The man strapped to the table screams as Bela Dimitrescu runs the tip of her sickle down his bare chest, digging in and leaving blood in its wake.
"Listen to him," Cassandra hisses. "Listen to the music he makes."
Beyond the table, the woman who usually sits in the corner of her cell screams. Incoherent wails that have been beyond words for days now. Nothing more now than a primal expression of emotion as she watches her husband writhe, watches his blood drip onto the stones.
"Please! Please stop!" the man shrieks.
Bela runs her sickle down the man's chest a second time. There is blood everywhere. Normally such activities make her jubilant and inebriated – the sounds of the screams and smell of the blood as intoxicating as direct consumption.
And yet, tonight she feels nothing.
Daniela giggles, looking towards the woman in the cell. "Do not cringe, you pathetic wretch. Watch what happens when you trespass on Dimitrescu property."
Bela steps back and Daniela steps forward, her hands gripping a cruel-looking device, fitting it onto the man's face, and begins tightening.
"You look so downcast sister, not enough flavor in your wine?" Cassandra asks, though she doesn't take her eyes off of the cart holding more instruments. They've been used so often – and rarely cleaned in between – that Bela can't tell if the red coating is rust or dried blood.
"More like not enough servings." She grinds out.
She casts her gaze over to Daniela, her giggle growing more manic.
The man screams as the mask tightens.
Her sister is lucky to be alive – or well, here. Whatever. If she could kill her sister, she would've come damned close after the shit she pulled with Erika.
Bela would be lying if she said she wasn't jealous her youngest sister got first taste of the maiden's blood. The eldest daughter had to restrain herself as she caught a whiff of it while sitting with Erika in the dining room.
It wasn't just her hunger she had to fight, or even her anger at her sister . . .
Bela has never known worry or fear or pity – not in their truest forms, anyway.
But she pities the young maid. She worries for her – about what this castle will do to that strong will and temper. And Bela finds herself in fear of losing Erika.
Afraid she would lose her little songbird.
She hadn't been able to get that voice out of her mind. Her dreams have been filled with blooming groves and rolling hills; of shimmering sunlight and babbling brooks; all twined together like a quilt by leafy vines blooming with multiple wildflowers of pink, blue, and yellow.
She can't afford to lose it – lose her. This beautifully defiant, vibrant soul who has opened a repertoire of Bela's mind she didn't know had been tucked away. Perhaps it's always been there, slumbering. Waiting.
This young woman has awakened this newfound hunger within the eldest daughter, for song and beauty and life. And Bela wants to feel it again. She wants to traverse that vision again where she felt lighter than she ever has – even when she can fly.
She wants to feel her heart soar and plummet into the sounds, the visions of a world outside these castle walls.
"Please," the man on the table begs. "Please!"
Bela pinches her eyes shut, near snarling in annoyance. Daniela still laughs while Cassandra has now moved into the occupied cell. The female prisoner, the wife, is sobbing on the floor of the dungeon cell, her fear and pain and blood leaking from her. Her sister inhales them as though they are opium.
The despair coming from the woman as her worst blood and pain and trauma rip her to shreds . . . it is intoxicating. It is strength; it is life.
But Bela's throat dries at the thought of that being Erika. She wasn't even aware of how territorial she was of the maiden until after Daniela took her away to somewhere secluded.
It bothered her more than it should have.
She had such emptiness in her teal eyes after that; such defeat that overpowered that usual fiery anger. It was unsettling. Bela couldn't abide the pain in Erika's eyes, teetering on the brink of despair. Couldn't stand the absence of the defiance that turned her eyes into a living flame.
Bela might've been able to pull her out of it, if only for a moment, while she stomped off to the servants' quarters. And hopefully it was enough to keep her afloat.
The eldest daughter tries to feel disappointment to see the maiden crumbling so quickly after less than three weeks of working at the castle, but instead, she only finds pity.
Somehow, these feelings make her feel incredibly, heavily mortal.
She'll have to keep a closer eye on her without arousing suspicion of her sisters. They each have this bad habit of taking each other's things.
Maybe if she can get Erika out of that stuffy kitchen she might stand a better chance.
Bela shakes off her sickle before turning and leaving the dungeon.
None of her sisters call after her.
And the man goes on screaming.