I wake up halfway through the night, my face aching with every beat of my heart. There's a thin pool of moisture on my pillow and I can feel a cold wisp of air tickle the trail left by my tears. I look up through the window and can see the moon halved by the horizon, veiled by passing clouds.

I dare lift myself in my bed, wincing at my neck as I peer down at my pillow.

Sure enough, there's a bit of dried blood, and a lighter, smaller stain of my tears on the pillow. I'll have to wash that later. I doubt I'll be granted another pillow; that alone will make it worth having to deal with the bitch laundress.

As I carefully look around the room, the fire has whittled down to a couple of glowing logs, the entire room quiet save for the delicate snoring of some of the other women.

I flip my pillow over and attempt to lie still on my back. I close my eyes and sigh, relieving my dry eyes. I don't know if I've been crying from the pain in my neck, or because I can feel my heart shattering with every day I stay in this castle.

Or it can be because of my failure: to be strong, to keep pushing myself for Lacy.

At the same time, I rarely take time for myself; to indulge in even the slightest want or need for me. It's always been about Lacy since our father died, and I've never once allowed myself to be selfish, even in the slightest sense.

And after what Daniela had done, after the fear had subsided . . . there was only rage.

So, I let it free – I spewed and roared and snarled at Bela because for once, in a long while, I wanted to do something for me.

And I wanted to be angry.

I wanted to rage.

I wanted to claw out Daniela's eyes and slice her throat with her own sickle. But the reality is, I can't.

I'm trapped. Stuck in this castle – of my own choice – forcing myself to be docile and weak and cowardly when all I want to do is roar with defiance.

It's like I'm trapping myself in my own skin. Having to hold my tongue and fight the creature inside my burning heart. This having to fear for my life –

Even in the woods I still had some control. Some weapon to defend myself. But here, I'm no better than the few deer I've shot and killed.

More tears sting my eyes, and I take a deep breath through my nose, despite the congestion. Bela was right. I am in such deep shit. I barely had time to process what Daniela said through my shock and fear.

Apparently, they do drink people's blood, maybe even eat their flesh. At least, for sport it seems like, as I've witnessed them eat normal human food without issue. Still, now they've gotten a taste of me, and whether or not Daniela goes to Lady Dimitrescu, my life is now walking a razor-thin edge.

I'd be lucky if she kept her distance after Bela's act. But her sister's own reaction could only motivate her more. People want what they can't have, it might as well be human nature at this point.

I should feel some kind of pain and disgust for the many people – mostly women – that have lost their lives to this family, and yet . . . I feel nothing.

Have I really given up on humanity so quickly? Am I really so cold and calculating?

Sighing heavily, I reach up and catch one my tears as it trails down the side of my temple.

Bela didn't deserve the venom I spewed at her. I owe her my life – even if I seethed at her otherwise. Even if her motivation was selfish.

But after seeing and feeling what I've allowed myself to become . . . I was so angry.

Angry at what I had let myself become; to a point where I cannot – and apparently will not – fight for myself. For who I am.

Father said I always had a silver tongue, and he helped me keep it in check without denying who I was and what I believed in; how I saw myself and what I showed the world.

And now . . . the way I didn't fight back from Daniela –

The way I just let her rove her hands all over me –

Feeble and obedient.

Feeble and obedient.

I clap my hands over my ears, whimpering at the pain that slices up my neck. My shoulders shudder, and I hitch as I catch a hiccup or a sob in my throat.

I shove it down. Swallow it.

It feels like drowning.

I know I'll have to apologize to Bela, if she even deigns to see me after the things I said.

I pause in surprise; at the, casualness in my thought. There . . . there's no fear when it comes to Bela. I know she said she's more patient than her sisters, but it feels weird to have that lack. To not be afraid. If she wanted to kill me, she had very good reason to after the things I said and gestured to her.

Yet here I am. Bloodied and miserable and still stewing with anger, but alive.

And after all those servants seeing us walk through the halls, Cassandra coming into the kitchen . . . I'd be lucky if they let me within a five-foot radius of that room. And I still haven't even seen Helga yet.

Do you want someone to help you, or not?

What will I do if I can't work in the kitchen, if there's not another position opening anywhere?

Short of letting them kill me, I'd beg for another position. Whatever is available; I feel like I've scraped the bottom of the barrel being a scullery maid.

I shake my head, hissing at the stab of pain in my neck. I ease myself out of bed, take the candle, and pad into the bathing room. I brace my hands on the counter and grimace at my splintered reflection in the speckled mirror.

