Erika threw up when they got back to the castle.
They were just at the entrance when she thrashed her way out of Alcina's arms. Bela assumed she was just having a terror – as she was limp and quiet for the entire walk back – until her mother was forced to drop her. She landed on her shoulder, Bela cringing when she heard a loud pop, and Erika scrambled like a crab to the nearest bush and vomited up the entirety of her stomach.
No doubt the experience terrified her, and all that running and fighting had wrecked her body. Bela followed behind her, keeping a respectable distance while her mother continued inside, into the warmth of the castle. Gods, Bela wanted nothing more than to cuddle by a fire, the cold rain and autumn chill felt like it would rip the skin from her bones, but she wouldn't leave Erika. Not again.
Once she was done, somehow Erika had enough sense to adjust her shoulder before Bela guided her inside, and up to her rooms.
Bela never felt true fear before, but the way Erika just stared blankly into nothing, her quietness . . . it was unnerving.
And when she heard that scream come from the forest . . .
Bela Dimitrescu has heard many screams in her life, and each time, she had been the cause of it. It never bothered her, not once. In fact, she reveled in it. Not nearly as much as her sister, but enough that she could giggle drunkenly; riding the high as she wrought power over her prey.
But hearing Erika . . . hearing the raw, undiluted panic and fear –
The idea that someone had been hunting her, on Dimitrescu property –! Mother would deal with them later. She did not tolerate such gauche savagery in her realm. Bela had other things to worry about.
She wanted to wrap an arm around Erika while they walked, the girl looking like she'll fall apart like sand from the way she folded her arms against herself. But Bela forced herself to walk ahead of Erika, looking as through she was leading the girl towards a punishment of some kind. She left the weapons in The Duke's room with an unceremonious toss.
They encountered a couple of maids while on the way towards Erika's chambers, and Bela ordered them to bring some food in a couple of hours. Upon meeting a third, Bela ordered her to run ahead and prepare a bath. Gossip as the servants might, they'll think it's all for herself.
They finally reach Erika's doors, and Bela slips inside first, doing a quick scan. A fire has been prepared, thank gods, but no sign of any other servants. With a quick sniff, she can smell the aroma of raspberry and persimmon. The bath is ready.
Opening the door wider, she guides Erika inside. Still silent and rigid as a doll, her shoulders curved inwards. Her eyes are purple beneath, her face wan, lips colorless. Gods she looks so exhausted.
Bela slowly removes Erika's jacket, and she lets her. "Erika, there's a bath ready for you. Go clean up." She meant for it to sound gentle, assuring like she's heard their mother use before. But Bela doesn't know how to properly soothe, or coddle, so instead it sounds more like a voice made for the bedroom. A deadly purr lined with razor sharp seduction.
Bela folds her lips in, but Erika doesn't say anything. She glances once at Bela, her teal eyes weary and haunted, and begins removing her shirt as she walks into the bathroom.
Wordlessly, Bela follows her, if only because she feared of a breakdown that would have the girl crumbling beyond repair – the bleakness of her expression warning Bela of an impending wave of emotion that is bound to throw the girl into a tizzy.
She removes her shirt, and then her boots, and then her pants, leaving them puddling behind her in a trail. The eldest daughter can't help her eyes as they trail along the healing scar that stretches across Erika's shoulders, courtesy of Cassandra. Her blue blood still boils at the sight.
Bela took the liberty of picking up the clothes and tossing them into the fire. They erupt in a burst of golden flame. Erika won't want to wear them again, anyway.
Bela knew she needed to be alone – at least, for a fair amount of time.
Her mother had told stories about the lycans – vicious creatures who roam the borders of the village, feeding upon the denizens of the forest. Wild Men, her mother had referred them to. But what Bela had seen . . .
They'd set up their base at an old, stone battlement built centuries ago by a king long since passed. Bela thought they were just tales – ones told by many parents to keep their children in line. Despite what she is and whom she claims as family, even she didn't believe the local villagers who claimed to have encountered something while in the woods or along the shores of Uncle Moreau's reservoir.
She almost doesn't believe it – but the blood on her mother is proof. She's almost just as surprised as Erika –
The thought makes Bela look over towards the closed bathroom door. The odd stillness surrounding it has her taking careful steps towards it.
