Her mind constantly lingered on that bridge between darkness and fog. Her ears still noting the sounds of the crackling fire and the pattering of rain. It was when the clock on the fireplace mantel chimed at the hour did Bela's eyes flutter open.

And for the first time in, forever, she felt comfortable – settled.

She stretches her arms and legs long, her body quivering. Then she registers a gentle pressure on her waist. In the dim light, Erika is still half-sprawled across her lap, still passed out atop the clouds of pillows, head lolling to the side. Bela's hand still lingers in his hair.

Adjusting her eyes, Bela sighs when she finds the clock reading three-thirty. They fell asleep around two. She should leave; seek out her mother to ask about the lycans, and if Mother Miranda will do anything about it.

Carefully as to not wake her, Bela slips out from beneath Erika's arm, the bed barely groaning. The skirt of her borrowed gown spills from the edge and gathers around her ankles. Bela picks up her old dress from the floor and carefully heads for the door. Her chest pinches at the thought of leaving Erika alone, at least without a goodbye. The thought of her waking up alone is enough to make the eldest daughter turn towards the sleeping girl. But she pauses.

She's never really seen Erika sleep before. On quiet feet, she pads back towards the bed and gazes. Her chest rises with even breaths, her eyes still, her cornsilk hair spilling over the edges of her pillow. The thin straps of the gown reveal the scar trailing across her shoulders, a white vein connecting the muscles and tissue.

It's the most peaceful she's ever seen the woman. Why ruin it?

Bela sighs and heads back towards the door, slipping out as quietly as a cat. She didn't realize until she was standing in the hall that she was smiling.

But it was short lived when a shadow moves in her periphery.

Bela turns her head, and finds Daniela leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and a shit-eating grin stretching across her crimson lips. She wears a dress of deep forest green, the silken fabric clinging to her figure and puddling at her feet. Her cooper hair glistens like molten metal as it spills over one shoulder.

Before Bela can snarl, Daniela brings her finger to her lips, uttering a silencing gesture. "We wouldn't want to upset your little songbird." She hums.

A territorial anger has a growl vibrating Bela's throat as she takes three strides towards her sister. Her sickle materializes in her hand, and she brings the sharpened tip right under Dani's chin.

"What are you doing here?" Bela quietly asks with grit teeth.

Still Dani smiles. "Just curious to see how Erika is feeling after her little, happening, in the woods. She accused you, didn't she?"

Yes, and no. It was a question powered with exhaustion and curiosity. It was rooted in betrayal, yet masked with hurt. If Erika had been angry, would it have been different? Bela wants to believe it wouldn't.

She gives her answer, shows her uncertainty, when she lowers the sickle.

Daniela pushes off the wall, stepping around Bela with that infernal swagger. Bela wants nothing more than to bash her sister's teeth down her throat with the way that grin is chewing at her nerves. "Will she ever trust you now that she's becoming more attuned to the secrets of this castle? And what if she learns about our 'special family secret' you've been hiding? Will she ever accept you again?"

Bela's sudden anger hardens, welling into a stone of silence that settles in her chest. Slowly, she looks to her sister. "Thanks for the pep-talk Dani. We should have these sisterly-bondings more often."

"Believe it or not, I'm actually looking out for you, Bela." She steps closer until she's a foot from Bela. "You can fight Cassy. You can fight me. But you can't fight who. You. Are." She points an accusing finger at Bela's chest – at her heart. Bela resists the urge to grab and snap Dani's finger into pieces. "Besides, you really think Mother would allow such a lowly commoner to be with her daughter?"

Bela hadn't thought about that. Hadn't even considered –

Gods, if Mother learns –

Dani's giggle is a hideous parody of sympathy. "Come down from your little fantasies, Bela. She'll never love you. You belong with us."

Buzzing quickly fills the air, accompanied by her sister's manic giggling, as her body begins to dissipate into a swarm of flies. They churn and fold in on themselves before collectively vanishing like smoke from a bonfire.

And Bela is alone with only palpable silence.

I'm awoken by the vacant cold of the bed.

My eyes flutter open, my arm reaching out, only to be met with empty sheets and air. I look to the vacant spot, propping myself on my elbows. The sheets are still rumpled and gathered. Her scent of raspberry and persimmon still lingering. My only confirmation that I didn't dream what had happened.