Visible teeth marks make up the overall bite, some skin looking scraped from when I shoved her off of me. Some of the skin has been sealed in place by the coagulated blood, the area around it already starting to bruise. I expected it to be worse; I thought I'd find a chunk of my neck gone. Guess I got lucky and shoved her off before she could sink her teeth in further.

Still, I look like shit, feel like shit. Even more grim and gaunt than yesterday.

I pick up the tin of salve Helga had given me, hoping it'll help with the pain and infection. I cringe at the feeling of my fingers dipping into the holes but take steadying breaths as the ointment begins to cool on my skin. But tomorrow, I decide, Daniela and the servants should see what the youngest daughter had done. And I've looked worse—two years ago, when my mother had beaten me to a bloody pulp. This is nothing compared to how mangled I'd been then.

Rummaging through the box containing first aid supplies, I manage to find some gauze pads and secure it to my neck with some surgical tape. For my own sake of mind, I add a layer of wrappings to make sure it won't slide off my neck. I should worry about infection or something – who knows what, or who, the hell these daughters have been eating – but I can't bring myself to do anything. Or care, as a matter of fact.

I decide to walk off some energy to try and get some sleep. No sense in just lying in bed when I'm already so wide awake. I do need to do something to tire myself so I can get enough rest before I report to the kitchen in the morning; if they'll still even let me work there.

I make my way up the steps and into the warmer levels of the castle. I shield the flame of my candle, tightening my finger grip on the brass handle of the holder.

I've never wandered the castle at night, and never really intended to. But tonight, I just need to get out of that cramped room, get some form of fresh air. At least the Dimitrescu daughters will be asleep . . . I hope.

I made it to the empty kitchen, gobbled down half a loaf of toasted bread, an apple, and a leftover lemon tart. I even manage to make myself some ginger tea with honey to help with the splintering headache. I nibble on a chocolate cookie as I walk up the grand staircase in the main hall. I won't wander too far from my familiar pathing; I need to be able to get back to my room.

Normally I'd go to the library for a random read to tire my eyes, but now I'm steering clear of that place since it's Daniela's little hobble. Not even the eerie quiet of the castle is enough to tempt me. I'm too afraid to go to the opera hall since I have to cut through the courtyard, and I don't want to get locked out. I'm tempted to try and go to the atelier, but what good will I be in that room other than to trip over tarps and ruin expensive masterpieces?

I savor every last bit of chocolate on my fingers before wiping it on the inside of my shift. I pause for a second, afraid how unladylike it is, but I quickly remember I don't give a shit.

I turn down the hallway that leads to a dead end, and just step out and look over one of the six balconies overlooking the main hall; admiring the grandeur of the place. The fireplace is still alive, glittering off of the many crystal baubles hanging from the giant chandelier. It's honestly beautiful, if a bit eerily quiet.

I imagine Lady Dimitrescu, when hosting gatherings, standing at the top of the stairs, her daughters standing along the smaller balconies like I am now – bedecked in gowns and jewels that cost more than anything I could try and gather in my pathetic life.

I imagine what it must be like for the Dimitrescu daughters – to be bathed in luxury and promise, to look out over the room, down their noses, and dare visiting dignitaries to try and impress them. God help any man who tries to propose to them, if they survive Lady Dimitrescu's approval.

Such simple lives, if a bit shadowed – forever accessories to their mother. Never having to wake up early to try and catch the best game, never having to hold their stomachs as it growls for food that it cannot have, never having to feel fear or disappointment when their traps don't catch anything other than a tuft of hair. I could hunt and gather for days just to mimic one of their meals, and even then it would be a poor substitution.

What would my mother make of all this? I am here, after all, because of her. Not just here in this physical place, but here inside this endless exhaustion, the near constant ache in my chest. It's her fault we need money, when she seemed to have made it her personal goal to spend every last cent on useless shit. And when she wasn't reeking of stale ale and wine, she just sat by, blank and unreachable, while her children turned to skin and bones.

I shield my candle flame as I feel a thin breeze through the castle. For a moment, I just watch its light bounce off my skin, my callus. I feel its warmth and caress the unseen circle with my fingers. As the flame slowly eats away at the wax, I can't help but sadden.

Such a dull light in a darkened place, I wonder if I'm no different. And how soon will it be before I die out? I thought I'd make it for a few good years, but now . . . I don't even know if I'll survive until the end of winter.

The pain in my chest sharpens enough that breathing becomes difficult. I stand there for a moment, pushing back against it, letting it sink into the fog that smothers my soul.

"Taking an evening stroll?"

I suppress a shudder as I whirl around, nearly tipping the candle over the edge of the balcony. "My lady!"

