My mind and body are torn between fear and excitement until I can't tell what I'm trembling from.

The music burns through me.

My mother's old records and memories are nothing compared to this, hearing it performed live, dancing through it. It flows and swarms around me, filling my blood, and I could've have done so, I would melt into the melody, become the rolling drum, the soaring violins and preaching trumpets.

There isn't enough space inside me for the sound, for all it makes me feel – not enough space in my mind, my heart, my body; and all I can do to honor it, worship it, is dance.

Mother Miranda keeps up beautifully, though I hate to admit it.

She holds my eyes throughout each step, her hands feeling my supple body, and pliant it is as I arch into a cluster of notes. The priestess's hand tightens on me, fingers digging into the groove of my spine.

She releases my waist to spin me, and it is no effort to time my rotation to the flutter of notes, my eyes closing to attempt a bit of unchained freedom, to try and swim in solitude in the ocean of sound. Her gaze locks back to mine exactly as the music returns to the melody. Flame simmers in Mother Miranda's eyes, and she spins me again – not a prescribed move in the dance, but I follow through, snapping my head around to meet her gaze once more, my skirts blooming side like the many moonflowers about the ballroom.

Her lips curl with approval, her test passed.

And I smirk – smirk – at the priestess, letting my eyes glitter.

Though she reins over this village, out here on this dance floor, amongst the unifying sounds of the instruments, this is where I conquer.

Erika's mother had wanted a prince for her. Bela now thinks she'd undervalued her daughter. Only a king or an emperor will do for someone with that level of skill.

Certainly not a rustic village priestess.

Seeing the two of them, with their skirts blending and blooming and twirling, they look nothing short of ethereal.

The twin-singers added little to this number, letting the instruments lead and guide and fill and flow. They would occasionally add some harmonies and a flutter of notes, but this song is for the unspoken.

For words that cannot be expressed, for feelings that can overflow until there's nothing left to do with the body but move and twirl and laugh and scream.

Mother Miranda almost seems to be holding Erika back, keeping her tethered to this earthly plain.

The raven and the dove.

The music roars and stomps into its crashing finale, drums striking, violins whirring, and the entire room straightens, eyes upon Erika.

Upon Erika, this human woman who dances with death, who now glows as if she has devoured the moon.

And as Erika spins solo – on the toes of one perfect, slippered foot – she smiles.

Not courier's slick smile, not a coy one, but one of pure, wild joy, brought by the music and the dance and her wholehearted yield to it.

It's like seeing her being born. Like seeing her come alive.

Mother Miranda's hair glints like fire as if in echo to the unchecked, dark joy bursting from Erika.

The singing had been for Bela, but this dancing . . . this is for her.

Mother Miranda's eyes gleam with wanton desire as she drinks in Erika's smile, the glow about her. She knows what Erika might become with a little ambition. The right guidance.

An Erika borne of rage and grief could conquer battlefields. This new, growing Erika might very well send entire courts to their knees. Kingdoms.

Is that why her mother detested her rebelliousness against the high society? Why her father worked so hard to give her a different avenue of confidence?

Bela bristles as she watches Mother Miranda pull Erika in close, closer than the dance required, and whispers something in Erika's ear. She doesn't look perturbed when they pull apart for Miranda to spin her again, but its enough for Bela to walk over towards a servants' entrance and dissipate into a singular fly.

It's something she'd been working on for the better part of a year now – trying to loosen her swarm so that she might try and spy on some of the other servants. It requires a lot more concentration through, shrinking her essence into a single organism compared to the loose, rippling for of her swarm. She always ended up with a pounding headache afterwards.

But for this, it will be worth it.

Bela navigates her way towards the dance floor, aiming right for Erika, diving as if she were a bird of prey. She'll have to time this right, otherwise she might up whacked across the room, or worse, stepped on. Thankfully, the conductor of the orchestra slows the tune, as if wanting Erika to have a breather. Or at least talk to her partner.

Bela manages to land on the neckline of Erika's dress, just behind her shoulder. She wouldn't want Erika to squish her either.

Miranda's silver eyes study Erika. "Trust Alcina to keep you hidden away."

The two women spin and face each other resting their hands against one another as they step into a revolution. Something hardens in Erika's features, a fog of a memory churning in her eyes, but she blinks it away and says, "I saw you at the dinner, Your Grace."

Miranda chuckles. "And as riveting as it was to see you silently promise Heisenberg's death, I didn't see this side of you. Your time with House Dimitrescu has changed you."