The clock reads four o'clock. It's not the time that surprises me, but the fact that I am clearheaded enough to notice.

That interaction – it felt like something from a fairytale. I had never expected Bela to even be capable of acting like that.

Acting isn't the right word . . . maybe, feeling.

I almost didn't believe it when I heard that knock on the bathroom door. I thought I was hallucinating, entangled in some conjured fantasy to cope with whatever the hell I'd just encountered this morning.

But it wasn't a dream. She'd taken care of me. Washed and clothed and soothed me. I can't remember the last time anyone had done that.

I sit up in bed, the rustling sheets the loudest sound in my ears. The warm fire has softened since our meal, a tickle of flame as compared to the enveloping roar it had been before. I look past the bed curtains and out the window to find the sky still grey, the sunlight sheltered behind the rainclouds. Splattered drops sprinkle across the window, their quiet tapping almost resonating a rhythmic beat.

I inhale deeply, stretching long as I flop onto my back, staring at the detailed embroidery of the canopy.

It's been so long – since I've felt love.

Smiled.

And felt strong.

I barely remember the trek back to the castle, my body having collapsed in Lady Dimitrescu's arms from sheer exhaustion. But when I had awoken, we were just before the gates of the castle, and the adrenaline had worn off, and my body's other functions had caught up to me.

Even I didn't know just how far I had withdrawn into myself – wanting to escape from this new reality that feels like a nightmare. My voice had been so foreign to me, so hollow and devoid of life. My mind must've been in shock, yet still there was a little voice giving me simple commands. Or was that Bela, perhaps?

You must keep walking, Erika.

Remove your clothes, Erika.

Time to take a bath, Erika.

Those moments in the bathroom – in the dim and quiet with only the flickering candles to keep me company, I've felt my soul detach from my mind. My body felt so far away, yet I was still trying to process what I had seen in the woods.

Of those – those, lycans, Bela had called them. Such powerful, primal creatures that still retain a fraction of human likeness.

I can still see the arrogance of that one's face. It brought back such painful memories, resembled such a likeness to a face shadowed in the furthest recesses of my mind, that all I could do was scream. Of fear, of defiance, I don't know. Only that I'd sunk so deep into my own form of primal preservation that all I wanted to do was rip its head from its body.

I hadn't felt that exhausted since my father's passing.

And then Bela had come in – she had come to check on me. The worry that twined her voice was enough to get me to move from the warm water to unlock the door.

I had barely bathed. More so used the water to help block out what has now become my reality.

I slipped beneath the water, cocooning myself in its embrace while the rest of the world became muffled and dull. Distant. I would stay there forever if I could. In that peaceful darkness. But I have too many tethers keeping me here.

I don't even know how I managed to form words, let alone questions. But I got my answers – and a glimpse of who exactly Bela Dimitrescu really is.

I didn't even know a Dimitrescu daughter was capable of being so, tender. I nearly expected to suddenly wake up and find myself in Luiza's tub instead, it felt so surreal. But I was too weak and tired to care. I don't even think I would've fought if she ripped out my throat then.

And her hand caressing my cheek, seeing such pity and worry in her eyes . . .

Erika, look at me.

I was so worried about out.

I'm so sorry.

Maybe what I've been seeing is some form of deceit. A barrier.

She might not know who the lycans are or where they come from, but Lady Dimitrescu seems to. And that could be something that completely shatters the foundation of the entire village. That there is more going on than just this serial woman killing innocent maidens for their blood. And what of Heisenberg and the other lords? What could they, and Mother Miranda, be hiding? I'm not so sure I want to find out. If it's even my place to find out.

I groan as I roll over and bury my face into a pillow. I have to get up and do something. No sense in laying around with nothing but my thoughts. Perhaps I could stop by the kitchen, or that instrument room just off of the opera hall.

I slip from bed and hiss at a small pinch in my toe. I look down and find a blister gnawing at the side of my right foot. Another one on my toe of the left. All that running must've rubbed my skin raw, and those boots are still fairly new. Whatever. I'll deal with it later.

I walk over to the dresser and pull out one of the simple dresses Luiza had gotten me; a darkened teal with hidden pockets and longs sleeves. Running the cotton fabric through my fingers, I lift the skirt of the dress to my nose, inhaling deeply. It still carries a small piece of the old woman, and for a moment, my eyes water. My heart overflows with the ache of missing her, of missing Lacy, and Elena. I wonder what they're doing right now. If they still think about me.

