you need anything?"

I shake my head.

"Do you want anything?"

I snort. Cold and joyless. "No."

"Why is that funny?" Bela asks, leaning slightly forward.

"Because it doesn't matter what I want."

It never has. My mother never cared enough, my father told me life isn't always about getting what you want, and I've put Lacy's needs to far before my own that I've long since given up on being granted anything other than another day of breathing. Working in this castle, too, certainly hasn't done anything to prove me otherwise.

"Everyone wants something."

"I mean, of course I do. But it's nothing in the ways that matter." Nothing that would've helped preserve me or my sister for another day.

I could want every dress I ever saw in the storefront windows, but those mean nothing when my little sister and I are starving while our mother wallows in the excretions of men.

"What do you want, Erika?" Bela asks, her voice smooth yet gruff, lined with challenge.

I look towards her, towards those golden eyes that have become alight with something I've never seen before.

It's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.

You, I almost said, lost in the swirling fog that is her golden eyes. Still feeling the tip of her tongue along my cheek.

In the end, I still don't know how to answer . . . other than with honesty.

My eyes flick towards an empty space of air. My voice is tight as I whisper, "I want to feel alive again."

I can see her stiffen in my periphery. My eyes line with silver again.

My lips tremble, and Bela brushes away the tear that escapes down my cheek.

"I can certainly try," she whispers.

My body shudders with what might have been a sob, but I look to her as her hand guilds my chin.

And her lips easily find mine.

My eyes close upon reaction. It is gentle—soft. A kiss saved for a courting couple; a kiss saved for a long walk through a flower garden; as delicate as a butterfly's wings, as caressingly soft as a flower petal.

Heat floods me, and I go tight and loose all at once. Her lips are soft, and I can feel the curve of her upper lip as it presses into my cupid's bow.

She retracts, allowing barely an inch of breath between us.

A question, and an answer.

What do you want?

More, more, more, I almost beg as my eyes flutter open, staring down at her full, crimson-colored edges.

I lean in, answering with a press of my lips to hers. I feel her lean forward, her hands propping on either side of my waist, and I adjust so I'm leaning on my good arm, opening my mouth to her, and her tongue slips in, caressing my own.

I can't help but moan into her mouth as I feel a distinct, growing ache beneath the skirt of my nightgown. The sound seems to trigger something within Bela, as I hear give a guttural growl – full of hunger as she presses her forehead to mine, coaxing me onto my back.

Cradled by the pillow, my hair spilling over their edges, my eyes flutter open to see her lean over me, one hand still by my hip while the other comes to knead one of my breasts, her finger circling around my peaked nipple.

Tendrils of that dark memory peeks from behind the door in my mind.

With a whimper, I shut it and lock it down tight.

Bela deepens the kiss, and I moan again as my legs part. My body already opening myself to her, as if it's been waiting for this moment without even my knowledge.

Bela crawls closer without breaking the kiss, placing her knee at my center, eliciting a wicked hiss from me as she gently presses against me, hand still kneading my one breast.

I attempt to reangle myself, already upset that one is getting more attention than the other. Bela effortlessly answers as she pulls down the straps of my nightgown, exposing my chest, her mouth enveloping my other nipple seconds later. I whimper and writhe, my toes already pressing into the bed, arching my hips up.

Her tongue swirls around one before switching to the other, the cold of the castle tickling them with a delicate tendril. I whimper again, and she envelops my lips as if she could capture the sound.

She strips her mouth from mine and begins grazing along my neck in a lazy caress. I angle my head to allow her better access, flaring at her every touch. My entire skin ripples with goosebumps, my core already pulsing at the many unfamiliar sensations.

She palms my breast again, her thumb brushing and treasuring my nipple, my entire body yielding as I feel her other hand finally move and trail her fingers up my thigh, carrying the skirt of my gown with it. The chill of the castle follows after it like a pilgrimage of phantom fingers, making my thighs texture.

I whimper as she slides her finger along the band of my undergarments, a cat playing with its dinner.

My thighs move to close, embarrassment crawling towards the back of my mind, but Bela peels herself from me, gazing down at me. I've never felt so exposed, splayed before her like some kind of sacrifice.

I whimper in protest, near melting at the glow in those golden eyes as she licks the corner of her mouth, her smile devilish.

I stiffen, however, when I remember the liners within my undergarments.

"Wait." It is breathless. "Don't."

Bela's eyes slowly trail down my body, dipping beneath my navel and arching a brow. I can see her own breasts full and hardened with the low dip of her dress. Her eyes practically glow as she hooks her fingers on either side of my underwear and pulls them down. I attempt to clamp my legs shut, embarrassment abounding, but she trails her fingers along the backs of my thighs, and I twitch and arc.

She holds my legs over one shoulder while her other hand moves low and slowly trails up from my behind. I gasp and my entire body melts and alights. The first brush of her against me drags a groan from deep in my throat.

She snarls in satisfaction at the wetness she finds waiting for her, and her thumb circles that spot at the apex of my thighs, teasing, brushing up against it, but never quite—

Her other hand gently squeezes my breast at the same moment her thumb pushes down exactly where I want. I buck my hips, my head fully arced against the pillows now, panting as her thumb flicks—

I cry out, and she laughs, low and soft "You act as if I've never tasted blood before."

