I forgot to put another bandage on my neck.

It's the first thought that hits me when I open my eyes a few hours later. Groggy and uncaring, I prop myself up on my elbows to look at my pillow. Well, at least there aren't any new blood stains, only now my body gives a collective burst of pain – that I knew had to be from Daniela dragging my up and down stairs, through the halls over carpet and wood. My back is probably bruised to shit.

My head is still reeling, and dried blood now itches under the lip of my chin. I don't bother to wipe it off, or to really care about the black eye that I am positive has blossomed during the seemingly long yet devastatingly short hours of the night.

Were it not for the absence of that bandage, I would've thought my encounter with Lady Dimitrescu was just a dream. I delicately touch the side of my neck, feeling the traces of her tongue like a phantom touch. The dips of the teeth marks feel shallower than last night, and I fist my hands, wriggle my wrists, and touch each finger to my thumb. I still seem to have normal mobility; I can flex my toes, rotate my ankles, kick my legs.

There doesn't seem to be any signs of infection. Of course, I'm not in the best position to judge with my throbbing head and aching body. But so far, my bodily functions seem to be normal.

Most of the other scullery maids are awake and getting ready for the day. I decide to use the wash basin to clean my neck and chin, then powdering my underarms before stepping into my dress. I gather myself together while the bathroom slowly clears. I've just finished lacing my boots when I notice it's decently empty.

I run my fingers through my hair as I walk into the bathroom, biting the inside of my cheek as I see several pairs of eyes following me, widening with mouth gaping. When I see myself in the splintered mirror, I'm relieved to see the bite has indeed healed a little, but it's still fairly noticeable with the reddened skin.

I quickly take care of my business and braid my hair down my back. As I feel the plait settle between my shoulders, I sigh as I gaze at myself. Last night hadn't been the best, as evident by the thin purple beneath my eyes, and I could swear my features look a bit sharper. I rub my hand across my stomach recoiling as I feel my fingers bump over my ladder of ribs.

Meals here have been small, scarce. Certainly not enough to last throughout the hours, but I didn't complain. I burn off more than I consume before breakfast even starts, and now it looks like my body is eating itself. Maybe that's why I feel so lethargic.

Sure, the past few weeks haven't been the easiest – that single week early on had been a blessing since I hadn't had many encounters with the Dimitrescu family. Near comfortable enough that I almost had a routine going, but then –

I sigh as I leave the bathroom, trying to ignore the smells, including that of myself. I haven't had a proper bath in days. Just wiping the washcloth under my arms and stuffing some mint in my bodice. I washed my hair maybe once during my first couple of weeks here.

I snarl as I think about the running water and plumbing I've seen in the upper recesses of the castle. It's not like they don't have it, they just won't share it with us. I imagine a gigantic tub made for Lady Dimitrecu, filled to the brim with sweet-smelling bubbles and oils – kind of like Luiza's but more, lavish. And here we are, buried deep within the castle and forced to use basins and cloths. Not even a shared bar of the cheapest soap money could buy.

Thinking about it won't help. I have work to do, and then I have to see Lady Dimitrescu after breakfast. I groan with dread at the thought.

I don't see Gretta or Nadine or anyone I recognize as I leave the bathroom and head up the stairs. I've already tucked away my things, hiding them amongst my corner, and my knife is still in my pocket.

When I reach the first floor, I take a deep breath of clean air – not fresh air, just clean now that I'm out of that stuffy room. I emerge into the Hall of Four and pause when I hear a conversation. I peer around the column and find the door to Duke's room left ajar.

My heart lightens a bit and I have a sudden eagerness in my step as I push open the door.

And stop dead when I see Helga.

Her back is to me, her hair pulled in its usual, clean bun, and her dress is of its usual style only its color is a burnt sienna. Brighter, compared to her other dresses, and yet suitable for her.

Duke notices me first, pausing whatever conversation he was having to look at me. Helga turns and follows, looking the same and relatively unharmed. She looks as though she was having a bit of a bicker with Duke, as she turns to me with scrunched brows and a near scowl on her face. But is disappears instantly when she beholds me.

"Oh my word, Erika. What happened –?"

She barely finishes her sentence before I launch at her, wrapping my arms around her waist and burying my head in her shoulder.

"My goodness." I hear Duke say. He probably saw the bite mark on my neck, or perhaps the exhaustion lining my every movement.

I feel Helga's hands pat along my back, causing me to hiss in pain. Oh yeah, my back is defiantly bruised.