Erika doesn't smile, but she meets her stare directly as she says, "For the better, I hope."

"Certainly for the more interesting. It seems you've been hiding yourself for all these years." Miranda spins her, and when she returns to her, she murmurs into Erika's ear, "Not too interested in a princess happily ever after?"

Erika pulls back just enough to meet her gaze. "I suppose everyone wants to live happily with someone they care about."

"But not you?"

"I never said that. Not that anyone ever asked."

Miranda laughs, the sound like silk over skin. "No. Not at all. No one has ever bothered to ask what you want, have they?"

Erika's silence isn't encouraging. Bela crawls up a little bit, just to peek over Erika's shoulder at the priestess. Miranda pulls Erika closer, Erika effortlessly stepping in sync with her, her hand swopping her skirt. Bela's tiny, translucent wings flutter in ire.

"So why don't I? What it is that you want, Erika?" Her hand strokes down the bare skin of Erika's back, and she stiffens at the touch.

Erika's throat bobs, a hint of color rising to her cheeks. "I don't know."

A pure, honest answer. Filled with such sadness and hopelessness that if Bela had any blood in her, it would run cold.

Mother Miranda's expression reveals patience, and a softness that frightens Bela more than comforts. Almost, triumphant. "Well, should you ever figure something out, you'll let me know, won't you?"

"Are you trying to court me?"

Miranda's smile sharpens. "Inquiring about my eligibility?"

"I'm merely saying it's hard to find a good dance partner these days."

Another bedroom soft laugh. "Indeed it is. Especially someone who can give the lycans a run for their money."

Erika's eyes widen, but her mouth stays shut. Miranda twirls her again, that spider's smile enough to send any human running.

The waltz finishes, and they seamlessly fall into the next dance, a lighter, easier one than before. It is lovely and sweeping and like being in a dream.

"You're wasted at the castle." Mother Miranda murmurs, pressing her lips close to Erika's ear. Erika twirls, skirts enveloping the two of them. "Absolutely wasted."

"I'm not sure that's a compliment."

Another chuckle. Motion lurks from the corner of Bela's eye. Erika looks, but Bela doesn't break her stare from the priestess.

"Mind if I cut in?"

Daniela's playfully cold voice cracks through the spell of the music, halting the two of them. She stands before them, amid a sea of people twirling around and around.

Mother Miranda looks down her nose at Daniela. "Can't you see we're in the middle of something?"

Bela feels a snarl reverberate through Erika, saying coolly to Daniela, "Am I to understand that you would like to dance with me?"

"Yes." Her golden eyes are burning with wildfire. The kind that always meant trouble for the person on the revieing end. Her smile innocent, yet terrifying.

Mother Miranda bares her teeth at Bela's sister. "Go sit on your mother's lap, wretch."

It takes all of Bela's concentration to keep from ripping out Miranda's throat.

Erika simply says, "No on likes a selfish partner, Your Grace." She doesn't so much as look at the priestess as she adds with a croon, "Time to share."

Mother Miranda throws her a mocking smile. "We'll play again, Erika Pavel."

She ignores Daniela as she aims for an alcove. Bela adjusts herself, rounding Erika's shoulder towards the front, avoiding crawling on her skin.

Alone with Daniela, the packed dance floor teeming around them, Erika says, "I suppose I owe you a thanks, My Lady. Though I must admit I didn't expect you to rescue me, of all people."

Daniela slips her hand into Erika's, her hand sliding around her waist, but at a respectable arm's reach.

"I was your best option," Daniela giggles. "You should see Cassandra. She might've tried to splatter Miranda across the walls."

Indeed, as Bela looks over at her sister, her face is like stone. The wine glass in her hand a finger twitch away from shattering.

"Did it really look that convincing?" Erika asks. She falls back a step, leading her, leading them, into the dance, and Daniela goes with her.

She's not as graceful as Mother Miranda. She doesn't instinctively move to each beat like Erika does. But she keeps up, willing to follow Erika into the music, into the sound and the movement.

"Were you actually trying?" Daniela giggles with lifted brows.

The corners of Erika's mouth twitches to one side. "No. I was trying not to shit myself; pretending to act like one of you helped." Erika lifts a brow, her smile feline. "The fact that you think I have the capability is flattering."

The two of them follow the new waltz, this one chipper and bright as a spring day, the two trotting around one another with a curtsey and a twirling of their dresses.