Lady Dimitrescu stands behind me in a somewhat translucent beige nightgown. The front dips through the pane of skin between her breasts, coming to a delicate little bow. Ruffles line the cuffs of the sleeves that just pass her elbows, along the edges of her shoulders, and tapering up through her midriff. The skirt falls long, with a wide slit up her thighs, revealing lovely, laced stockings beneath. Though the sheerness of the gown isn't enough to reveal, it almost halos her figure to leave just enough to the imagination.

She holds a candelabra that looks like it's supposed to be sitting at the center of a dining table. The flames burn bright in comparison to my meager candle.

I hadn't noticed due to her hat, but she has long – and admittedly lovely – hair. Loosely braided over her shoulder, it stops at the middle of her navel. Curls from the previous day are more relaxed, framing her high cheekbones and lovely jaw.

I hardly recognize her out of her finery. Not that her nightwear isn't as expensive as her daywear – if not more – but to see her so, relaxed, casual . . . She almost looks normal.

I try to ignore the hammering question of why she's up so late – not that I have much room to argue. Instead, I hope to Mother Miranda she doesn't smell the food on my breath.

She angles her head just like when we first met, if a little bit tired; but not annoyed. Thank goodness.

I clear my throat, "I didn't mean to wander around, My Lady." I quickly bow my head and curtsey. "I'm sorry, I just can't seem to find my way back."

A pitiful lie, but the most believable.

She gives a small smile. It is truly . . . calm; not laced with the venom I expected. Dare I even say, amiable.

"What happened to your neck, my dear?" she asks.

Instantly I clap my hand over the bandage on my neck. I bite back the sting of pain and take a step back until the lip of the balcony is digging into my waist.

If she catches scent of my blood, I'm cornered. I don't even think I'll be able to leap over the balcony before she catches me.

"Um . . . well, I" – I draw out the single syllable while trying to keep my eyes stationary – "I had a bit of a fall in the kitchen. Caught the rim of the cauldron while it was over the fire."

"Oh dear." The Lady intonates.

"I – It's nothing to be concerned about, My Lady. I am still fully able and willing to work." Last thing I need is to give her a reason to throw me into the dungeons.

Lady Dimitrescu lifts a well-groomed brow. "How careless of Kathryn to have you work while injured."

Oh shit. "I – I insisted, My Lady. It was only my neck, and I wash and chop with my hands. It's not the end of the world. Besides, I've been hurt worse."

I bite the inner corner of my mouth at the truth. Hopefully, it'll help lace over the lies.

A moment of silence. Of contemplation. She blinks slowly like a cat, her lashes fluttering as she angles her head in that predatory way.

"Darling, I've been around for a very long time." She takes a step closer. "In such time, you learn to see things no one else can.

Another step closer, and her hand reaches to grip my chin, tilting my head up.

"And I can see when I'm being lied to."

I try to hold my breath, as if it would hold in my fear. "M-My Lady, I swear I would not –"

"A valiant effort, I will grant you that." I wince as I feel a sharp nail poke at my skin. "But I suggest you tell me what happened."

I take a deep breath to ease the pain, my body instinctively wanting to draw away from the pain. My shoulders curve inward, and I try to yank my head away from pure instinct, but her grip doesn't relent. The movement allows her another step closer until entire frame blocks my only escape, her hand reaching to set down the candelabra.

I shield my little flame, the heat near biting into my skin. But I'd rather that then set the Lady of the Castle on fire.

She at least seems aware of the flickering flame as she leans forward, resting her free hand on her knee as she smiles at me. Her other still grips my chin. "So, what happened to your neck?"

I gulp. "It – It was related to your daughters, My Lady."

"Oh?" she says softly.

"Cassandra came to visit me in the kitchens, then Daniela found me in the opera hall after my kitchen duties. Bela soon followed, and Daniela dragged me away when Bela and Cassandra had a . . . a spat."

She doesn't need to know what exact events led up to it, because if she finds out that I laid hands on her daughter –

Daniela took me to the library," I continue, "and another servant came in with dinner, and stumbled. Daniela got furious, and was about to strike her, until I intervened. I took the blow, and it resulted in her biting my neck."

There's a moment of pondering, her golden eyes brewing like a flame, almost illuminated within the dark surrounding shadows.

She releases my chin and stands to her full height, pinching the bridge of her nose with a heavy sigh. "Those daughters, I swear it."

I move my hand away from the candle, wiping it on my thigh as if it'll help ease the searing warmth.

Lady Dimitrescu tucks a few strands of hair out of her face with another sigh. "Now, what prompted you to be out an about, my dear?"