"But this –"

My breathless words are cut off as I feel her slide a finger inside me.

I moan so loudly it drowns out the crackling of the fire. She slides a second finger inside of me, filling me so much that I can't think around it. Every point in my body, my mind, my soul, narrows to the feeling of her fingers.

"Fine. But now I'll have to make up for it."

Her hand braces next to my head, capturing my mouth with her own, biting on my lower lip. I groan, and Bela rewards me by plunging her fingers in deeper. Harder.

Another sound I don't recognize emits from my throat, and the strokes of Bela's tongue matches the tempo of her fingers as she continues to pump in and out of me, adding a third finger.

My legs open wider, my body reveling and craving and dying for that touch, at that filling sensation. I don't even cringe at the moist sounds she draws from my core, I only revel in it, melt into it as Bela moans with satisfaction.

Her fingers plunge in and out, slowing picking up speed, and my very existence narrows to the feel of them, to the tightness in me ratcheting up with every deep stroke, every echoing thrust of her tongue in my mouth. She nibbles on my earlobe, granting every inch of my exposed skin the gracious touch of her lips and tongue, the ends of her hair tickling each corner and edge.

All other thoughts dispel from my mind, and for once, I don't care.

I don't care one bit about what I was and who I am and where I've been as I yield fully to her.

She works her way down my navel, and I attempt to stop her again, but I'm frozen in place when those golden eyes look up to me from beneath her lashes.

My breathing saws in and out of me as I feel her head move lower, and then I feel the tip of that tongue brush against my little bundle of nerves.

I arch with a yelp, unable to stop the following moan breaking from my throat. My body trembles as I feel her taste me again, my entire face burning with shame, yet my body tingling, craving, and yearning for more, more, more for those gentle touches and tastes.

Her fingers pick up their pace once more while her tongue circles and flicks that damn spot at the apex of my thighs, growling with pleasure at every clench and fidget I make.

Release became a shimmering veil, just beyond my grasp but drifting closer.

I've never known this sensation before, only known of it. And even then, with only my mother and an occasional book for reference, I've always thought it to be, exaggerated.

I never thought my body would react like this, not after what happened.

It's like being destroyed and rebuilt at once. It's like letting my soul drift into ecstasy while still being able to feel each and every sensation with my body. I never feel her tongue in me, to my pleasure, and I allow myself to untether my sanity entirely.

I could drown in this feeling. My entire body is tingling in ways I never through possible.

"What a greedy little whore." Bela murmurs against me.

I don't even care – don't even flinch at the name.

It brands into my skin like a badge of honor as I let go entirely then. Let go of sanity and any pride as Bela fills me with those fingers. She sucks and nibbles, and release gathers around me like an iridescent mist. In and out her fingers slide, stretching and filling, all while she tastes and savors.

Release barrels down my spine, and I bow off the bed with the force of my climax, and Bela becomes ravenous, fingers pumping and pumping, tongue and lips moving against me, like she'll devour my pleasure whole. She doesn't stop until I've collapsed against the mattress, until I am limp and trembling and reeling and trying to piece my mind back together.

The slide of her fingers out of me leaves me empty and aching, the removal of her tongue and mouth from between my legs like a cold kiss.

I can't breathe hard enough, fast enough. I can't even remember how to move. No one has ever done that to me. Made me feel like that.

Bela pulls back so that I meet her stare, her lips glossed red. She draws long, controlled breaths, her nipples still pebbled beneath her formal dress.

Her eyes hold mine as she brings those crimsoned fingers to her mouth and sucks on them.

On the tainted taste of me.

Shame floods my face, my mouth twisting with disgust. But Bela licks her fingers clean, drawing her tongue all around her lips.

In one smooth motion, she slides off the bed, lazily wiping her fingers on the skirt of her dress before helping in readjusting my nightgown, tucking my still-heavy breasts back behind the fabric and smoothing out the skirt to the best of her abilities. Most of it is pinned beneath my thighs, and I don't have the capacity to move.

My heartbeat pounds in my ears, and I attempt to help, but I'm so limp from the pleasure she'd wrought from me that I can only raise my limp arm towards her. Her name a breathless, toneless plea on my lips.

Bela laughs under her breath, effortlessly adjusting the pillows underneath me until only one cradles my head. She pulls back the sheets, guiding them from under my body, and tugging them and the comforter over my still tingling, trembling body. I have enough sense to lift my head as she adjusts the pillow, and my legs finally close, flinching at the noticeable wetness.

"Sleep," she says. She might as well have commanded me to breath underwater.

But she pulls the comforter and sheets up to my neck, careful to tuck my hair with a clean finger.

"What about you?" My voice is so hoarse.

"I'll be here. Just sleep." Her beautiful features reveal nothing, but I have enough sense to note the truth in her eyes.

She plants a kiss on my temple before leaving my side. I can picture her heading towards the bathing room, hear the whisper of her dress puddling to the floor, hear her shoes being kicked to the side. The water for the tub turns on a second later.

It, along with the crackling of the fire and the warmth of the cloud of a bed fills my eyelids with lead, closing them in an instant.

Sleep finds me faster than I thought.