Panic briefly overruns my senses at the thought of them being left exposed to those creatures. As I remember those few occasions where hunters had come back from the woods and reported a creature they hadn't seen before. Bulking and grey, piercing eyes and jagged teeth. Everyone thought they talking folly, but now . . . if those things' population has increased since then . . .

I drop the skirt of the dress and hurry over to my desk, grabbing a sheet of parchment and a glass pen. I compose myself enough to make my handwriting readable and sensible. I have to seem like I'm still of sound mind and body, else they'll just disregard everything. Once finished, I seal it in an envelope and change into the dress before leaving my room.

While sending money behind Dimitrescu's back was a poor if desperate decision on my part, I don't think sending a letter of warning to my family is so out of line. Of course, it could be something they don't want the public to know.

My steps slow – maybe if I were to talk to Lady Dimitrescu about the letter, show her the proof in my vague translations to Luiza and the others, she might allow it. I can't just sit by and let them be unaware.

My hair falls along my back, as I didn't have the strength or care to do anything with it, and a few pieces fall over my shoulders. The brief smell of the oils Bela had used wafts into my nose, and I allow a small smile on my lips as I meander down the hall.

I tuck the envelope into my hidden pocket as I descend the grand staircase into the main hall. I'm hoping Duke's room will still be open, maybe I can even browse some of his inventory a little bit for some better weapons, and maybe a better explanation on how to use that confounded Compoud bow.

As my slippers click along the tile, I'm just entering the Hall of Four when a voice blurts in my right ear.

I yelp and jump back, my hand instinctively swatting as the sound of Cassandra's voice fills the acoustic hall. I whirl around and there she is, a wide, wild grin along her crimson lips. Her hair bounces around her head in loose waves, a bluish sheen reminding me of a raven's feathers. The topaz of her necklace glitters like harnessed sunlight.

I swear to the gods under my breath, clapping a hand to my chest. How the hell does she do that?

I take a steady breath a politely curtsey. Cassandra might not be the scariest thing to me right now, but she can still slit my throat in an instant. "Lady Cassandra." I mentally curse my voice when it wavers. "You frightened me."

Cassandra giggles, a lilting tone made for the bedroom. "I knew you'd be here." She strolls around me like a lioness cornering a baby gazelle. "Looking to get some better defenses?"

My blink is my only sign of surprise, "How'd you know?"

The middle daughter gives a coy smile. "I heard about what happened to you in the woods. Frightening!"

I doubt Bela told her, but perhaps Dimitrescu did, for their safety.

"It was. I've never encountered anything like that. Like something from a dark fairytale." I pause, and I blink. "You said you've hunted every beast you can imagine, have you ever seen anything like those things?"

"I have." She says with an adder's smile.

"Have you killed them before?"

A coy shrug of her shoulders as she prowls closer. "Only to keep them off of our property. They're quite boring."

I realize my mistake a fraction too late. My hand goes to my pocket, barely able to snatch the corner of the letter before Cassandra slips it from my pocket. I'm actually impressed, but I'm not telling her that.

"My Lady, may I have my letter please." I go to take it, but she turns away from me, dancing on her feet in a mock waltz.

Cassandra opens the envelope in a manner that tells of her skills with bladed weapons; with a patient precision that leaves the opening clean and straight. She pulls the letter and begins to read, my heart palpitating.

"Offering to give a little warning, are we?" she whirls to me, the skirt of her midnight blue dress snapping to her long legs. It's then I see the faint hint of glitter along the fabric.

I won't back down. My reasons are just. "For the safety of Luiza and my sister, yes."

"Was your approach going to be the same as your little charities, to your 'family?'"

I bite the inside of my lip to keep from snarling. "No. In fact I was on my way to see Lady Dimitrescu for her permission."

She fiddles with the paper between her fingertips, still dancing around me. "By going to The Duke?"

My throat constricts a bit. "I presumed she had business with him."

Cassandra tilts her head – a predatory gaze shadowing her eyes. I can't help the shift in my feet when she licks her lips. "I'm surprised Bela left you all alone. Aren't you supposed to be at her side?"

I shrug. "She must've wanted to let me rest to collect myself. Might I ask why your lady-in-waiting isn't beside you?"

"She had to . . . retire." Cassandra murmurs, running her finger along the envelope as if it were the blade of her sickle. "Lost some of her luster."