Bela has a feeling Erika knew how to help herself – knew what's best for her. But seeing her eyes, always sparkling with courage and pride and defiance, so quickly had been quenched into something, distant.
Bela waited in the dining room for two hours, passing time with reading and nibbling at some of the food despite wanting to eat it with Erika. She might not be hungry, but she needs to eat. Especially after what Bela had witnessed her vomit up in the woods.
Then when the clock strikes noon, she wipes her hands on a napkin, patting the corners of her mouth before standing from the table. The silence wraps around her; the pattering rain and crackling fire a droning sound in ears. The fire the only sign of life and light in this room. The curtains have been drawn, the smallest rays of light poking through.
When she reaches the bathroom door, she lets the hood of her dress fall to her shoulders, and presses an ear to it.
Everything is quiet. Not even a sound of movement in water.
"Erika?" Bela calls. She tucks a section of her hair behind her ear before pressing her ear to the door again.
She attempts to open it. It's locked.
"Erika." She repeats, knocking a couple of times.
Silence.
"Erika. Erika, open up." She might've started to panic, had the delicate sound of water not breach her ears. "Erika, come on. Open up."
Nothing.
"I'm not going away." She continues to call. "You're going to see me sooner or later, naked or not. It's your choice. Besides," she quiets her tone and steps up to the door. "I ordered food to your room and I'm certainly not going to be eating it all by myself."
The silence still drags on for a heartbeat, but then she hears the click of the door as it unlocks. She didn't hear the water shift, but she waits as she hears moistened steps pad back towards the tub.
Bela opens the door and is immediately taken aback by how dark the room is. Only lit by a gathering of candles. There are clusters of three on the sink, and on the towel stand and in the corners of the tub. Single ones dotting around the perimeter.
The lovely panes of her face seem velvet-smooth and inviting; not even the vicious scar trailing down the side of her eye in a jagged tear, can ruin it.
She is sitting with knees curled into her chest, her hair floating atop the water's surface. She rests her head on her scarred knees, her skin stark against the golden light.
Erika doesn't say anything as Bela pulls up a stool and sits next to the tub.
Bela doesn't say anything either. What can she say?
The water seems clear enough that she figured Erika didn't even try to clean herself. Bela blinks with surprise, stiffening when she notices a variety of scars trailing across Erika's arms. Her legs. Her hands. From training with her father, perhaps? Gods, what did he put her through?
That one on her wrist – one embedded into her skin by her own mother – stands out the most. The slight odd bent in her fingers that can only be seen through a squint of the eyes.
Her back is the only piece of skin that's clean. Bela licks her lips, swallowing past her drying through as she imagines leaving a trail of kisses along that skin; down the curve of her spine.
She still remembers the taste of Erika's blood when she bit her – so sweet like honey, and laced with what Bela can only describe as mist-veiled pine.
"What were those things?" Erika asks, her voice hoarse.
Bela swallows hard, and softly speaks, "Lycans."
Erika turns her head, and her hair undulates to cling against her back.
"Mother had told us about them before, but I never really believed her."
"Did you –"
"No," Bela pipes abruptly. Her hands grip the lip of the tub, and she slides to her knees beside the tub, the skirt of her dress draping across her legs. Gods, she didn't even think of that connection: of Erika thinking she purposely chose not to go hunting because of what lurked in the woods. She adjusts to rest her arms along the lip of the tub, her chin resting on her wrists. "No, I would never. I just . . . I don't like the cold."
The expression on Erika's face accuses Bela of lying, but the eldest daughter can see the memory of the rescue play out in the woman's mind, and she turns her head forward once more.
"What . . . what are they?"
Bela folds in her lips. "I don't know."
Erika looks to her. Assesses her, looking for any signs of a lie. Bela lets the honesty shine through. She truly doesn't know who they lycans were; where the lycans come from, only that they are there dangerous and deadly.
"Where did they come from?"
A heartbeat of silence. "I don't know."
Erika shakes her head, disappointed.
Though her fingers ached, Bela reaches out and touches Erika's shoulder. Her skin is pulsing with heat. The young woman cringes for a second, but relaxes into the eldest daughter's touch. Bela slides her whole hand onto Erika's shoulder and into her hair. Of which Bela gathers gently and sets over Erika's shoulder.
"Are they like you?" she asks.
Bela pauses. Contemplates.
"No, and yes."