"Erika –"

"Where were you?" I ask, pulling back, my hands gripping her wrists. "I – I hadn't seen you for a while, and I didn't know where you went, or if you were coming back, or if you'd gotten into trouble –"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Calm down, Erika." She gently grips my shoulders, her one hand cupping the side of my face. "I was sent into town on business." Her eyes do a quick scan of me, the brief widening of them indicates her shock. Her eyes linger on the bite on my neck. "What happened to you?"

It's pitiful – how much I missed her. More than I even realized; I'm trembling before her, some tether in me snapping at the sight of her. My eyes are suddenly lined with silver and my lip is quivering. My breath is starting to saw in and out of me.

Helga's blue-grey eyes swirl in the candlelight as she guides me over to a seat. "Erika, tell me what happened."

"A lot." I mutter, refusing to let go of her hand.

I hear Duke clear his throat, both Helga and I looking to him, though she looks like she's about to rip out his throat with her own teeth. Duke holds aloft of cup of steaming tea – ginger and honey from the smell. "Something to ease the nerves. I've got some ointment to spare for that wound."

Helga clicks her tongue at him, waving him off – but I stand and take the tea. "Thank you."

"Pardon me," he says, before attempting to turn in his seat. Looking for the ointment I presume.

Helga kneels before me while I clasp the cup between my hands. "Tell me everything."

And so I did.

I told her about Cassandra coming into the kitchen; about her questions and frightening interest in hunting with me. I tell her about Daniela and Cassandra in the opera hall, and Bela joining moments later. I tell her about Daniela dragging me to the library, my attempt to save the servant girl, and the events that led to her biting me. I don't hold back any details. Then Bela coming to my rescue. I tell her the horrible things I said to the eldest daughter – words that should've earned me a trip to the gallows. I tell her about last night, with the Lady herself, and how she's gotten a taste of my blood. I tell her my fears and worries and pain with a few sips of the tea in between. By the time I'm done, both her and Duke stare at me as if they've seen a ghost.

"I don't know if you're lucky, or god blessed." Duke says with a chuckle.

"I doubt either," I say as I finish his tea.

Helga's features have hardened into troubled contemplation. She keeps her breathing even, but her eyes flick left and right despite her stoic appearance. It doesn't help me.

Only made worse when I realize she'd been gone for only two days. Is it related to the daughter's sudden interest? I don't doubt I; the timing is extremely coincidental.

"What do I do?" I ask timidly.

"I'll . . . I'll speak with the Lady. See what she has in mind." She surveys me again. "Do you want to be a hunter?"

Yes. No. I don't really know. I'd be more in my element, but I would also be on my own, from the sounds of it. While in the kitchen, there are plenty of witnesses – not that it would really matter – but after the stunt Cassandra pulled, I don't know if they'll want to get within twenty feet of me. On the other hand, I'd have to stop by the kitchen anyway to drop off any of my kills.

I only answer with a slow nod.

She folds her lips in and gives a sigh. Standing up, she adjusts her skirts and looks to Duke. Just in time to see his hand reach out with a tin salve, similar to the one I already have. Helga looks ready to snarl, but takes the tin with a stiff nod.

"Thank you for your time." She turns to me. "Come along Erika. It's time to prepare the kitchen."

I hand Duke back his cup and after he takes it, he holds my hand between his. "Go easy on them, Lady Huntress." he gives me an encouraging wink.

I nod, still as lost and helpless as a newborn, but the corners of my mouth still turn upward.

"Come and see me if the deed is done. I might have some new stock."

"And our promise?"

"It has been kept. But as of right now, nothing to report."

I lay my other hand atop his. "Thank you so much." I whisper.

He gives a warm chuckle, releasing my hands and taps under his chin.

I lift mine in response, taking in a deep breath before turning away and joining Helga. Her icy glare at Duke continues until I walk past her, and she follows me out of the room.

"What am I going to do? About the kitchen?" I ask as I walk next to the housekeeper.

"Is there anything to be done?"

I shoot her a glare. "You really think Kathryn will let me back in that kitchen after what Cassandra pulled? They'll probably see me as some kind of bad omen. She'll want to cast me out like a leper if it means the daughters won't be stopping by the kitchen again. Besides, everyone's going to be staring at me, judging me, asking questions."

I resist the urge to cover the bitemark with my hand.

"Sounds like you don't enjoy being the center of attention."