I try to ignore the oily ichor of dread.

"I think this is the first time I've seen you with your hair down."

If she doesn't count the party a couple days ago. But she might've already been bedding that man at that point.

I fiddle with the ends on a section of hair resting over my shoulder. "It's a nuisance when it's down."

Another unnerving giggle. "Tell you what: let's play a game." She skips a couple steps back. "If you can find me, and retrieve the letter, I'll hand deliver it to mother myself."

Not good. Bela said Cassandra likes to play games.

What is it worth worrying about a letter that I can merely rewrite in the safety of my room? I lift my chin, "And if I refuse?"

Her grin suddenly turns wild to the point of unease, "Then I'll come and hunt you."

I bite the inside of my lip. Either risk my life trying to hunt this crazy witch in the huge expanse of this castle, or my head will be rolling on the floor before I can even make it back to my rooms.

Gods, where's Bela when I need her? I feel worthless. Caught.

I sigh. "Am I to hunt for you throughout the entire castle?"

"Of course not! I won't be leaving you in the dark completely. I'll give you little hints here and there."

"Am I going to be timed?"

"That takes the fun out of the hunt."

She takes another couple of steps forward, turning and aiming towards the stairs leading into the main hall. I slowly follow after her.

"Lady Cassandra, please, I don't have time for this. Bela needs me in an hour." I lie, hoping the fear of her eldest sister will be enough to relinquish her.

"Too bad." She sings, before turning and skipping up the stairs. "Make sure to count to ten!" She sings over her shoulder. "I'll be watching you!"

"My Lady!" I allow more bite into my tone, but it doesn't matter.

She's already gone, and I charge after her, no more than ten seconds after her.

But when I get to the main hall, it is completely empty. My only company is the crackling fireplace.

How in the hell –?!

A bell suddenly rings – a small one like when used to decorate around the house for the holidays. I can picture the little gold instrument, the thin wooden handle, and the fucking hand ringing it.

"This way." Cassandra sings, the sound echoing to my left, up the staircase.

Begrudgingly, I follow her voice up the steps to the second floor. Standing in front of the wine room, I listen.

The bell sounds again, farther off down the right hall. Cassandra's giggle follows shortly after.

Left with no choice, I follow. My body reacts with second instinct, and I find myself prowling down the red rug stretching down the length. I left my knife back in my room, and I don't have time to get it. I consider swiping a sword or spear from one of the many suits of armor I pass, but if Cassandra is somehow watching, stalking me, I can't even take that risk.

I stop before the door leading deeper into the castle. The mahogany wood is carved into a wailing woman, her face wrought with worry and panic as her mouth curves downward, agape. Her brows tent as she cradles three young children in her arms. I can't tell if she's calling for help, or wailing in her own self-shame. As if the children are a curse upon her.

I grasp the knob, and it turns in my hand. I push the door open, not moving a step.

Nothing but the filigree walls and red carpet. Then another jingle, and I take cautious steps down the hall. My feet are muffled along the plush runner, and I'm constantly looking around despite having walked these halls for the last three months. Then again, I've only followed my route that I've carved throughout my stay. I never really explored much when not in the company of Bela, or in the secluded trails of the game park.

Another soft ring, a lure leading me to my potential death. I step my way through another door – one carved with the crest of the Dimitrescu house – and continue following the invisible trail Cassandra is guiding me down.

Every step has me on edge, my heart a living war drum in my ears. I can only hope that I'll run into Bela while playing this game, and maybe she can escort me back to my chambers before tearing into her sister. Worst case scenario: I run into Daniela, as well.

Cassandra leads me throughout the halls of the castle in some cruel variation of a tour. Up and down stairs, winding through different sections of different floors – and that bell always sounds just outside the border of my hearing. I can never get any closer, not does it get any farther.

And all the while, I never see her. I would catch a glimpse of a shadow in my peripheral vision, but that would be it. Even as I turn corners, check behind columns and furniture, peering into open rooms, I cannot seem to find her.

My feet are starting to ache by the time she leads me into the annex of the castle. I catch a glimpse of the time thanks to a grandfather clock stationed in a corner. Almost five o'clock.

She's been toying with me for over an hour. I suppose I should be happy that she hasn't pounced on me and torn out my throat, but this constant fear is near maddening. This constant looking over my shoulder; the paranoia of walking into the belly of a beast that is the Dimitrescu family – at least, more than usual.