The lycans are more wild and rugged, unable to properly speak despite their abilities to form hierarchies; even ride horses and forge their own weaponry.
But they are both different. They are not human – they are something else. Though her mother had been forthcoming about who Bela and her sisters are, she never told them about anything beyond the walls of the castle; other than the villagers.
Bela knew from the moment she opened her eyes in that dark-brick room that she was different. Otherworldly.
"We are alike in that we're both different from what is normal. But obviously, I have more class." Bela attempts.
Erika looks to her, her eyes seemingly drained of their color. Bela makes herself look to her, even as her features crossed into incredulity. The silence is too charged, her face too beautiful in the light. That purple bruise on her neck blooms like a violet.
"Thank you," she whispers, "for saving my life."
A soft smile eases across Bela's lips before she can comprehend it. "Well, technically my mother saved you."
"But you came for me."
She did, and nothing in the world would've stopped her. Hearing that scream – the thought of something happening to Erika –
Bela was having tea with her family when it erupted. The volume alone had Bela thinking Erika might've destroyed her vocal cords. Daniela was no help, her snide comment barely breaching Bela's ears as she was already out the door. Her mother called after her, but Bela didn't listen. Couldn't listen – not as her heart pounded in her ears until they were filled with nothing but a narrowing silence that drove her towards the back doors of the castle.
She barely felt the sting of the autumn chill before she was flying towards the sound. Not running. Flying. Her form dissipated into the many flies she's grown accustomed to, a massive cloud of buzzing and wings as she hurtled herself towards the sound, regardless of danger.
Her mother ended up saving Erika and Bela. The moment bittersweet.
Bela's hand reaches out and caresses Erika's face, and she presses into it. When she opens her eyes, Bela sees a small, thin tear trail down her warm cheek.
She didn't think anyone would come.
Such appreciation. So raw and undiluted – so genuine. How thoroughly was her world shattered to have little faith in anyone? Did she even believe she was worth saving?
Bela thinks back to the scar on Erika's left hand.
"I don't think we'll be hunting for a while." Bela swallows back the tightness in his throat. Bites back the thought of how soft her skin feels. "Mother has to inform Mother Miranda about the incident. Until she says it's safe, we'll have to stay here."
"What am I to do in the meantime?"
Bela shrugs her shoulders. "I'm sure I'll think of something."
The ghost of a smile is enough to lift Bela's hollowed heart. She runs her fingers down the scars by Erika's eye, as if she can somehow erase the wound.
"I'm sorry." she says. And she means it.
Erika blinks, some of that heavy fog clearing. "Thank you," is all she repeats.
Bela stands to her feet, ignoring the barking pain in her knees as she walks over to the cabinet set next to the tub. She pulls out a fresh bar of soap and a clean rag. She turns towards Erika and lifts her brows. "May I?"
Erika blinks.
"You're not cleaning yourself anytime soon, and there's plenty of food to be eaten just outside that door." Bela says brightly.
Erika rolls her eyes – the familiar gesture enough to make Bela feel lighter than a feather. Only heightened when she spies a corner of Erika's mouth turn up.
Erika adjusts herself as Bela walks around towards her back. Erika offered her hand to wash herself, but to both their surprise, Bela declined. She dips the soap and rag into the water, lathering until the surface is covered in bubbles.
Erika readjusts her hair as Bela begins lathering her neck, her shoulders, her back. She's been packing on the weight fairly quick, but still Bela can feel the knobs of Erika's spine even below the water. Her ribs have finally become less prominent, the divots between each bone beginning to fill. She sits perfectly still as Bela makes her way around the tub, scrubbing one side, rinsing, moving on towards the next over the course of half an hour.
When it came to washing her hair, Erika allowed that too – only she wanted to pick the scent. Bela complied, posting herself at the head of the tub as Erika rested her arms along the lip. With heartbreaking gentleness, Bela ran her fingers through Erika's hair; along her scalp and down the cornsilk length.
It felt so intimate. Not the just because of Erika's exposure, but to understand the level of closeness Bela didn't know she could achieve . . .
Bela has had her hair washed by other servants before, and she never really cared. She could smell the fear oozing like tar from them, but never paid it much mind. To see Erika's head tip back, to see her neck elongated as she rests it against the lip . . . So open. So vulnerable. Bela had to resist the urge to lean down and press a kiss to Erika's forehead.