Bela keeps to Erika's shoulder, a pounding in her body signaling that her time as a singular fly is running out, and the rest of her scattered self will want to reassemble soon. But still, she watches as Daniela smiles at Erika – a genuine smile as the two mirror each other's moves, hands clasping and acting as a focal point as they step around each other.

When did this happen?

When did Daniela find the time to be with Erika? The last interaction Bela had seen was when the three of them made their pact to try and protect her from Mother Miranda. Back then, Erika had been cold and sneering with her youngest sister – for good reason. Daniela had been nothing short of a nuisance with her, Cassandra still holding the crowning title, however.

When did the two of them make amends? And when did Erika come to like, or even trust Daniela?

"You should've seen Bela too," Daniela says as they link arms and walk with other couples in a circle.

Erika stiffens, looking towards her youngest sister. Bela nearly buzzes at her sister, but stifles it as she flutters herself into flight. Now's the time to leave.

"What happened to her?" Erika asks.

"I don't know actually, but I saw her walk off. And I haven't seen her since."

"Do you know if she's coming back?"

"Nope."

Bela begins to hurry herself back towards the corners, her hearing just catching Erika sighing, and Daniela saying something that sets Erika giggling. Giggling.

A quick scan of the room shows no sign of Mother Miranda, and Bela can only hope that she's off discussing something with her mother, as she notices her absence as well.

Bela makes it to the corner without a moment to spare, near dropping to the floor before the rest of her flies swarmed and gathered, molding and linking to give her form. She inhales swiftly, brushing any excess off like dust, and adjusting her hair and makeup from a nearby platter picked clean.

Hurrying herself back with as much control as she could muster – making it look as though she had lost track of time – Bela comes back into the perimeter of the ballroom, already having lost a few couples. Including Daniela and Erika.

Gods dammit, where the hell have they gone to?

Bela remembers to control herself and peer about the space, despite her teeth grinding.

Where the hell could her sister have –

Oh, there they are, by one of the tables.

It's a strange sight – to see Daniela and Erika sipping from champagne flutes by one of the columns as if they were old friends catching up. Bela had forgotten how much taller her youngest sister is to Erika, yet the huntress carries herself as if she were an empress. Perhaps her mother's lessons had sunk in.

As if sensing her approach, Erika turns towards Bela and smiles, and the noise of the party fades into nothing. Erika hands Daniela her glass – of which her sisters downs in a single gulp – and approaches with the grace of a doe. Bela had nearly forgotten who she was, what she's supposed to be, until Erika curtseys. From this angle, it reveals a bit of her cleavage.

"Milady," she says.

Bela lifts her head. "There you are, little kitten. I was looking for you."

"I heard." Erika smirks.

Bela looks over towards Daniela, who only lifts her glass in salute.

"Are you okay?" Bela asks, keeping her smile as she loops her arm through Erika's. Gods she's so warm.

"I feel, better." Erika admits. "I'm glad to see you, I thought you'd left."

Bela is wondering if that blush on her cheeks is from more than just her makeup. Her tolerance for alcohol must be nonexistent.

"I thought about it." Bela tells, looking over towards the grandfather clock set along the wall. "Maybe in another hour."

"Well, then if I may, I'd like to speak to you in private."

Erika lifts her chin towards the doors leading out to the balcony that hovers over the castle gardens. A warmth steals over Bela's cheeks as she looks to Erika, who only offers a smile. That's when Bela notices her quivering hand, the single exhale.

She is nervous. This woman who has faced down other horrible demons other than herself, who just danced with Death incarnate, is nervous.

It softens some crucial part of her, and Bela leads Erika out onto the cold balcony.

Bela hisses upon stepping out, feeling many of her flies stiffen – drying like the many autumn leaves that have already fallen. The cold leeches the warmth from her instantly, crackling over here form until her skin feels like glass, but she bears it as Erika sighs with pleasure, no doubt warmed from all that dancing.

Erika leaves Bela standing at the center of the balcony as she walks over towards a hollowed pot where a bundle of petunias used to be. "I didn't know where else to put it," she calls over her shoulder, "nor did I know when a good time would be to give it to you. So, I figured out here would be best. So I appreciate you coming."

Bela's rubs her arms, ignoring some of the flies that chip off like ice as Erika approaches with a brown paper wrapped gift. Secured with a red bow, Erika hands it to her with a flattened mouth. Almost, embarrassed.

Bela looks at the gift, then to Erika, then to the gift with heightened brows, eyes wide. "What's this?"

"It's your present." Erika smiles, as soft as a spring flower. "Happy birthday, Bela."