"Um, I – I just couldn't sleep because of the pain, and I thought I'd try to tire myself out. I thought I'd walk around than just sit in that room."

"Have you looked for infection?"

"I have." Of a sort. "It doesn't look that bad."

Another assessing look that has me lowering my gaze. She takes a step back towards me, closing me in, forcing me to press against the rail of the balcony. I stiffen as I feel her hand on my shoulder, and in half a blink, I feel the bandage on my neck suddenly fall away.

As light and as quiet as an autumn leaf, I barely have time to register how before I hear Lady Dimitrescu sigh, and I feel her tongue lick up the column of my neck.

I yelp at the sudden advance, and am left with not choice but to hold the candle and grit my teeth as I feel her like the skin again. I nearly gag when I feel her tongue drift over the teeth marks. My stomach sinks despite the growing throb in my core.

Though I might've cleaned it the best I can, she might still be able to taste whatever blood had dried beneath the bandage.

"M-My Lady –!"

Lady Dimitrescu slices her nail underneath my chin, leaving a trickle of blood in its wake. And just because, she pulls back and sucks my blood off her nail.

I watch her blink. Her only sign of surprise.

In another, it's gone, and in its place the same calm yet unnervingly terrifying smile.

I press the back of my hand to the pin-like pain just beneath, gathering the blood along my throat in the process. Lady Dimitrescu is relentless as she takes my hand and places a kiss on the back, lapping up the blood in the process. I resist the urge to yank my hand back.

She then reaches underneath the low neckline of her dress, pulling out a handkerchief. It's pale white with a lace border. I blink, aghast and so struck dumb that I can't resist we she wipes the red stain from my hand, then my throat, and then my chin. Pressing the cloth there, she guides my hand to keep the pressure.

"It's dangerous to walk these corridors alone. Monsters get out at night." She purrs.

She holds out her hand, my feeble candlelight making her skin smooth like porcelain. "Come along, I will take you back to your room."

My eyes flick to her hand, then her eyes. "A-Am I going to be all right?"

A nod. "Yes."

For a moment, I just stare – bewildered and left speechless. This family may never cease to amaze, and frighten, me. I'm either the luckiest, or the most damned person in the entire village. I know in my gut and my heart that none of the other servants would've survived if they pulled half the shit I did. How am I even still alive?

I finally raise my hand, placing it within hers. The tips of my fingers just reach the outer edge of her palm, her nails reflecting a dark red in the light.

I stiffen when I hear her chuckle. "The candle, darling. Not your hand."

Mortified, I snatch my hand back and lower my gaze. The stutter isn't an act as I mumble, "I-I'm so sorry."

I hand her my candle, still averting my gaze. Lady Dimitrescu takes it without another word, and turns to lead my back to the servants' quarters. I follow close behind, averting my gaze as her hips swing with each step, the gown doing little to hide the shape of her ass.

As we descend the grand staircase of the main hall, I say, "I apologize if my late-night stroll disturbed you, My Lady."

She doesn't look over her shoulder at me as she says, "Not at all, my dear. I sometimes roam the castle at night myself. Seems like it's the quietest time. The most peaceful."

"You cannot find a quiet room in this entire place?" I don't hide the chuckle in my tone.

A shrug of those massive shoulders. "Sometimes the castle feels too big, other times it feels too small."

"I don't know what I'd do with all this space."

I don't even know how or why I'm even bothering to have a conversation with this giant woman who's murdered so many innocents out of sport. But I guess its yet another miracle she's even bothering to talk to me; that I still have my head on my shoulders.

We reach the door leading to the staircase that will take me back to that rectangular stone room. I'm about to open it and walk through when Lady Dimitrescu speaks up, "Tomorrow, after breakfast, you will come to my office."

My heart begins to race, my body going still as death. I turn and look up at her, her shadow blanketing me. "Will I walk out alive?"

Her giggle is like a lover's caress as she notes my hesitation. "It's not a request, my dear."

I don't back down. I wait for an answer.

The corners of her mouth turn upwards. And it's one of the most terrifying things I've ever seen. "Bold, little thing. I can see why my daughters like you." She blows out the candle, setting on a console table. "You will walk out alive."

Her hand reaches up to my chin again, only this time, her fingers tickle. It might've been as kind, if her fingers weren't constantly grazing over the cut she left before. I bite back my hiss, but I can't stop my eyes from squinting at the pain.

Lady Dimitrescu seems to hum with pleasure. "Goodnight, little kitten."

She then turns and heads back down the hall. It's not long before the shadows swallow her whole.

I descend the stairs to the room, and fall into bed. I keep my knife clutched to my chest for the rest of the night.