"Not really. I'm used to avoiding people. Despite the dangers in the woods, at least I had some peace and quiet and solidarity."

Helga huffs a breath that I could swear sounds like a laugh. "With that silver tongue of yours, I'm surprised you went so unnoticed."

"Well, not like I was given much of a choice. After my mother spiraled out of control, all I wanted was to avoid people. The embarrassment I felt at being associated with her, and the judging glances I got from villagers whose lives she ruined –" I heave a sigh. "It was one of the reasons why I had to work here."

Helga looks to me confused; her lips pursed, and brows narrowed.

"Most of the men my mother . . . sought, they weren't the most, dedicated. I'm surprised my mother never got into a fight, or that they never crucified her. And when word spread that I was looking for work, if the wives didn't look to me with suspicion, the husbands looked to me with assumption. So, all I wanted to do was avoid people, meant less of having to deal with their burning gazes and creeping thoughts."

A heartbeat of quiet, and then, "I'm sorry you were dealt into that."

"Yeah. Me too. It's why I'm trying to make this work. Why I'm trying to just work. But for some reason the Dimitrescu daughters are interested in me, and I don't know why."

"I wish I could explain. But they are the very definition of unpredictable."

"Daniela seems especially rowdy." I grumble. Helga is quick to shush me. I poke out my tongue at her. "Bela seems . . . safe."

Another huff of a laugh. "I suppose that's a fair way of putting it. Given what you've told me, something has her looking to you. Which in turn has her sisters looking as well."

"I don't know why. With the things I've said and done, I'm surprised – but glad – to be standing here talking with you."

I look to find Helga gazing ahead. I turn and look, only to find the hallway clear. She gives a few rapid blinks before looking back to me. "I'm glad to see you alive as well."

I'm tempted to question her on what she was thinking about, but I feel like I've burdened her enough for today. And it's not even ten o'clock in the morning.

"Is this behavior, common, among the sisters?"

Helga shrugs, and a brief admiration blooms as her chin barely drops. Her back remaining ramrod straight. "The Dimitrescu daughters have taken liking to some servants before. How they treat them is, shrouded in mystery, if you may. But in the grand reality, none of it is pleasant."

"Pampered prisoners?"

"Of a sort."

I've seen and felt physical abuse before, with not love behind it. I wonder what it might feel like with love – or what they masquerade as love. Is it even emptier? It doesn't make it right regardless.

"How long do those servants last?"

Another shrug. "I cannot say. They are brought to the daughter's rooms, and aren't seen for a long while. If ever again"

Quietly, I ask, "Just a different sort of prison cell?"

An inconspicuous dip of her chin. "Blinded by the things they never had, and masked under the guise of love. It's almost even more sickening than when they just tear them open."

I can agree. To lure a young woman – or man, should one ever come to the castle – into a false sense of security; to make then think they are safe, only to slowly deteriorate overtime. Or to be betrayed in the end. It must be devastating.

I follow Helga down to the kitchen, contemplating if I should walk ahead of her. I don't want anyone to think I'm hiding behind her; no different than a child tattling on each other –

Thankfully, she opens a door for me, ushering me ahead. As we approach the kitchen, I realize I've let my head fall. I lift it just in time as I pass the threshold.

Immediately the commotion seems to quiet, slow. And all eyes turn to me.

I scan for Kathryn, but she seems to still be asleep. I'm so used to her waking up early that I worry Cassandra's visit might've frightened her.

But then, Gretta shatters the odd quiet with a squeak. "Oh. My. Goodness! Erika! You're alright!"

I barely have time to locate her before she pounces on me, wrapping her arms around my neck. I yelp with grit teeth as I try to right myself. Gretta pulls back almost startled, her eyes widening as she beholds my neck.

"Oh no! You got bit! Are you okay? Does it hurt? Should we find some ointment –?"

"That's enough, my dear." Helga interjects.

Gretta seems to pale at the housekeeper, as if she's seen a ghost. Her absence must've been obvious among the other servants.

"Now's not the time for idle chatter. You girls have breakfast to prepare for the others, and the family."

I give her an appreciative, timid smile before Gretta loops her arm through mine and guides me towards the stove where two kettles are starting to brew. I notice the tray and crockery, and start to set up. As I do, I notice Helga scanning the room.

"Is Kathryn not here yet?" she asks to everyone.

Bianca speaks up, "She hasn't come in yet. We were going to give her until nine before fetching her."