I pause and lean against a wall, a band of golden vines digging into my hips as I rest my head. I'm never going to catch up to her – not at this rate. And who knows if she'll even keep her promise to me. she might just run me around the castle until I collapse, unable to defend myself; or if I bump into Bela. The latter of which I'm still hoping for. Even if I've combed nearly the entire castle and still haven't seen her.

This whole thing feels fruitless. But I have to play the game, or I risk a sickle in my back.

And I suppose there are worse ways to be tortured.

The bell tolls again, but this time it's closer.

My head jerks and I push off of the wall, looking around and up the stairs to the second floor. Cassandra's sultry giggle trails through the walls like a tendril of stream off of fresh baked bread.

"You're getting closer." She drawls. A phantom of a presence.

There's shadow movement at the top of the stairs. I climb up the steps, turning a corner and find myself in another hallway, jagged in its turns with more doors near camouflaged with the gold entwining like spring vines.

I trail my fingers along the ornate leaves, but pause when I feel a vibration trail up my arm. A low rumble, like the growling of a mighty cat.

I stop, clutching my hand to my chest. The sound happens again, reverberating through my very bones. It rattles all around me, and I am immobilized by fear. As rigid as death.

It dies down rather quickly, and the hall is unnervingly silent.

A shadow moves in the corner of my eye, and it turn in time to catch it. It moves behind a door left ajar. A thin sliver of light pierces through like a translucent dart.

Another ring of the bell . . . directly beyond the door.

There's no way Cassandra had let loose some beast in the castle. Not a chance her mother would allow that, no matter how cruel of a woman she is.

But as I approach, I can hear it.

Snarling. The sound of slopping flesh, of moistened blood dribbling between snarls and grunts of hunger.

The coppery tang of blood, and that festering odor, slams into me.

My entire body seizes, every muscle going on alert, every instinct screaming to run, run, run –

But my quivering hand pushes the door open farther. Light glints off of the crest of House Dimitrescu.

Blackness greets me, the silken grey of passing thunderclouds silhouettes the windows.

My eyes adjust to the dark, revealing the spacious room.

And the tall woman standing at its center.

Spastic, white, fleshy tentacles sprout from her hunched back as she devours a large slice of still-bleeding flesh. Piles and clumps are gathered at her feet.

Pale membranous wings are bound by the threads of her dress, clinging for their lives as they try to keep them from spreading wide.

The door opens on shrieking hinges.

Lady Dimitrescu turns around with that familiar, primal roar I heard in the forest. Her wings spread to their full length, near engulfing the room, blocking out the windows.

Those long, iron nails have sprouted, blood smeared along her lips, dribbling along her chin. Down her neck. Staining her chest, the neckline of her dress.

But I just stare and stare.

Perhaps time has stopped. Perhaps I am hallucinating, or maybe I'm even dead. I can't feel my body.

"What are you doing here?" She growls, her voice layered with different octaves.

My breathing begins to saw in and out of me. "I – I'm sorry." The words are a raw, suffocated sound.

"Who gave you permission to come here?!" She takes a prowling step towards me.

I stumble back into the doorframe. "I – I didn't mean to."

Blood everywhere. Everywhere.

The blackness of her eyes has consumed that familiar gold. "You must never interrupt my dinner!"

I see her hand raise up, and I move. I leap and roll out of the way as the claws gouge at the wall, the wood, and stone. A dresser gets caught in the fire and shatters into pieces and splinters. The sound cracks against my ears, splitting them wide open until I only hear a shrill ringing. Not one of that gods damned bell, but a never ending shrill.

"Please . . . stop." I croak as I lift to my knees. My entire body is trembling like a leaf.

"Get out!" she roars, her voice laced with that guttural bass. Her breath slaps against my face. It smells of carrion.

I whirl away as her hand swipes at me again. I scramble like a cat on tile as I hear it connect with the section of door frame I was just leaning against, my body launching into the hallway. I slam into the opposite wall and rebound off it, then scramble into a sprint towards the stairwell.

"GET OUT!" She bellows the last word with such animalistic wrath that I nearly soil myself.

I move. The castle warps, shrinking and expanding as if it is breathing, the floors rising with each inhale, but I manage to move.

My breath tears apart my lungs. But I don't stop.