Bela Dimitrescu had intended to scare Erika out of her wits. But when her shapeless form slipped through the door, she paused as the young woman emerged from her bathing room in a waltz.
And she was singing again.
Her arms are held aloft to an invisible partner, the skirts of her nightgown flaring while her incredibly steady voice carries across the spacious suite. She almost looks unrecognizable: her cornsilk hair having dried in relaxed waves, her skin scrubbed clean – though her face still shows signs of starvation, but her smile is genuine, and wide.
She circles around her room, not missing a single beat, not one toe out of place as she continues to dance and sing.
Bela settles before the fireplace as Erika twirls with a sudden lift of notes. This song is different than the lullaby she'd sung that morning in the laundry room. This one is more chipper; a lilting quick step that transitions into a sweet melody before circling back.
It's a unique song she hasn't heard before – perhaps something kept within the family. She wonders if Erika had danced with her little sister to these songs before. Or perhaps her father before his passing. The skirts of the woman's nightgown flourish as she twirls, her voice not once faltering.
As she sings, Bela cannot stop her own smile. It had only been two days since she heard that voice, and even that's two days too many. So much had happened, it felt like an eternity. And to hear her voice so strong and full of life . . . she almost wants to quiet the woman so she won't draw attention, but she can't bring herself to quiet that radiating singing.
Bela can see tears running down Erika's face – oh, this is defiantly a family song. A personal song. Though she never felt many emotions before recently, she feels as she's . . . intruding. Even though this is her mother's castle, her home.
Erika glides around the room in a series of spins before her feet carry her back around. She rose up onto her toes, her stance still strong despite the dizzying circles, and her smile never falters. She hasn't had formal lessons, clearly, but her form could pass at a gathering.
Gods, she could command the attention at a ball if she really tried. And if she were to pull that façade she did in the laundry room – that face of cool demeanor and boredom – oh, Bela can feel her core warming. Erika is able to look down her nose at people that are ten feet taller than her, and it's incredible.
Perhaps she could sing along to one of Mother's piano pieces. The opera hall would sound extraordinary –
A realization suddenly hits Bela as she opens her eyes. And she finds herself swaying to Erika's song. She has no body right now, but she can feel her spirit rocking from side to side. A growing urge to dance and sway and sing. And she hates to dance, even if her mother formally taught her.
The eldest daughter follows the young woman as she continues her circles around the room – never bumping a single bit of furniture. Her neck has healed very well – that salve Helga had given her must've come from Duke's emporium. Only something as foreign as that could heal that wound so fast. The man's inventory is more like a continuing collection all over the world.
From what she can see untouched by the nightgown, her back is healing well enough. The bruises remain, still in their purplish stage as well as her blackened eye. She had been so tremendous during her test that Bela completely forgot about it even when staring directly at her.
Erika had exceedingly undersold her abilities. It made Bela all the more curious about the young woman. Even Cassandra wasn't that good. But then again, her sister was more in it for sport than survival. She was always so sloppy with the kills she often came home looking like she bathed in the blood.
Bela didn't really know what she would do with the young hunter. Her day wasn't exactly filled with lessons, lords, or lunches, or even a to-do list. It was one of the reasons why she was always so bored and looking for something to do.
Perhaps she could escort Erika on her first few hunts. It would only make sense. The weather is still warm enough that she can leave the castle without much issue. By the time the colder seasons come around, Erika should be on her own – if she proves to be trustworthy enough. She'd have to inform her mother before morning.
Erika doesn't show signs of stopping anytime soon, so enraptured in a realm of her own creation. Bela imagines that the whole world is asleep, enchanted by the young maiden dancing before the fireplace. Time came and went, mountains rising and falling, vines creeping over the slumbering city, concealing it with layers of thorns and leaves. And Erika is the only one awake.
Bela can only watch her for another minute before she decides to leave the young maid to her fantasy. As quiet as a wind, she slips through the doors once again and out into the seemingly colder hallway, despite it being the middle of summer. Autumn will be approaching soon. She'll have to help Erika prove herself before the eldest daughter is unable to escort her o hunts.
As she traverses the hall with no purpose, she finds herself exaggerating her steps. Bela looks down and giggles to herself as she hops from one side to the other of the hallway rug running down its length. Every third step she would twirl, the skirt of her dress opening as wide as a bell.
She can't recall the last time she had this kind of, fun. But it would seem Erika's infectious music has swathed her brain in sound and light.
And Bela Dimitrescu skips her way down the hall, the tune humming through her dry throat.