Suddenly from the hall – "Everybody shut up! I'm here!"

Kathryn's voice echoes across the stones, her body following behind. Her eyes seem to find me instantly. She gives a crooked smile and a huff of a laugh. "So, you survived. I was wondering if the daughters had picked your bones clean."

Wondering. Not worried. I don't know why I expected her to be.

Kathryn, too, startles when she beholds Helga standing in the kitchen. "Haven't seen you in a while. I thought you'd been killed."

"Not yet." Is Helga's only response.

"Well what do you want? First, I have to deal with Cassandra, and now you?" Kathryn sneers as she hobbles over to the steaming cauldron.

Helga doesn't flinch. Doesn't back down. She almost looks bored. "I just wanted to make sure everything was in order."

As Kathryn begins stirring the cauldron's contents, she coldly chuckles. "In order? In order? These past few days have been most interesting, to say the least!"

She shoves at the wooden spoon she was using to stir the cauldron. Cassandra's visit must've rattled her beyond belief.

"I've worked in this kitchen for forty years, and not once have the daughters come down here. For any reason."

I freeze next to Gretta, her peridot green eyes flicking between me and the cook.

"And then just a couple of weeks after you started working here" – she points a gnarled hand towards me – "suddenly Cassandra is appearing down here, and then Daniela is dragging you through the halls, and then Bela is hauling you by your hand to wherever the hell cares! Then you come in with a bite on your neck, and you just expect me and everyone else here to be okay with it?"

I stare blankly at her, reining in my temper. Helga abruptly says, "Yes, we do. Because it is none of your business, Kathryn. You've never once cared before, why bother now?"

"Because it didn't involve me, and my kitchen!" she seethes.

If Kathryn is a yowling kitten, Helga is a gracious lion.

"I barely know this girl, but I do know that the Dimitrescu daughters are keeping an eye on her. Who's to say they're not spying on us right now?"

She takes a couple of steps towards me, furled by her anger, and I don't hesitate to place my hand on the handle of the kettle – ready to throw it at her if she dares raise a hand at me.

"I'm not their spy, Kathryn." I say with grit teeth.

"You don't have to be. They could be following you, watching you right now and you wouldn't even know it! Hunter or not, or whatever you claim to be!"

I would argue that she's insane, but I've been startled enough by the daughters despite my trained ear. I'm no professional, but even then, they might be able to startle even the most seasoned hunters.

"I'm just here to work."

"Then fine! Work! But don't think that none of us have seen what the daughters have done to you, or think of you."

I slam the serving tray down on the counter. "You think I wanted this?!" I point to my mangled neck. "You think I begged and pleaded and cried for this?! I don't know what the Mistress and her daughters want from me, and I don't care –"

"Well you should care, girl. Because what you do effects all of us! We want to live to see our families too. We want to live to see the day that we can step outside this castle and be free of our burdens and chains. But until then, you are part of this group, and you need to act like it."

"Kathryn –" Helga attempts to interject.

"Did you know the head laundress who nearly got her head lopped off? Bela nearly drowned her in her own tubs after you visited her that morning. Heard you two had quite the argument. She had gashes along her chest and face after that. The she was dragged to the dungeons and hasn't been seen since! And recently they just killed another servant. Yesterday. She was delivering Miss Daniela her dinner when she suddenly came back weeping and screaming."

"Kathryn!"

The world goes quiet. Nothing but the beating of a war drum in my ears – my heartbeat.

"She had just come from the library, which was the last place anyone saw Daniela dragging you by your skirt! Her name was Camelia, and she was just like you. She wanted to work in peace, to save up enough money to aid her sickly grandmother. And today, someone saw her head spiked on one of the statues in the castle courtyard –!"

I stop hearing her.

I just — stop.

My body slackens, and I think I might be leaning against the counter. There's a gentle touch on my shoulder. Slowly, so slowly I turn my head to find Gretta still by my side, her eyes lined with silver and understanding . . . and forgiveness.

It makes my blood roil.

I didn't much care for the laundress, but she didn't deserve what Bela had done. I didn't even know she was there. I didn't see her; didn't hear her. But if they think she nearly drowned the woman in my defense –

And that maid I had saved in the library . . . I was so focused on the present that I didn't even think about the future. I gave her the chance to run, but in the end, I've only prolonged her death. Daniela must've hunted for her in the night – stole her out of her bed while the others had to watch, and listen, and do nothing.

She might've been tortured. I don't know for how long – the assumption is nauseating.