Gods it was so much easier when she was drunk. When they were . . . enemies? Were they even that before Erika had become her personal servant?
Beforehand, she was a ruthless daughter of Alcina Dimitrescu. Now, now she's sitting on a stool, washing some village girl's hair like she was no better than a simple maid.
But she doesn't mind. Doesn't care, really.
Because this is the first time in her seemingly long, miserable existence that she's felt something other than hatred and cruelty and anger. Something that ignited like a candle flame when she first head Erika sing.
Something that is blooming in her chest like a daisy in spring, spreading its roots and burrowing deep. Not even her darkness can suffocate it.
No, that light just kisses along its frayed edges before letting it retreat and settle – like a cat curling up before a fire.
Bela aids in rinsing Erika's hair, making sure every follicle was clean before fetching her a fresh, cotton nightgown. Leaving her to change, Bela makes a small plate. The food might be a little cold, at least the plates that weren't next to the fire, but they're still edible as Erika emerges from the bathroom. Her hair is dripping, and she still look exhausted, but there seems to be something . . . clearer about her features. Like a fog had lifted.
They dine in a comfortable quiet, the clock on the mantel chiming two by the time they're full. By now Erika would've dropped off her game to the kitchen, and she'd probably do her run in the castle gardens, or be by Bela's side for some miniscule reason – but after this morning, Bela isn't sure if she would want something to do, or just sleep off whatever aspects of the nightmare she can.
It would seem Erika is opting for the comfort of oblivion, since she stands from the table – her chair squeaking against the floor – and makes her way towards the bed without a word. Bela doesn't argue, but she does follow. Gods, she feels like a mother hen, thinking Erika might hurt herself just from walking the short distance.
Erika pulls back the sheets and nestles herself in between the linens, the servants having already switched out the bedding to prepare for the colder seasons. Bela takes the liberty of pilling the side curtains of the bed closed, helping to stop any draft seeping in through the stones.
She extinguishes the candles closest to the bed, darkening the bedroom, and returns to where Erika now lay, still staring at her. Daring to stroke her damp hair away from her brow, Bela's fingers graze over the scar. Her eyes closed.
"I was so worried about you," she whispers, stroking her hair again. "I . . ." She can't finish the sentence. So she makes to step back, to head to her room and change and maybe get some sleep herself.
As Bela is about to leave, she barley makes it three steps from the bed when Erika chirps, "Bela."
Bela turns and finds the young woman staring at her, a familiar glint remerging in those eyes.
Erika's lips part, but then clamp shut. After a heartbeat and a blink she asks with delicate quiet, "Will you stay with me?"
Her chest squeezes to the point of pain. "Okay." She takes a breath. "Okay, sure."
And for some reason, the thought of going all the way to her bedroom, of leaving Erika for even a moment, seems too risky. Like she might vanish again if Bela left to change.
Her dress wasn't, too horrible. There's some dried smears and splatters of dirt from when she barreled through the forest, but the thought of getting into that clean bed with Erika freshly showered seems, wrong. So, she digs through Erika's armoire, pulling out another simple, long-sleeved cotton gown of thundercloud grey. Bela steps behind the drawn bed curtain and quickly changes. The sound of her old dress puddling at her feet combines with the rustle of the soft dress as she slides it over herself.
Erika has moved over, giving her ample room. The sheets are warm, and smell of her. Bela tries not to breathe it in too obviously as she takes up a sitting position against the headboard. And she tries not to look too shocked when Erika lays her head on her thigh, her arm coming across her to rest on the pillow.
A child laying her head on her mother's lap. A friend looking for any sort of reassuring contact to remind her that she is a living being. A good person, no matter what she had been forced to do.
Erika's eyes close, but she leans slightly into the touch. A silent request.
So Bela continues stroking her hair, over and over, until her breathing deepens and steadies, until her body grows limp beside hers.
Minutes pass. And Bela doesn't move, doesn't speak, until she's certain that only the crackling fire can hear her.
"Are you here to save me?" Bela asks, tentatively brushing the hair from Erika's brow again. "Because the light just keeps leaving my eyes, and I don't know where it goes. But a touch from the warmth of your hand, and I feel all over again."
The tip of her finger delicately traces the arc of Erika's brow.
"Are you going to save me?" A quiet, lost whisper.