And her head was –

There's something else in the numbness thrumming in my ears. A spark of anger that I cannot trace.

There's shadow movement in my peripheral, and I look to see Helga has stepped in front of Kathryn, as if to shield me from her venom.

Within the numbness, I manage to say, "I didn't do it."

Helga looks over her shoulder at me, Kathryn peering around the housekeeper.

"I didn't ask them to kill her."

"You didn't have to." Kathryn spits. "You trying to protect her might've only put a target on her back! And other servants have stooped so low as to make false accusations! I barely know you, so how can I believe that you didn't just crawl to the daughters like a heated dog –!"

An ear-splitting crack echoes off the stones, so much so that everyone in the room recoils. I blink, and then Kathryn has turned to the side a hand to her cheek. Helga's own turning red.

I don't know whether to be in awe, or disbelief. But I cannot find room to care for either.

"That. Is. Enough." She says with deadly quiet. "Women die all the time here, it's only a matter of when. And you're right, women have stooped so low as to sell each other out. You of all people should know that. You're not one to judge."

Such power – it's no wonder she's head of the staff.

Kathryn is trembling – either from her still simmering anger, or because of the accusation – or truth – perhaps laid bare by Helga.

She takes a single step closer to the cook, hands fisted at her side. "At least Erika will go down fighting. You're just a coward. And you shall be nothing more."

Kathryn doesn't say anything; she and the entire kitchen stunned silent. She doesn't turn back towards the housekeeper, only cradles her cheek, taking a couple steps back. I almost step after her, my heart aching despite for the old woman despite her vitriol.

I cannot blame her for feeling that way. If it's true the daughters never came down until my presence, if it's true that I'd gotten a servant killed . . . I think back to the men I've seen my mother bring home; how many times she didn't even make it to the privacy of her bedroom; the number of times I had to get Lacy out through our window to Luiza's while my mother was fucked senseless and shamelessly –

I take a steadying breath, but I only grip the edge of the counter. "I'll look for a different position." I utter.

Helga turns to me. Kathryn doesn't.

I force myself to look at Helga. I try to get her to see past the numbing hurt in my silver-lined eyes. "I'll find somewhere else to work in the castle. I'm sure there's plenty."

"Erika –"

As if snapping back into myself, I feel the ever-so-light pressure of Gretta's hand, still on my shoulder. I look back to her and carefully remove her hand, as if it were made of glass. Some part of me would appreciate her support, some part that would squeeze her hand back in assurance, and in thanks. But right now, I feel nothing but a hollowness. Yet a weight bears on my chest until it's difficult to breathe.

I barely hear or recognize my own voice as I mumble. "If you'll excuse me."

Helga will follow, no doubt. But I don't care.

That same whispering part of me wants to reach out to Helga's shoulder, as Gretta did for mine. But again, I can't bring myself to do it. Or to care enough to do it.

There's just such silence in my head. And this room feels so cramped and buried and blocked in –

I leave without another word, only with enough sense to fold my hands in front of me and keep my chin leveled, as per Duke's advice.

I manage to make it through the dining room into the main hall before I begin trembling.

My hand grips the polished railing of the grand staircase. I make it two steps before I collapse.

My knees just give up, and I fall along the carpeted steps. I barely feel the pain in my knees; barely feel the cool wood of the rounded balusters pressing into my back.

But I can feel the tears as they slide down my cheeks. I can feel the pain and tension of my shoulders curving inwards as I near bow over my knees until my elbows come to rest on the next step.

I lean my head against another baluster, taking long, shuddering breaths as I try to quell the churning nausea in my stomach. Part of it from not eating, the other from the news Kathryn dealt to me. I know she did it to hurt me, but she's the only one who had the gust at all to say anything. Some part of me can respect that, even as my heart breaks and sinks.

Distant footsteps sound along the tiled floor, but I don't move.

If it is Alcina or her daughters, let them come.

Let them rip me to shreds for not working.

Let them take a whip to my back for my insolence. I deserve it.

After all, I brought upon the torture and death of two servants. It's the least I deserve.

I don't know what the daughters' plan is, but if it involves singling me out of the servants, it seems to be working.

The skirts of Helga's dress billow around the end post of the stairs, but I don't see her, or hear her words.

Not as I bury my face in my hands and weep.

Once the wrenching, gasping sounds come out of me, I know I cannot stop.

I bow forward, sprawling along the stairs of the main hall and let go entirely.