"You didn't." She blurts out the words.

Erika grins at her as she holds her hands behind her back, no small amount of pride on her face.

Bela sighs, shoulders slouching. "Daniela told you?"

"She might've let it slip that this whole gathering was for you. And she seemed to be the only one excited, which was surprising to me."

"Such an insufferable sister." Bela grumbles, turning the present over in her hands. "You didn't have to do this."

"I wanted to." No hesitation. Was that why she asked to go to the market this morning?

That thought, and Erika's smile is enough to make the tightness in Bela's throat turn into burning in her eyes.

"Well, if you don't want it, I can just take it back." Erika says, noticing Bela's expression and begins reaching for the present.

"No! No, I want it."

"Well, then open it."

Bela throws her a pout. "Isn't it against the rules to boss someone around on their birthday?"

Erika curtseys low with an exaggerated accent, "Forgive me if I'm not familiar with such traditions of the castle, My Lady."

They both snort.

Bela pulls on the red bow, unraveling it and letting fall to the floor of the balcony. The cold seems to melt from her as anticipation steadies her hands. Shedding the brown paper reveals a beautiful, polished wood box inlaid with mother-of-pearl.

Bela gasps as she lips open the lid.

A pink and gold music box glitters in the silver moonlight. It is stunning, the work of a master craftsman with its embossed gold detailing and the round crystal it holds at its epicenter.

Next to the music box sits a little gold ball engraved with a stunning, dizzying pattern. A hole through its side hints it might go on a necklace chain.

"I had a feeling jewels wouldn't be high on your list of desired gifts." Erika says.

It's true. Beautiful as they are, she had little interest in them. And has plenty already. The only reason she wore the ruby is the same reason that her sisters wore theirs – a gift given to them by their mother. An offering, and an acceptance to be apart of her family.

Bela leans her waist against the stone railing, not even feeling its cold bite as she plucks the gold orb from the cushion. "What does this do?"

Erika comes up to her side and leans next to her, pulling out the music box and cradling it in her palm. "So, this little thing," she takes the orb from Bela and positions it to face the front of the music box, "goes in here, and this is how you wind it."

The little gold orb fits perfectly into the hidden tumbler, and Erika turns and turns and turns, the cranking almost sounding like the hushed crickets below them.

Once it can't be wound any further, she pulls the orb out and hands it back to Bela. Pushing into that same indent, the box clicks open to reveal the mechanism that controls the sound.

The song is haunting and beautiful. Each little note that the pins pluck from the teeth of the comb sends a shiver down Bela's spine.

It's not a sweeping, orchestral song – though she is sure it would sound even more beautiful if it was – but these notes are like droplets in a puddle, gently plopping against her skin, along her mind's inner wall until she is rippling with constant sound. She can sway and hop and spin and twirls to this little song.

"What is this?" Bela asks.

"It's a lullaby I used to sing to Lacy. I forget some of the words, but I've always loved the melody."

"I can see why." Bela sighs.

Erika got her this gift because she knew Bela would be unimpressed with repeated gifts of dresses and jewels.

This, this was given thought and consideration. It is something truly for her and only her. her sisters wouldn't know what to do with it, let alone care about its existence.

This is hers.

As the tune carries on, Erika begins to hum along, amplifying the near-ethereal tune. Her eyes grow vacant for a moment, a memory haven stolen over her features. But her smiles remains genuine, whatever had been brought up.

Gods, this must've cost her a fortune. The display box and the gift itself seemingly expensive, but to have her own personal song engraved on the drum . . .

"Erika –"

"Don't even start," Erika halts, having read her thoughts. "It's your birthday, you deserve something nice."

Bela folds her lips in as she carefully closes the lid to the box and looks to Erika, cradling the thing as if it were a robin's egg. "Thank you," she mutters to her, her throat tight, words lost.

Erika's brows seem to tent with concern, but Bela extinguishes that as she carefully places the music box back into its packaging, placing it at their feet.

She takes Erika's chin and kisses her, not knowing what else to do, what else to say.

Erika easily relaxes, angling her head to deepen the kiss. Her mouth is warm and soft, her body wondrously solid against hers, her hair silken as Bela threads her fingers through it. Still, she lets Erika guide her, forces herself to remember how to breathe as Erika eases her lips apart with her own.

When Bela feels the brush of her tongue against hers, she is so full of lightning she thinks she might die from the rush of it. She wants more. She wants all of her.

She wants to bask in this feeling – wants to rip off her dress so she can feel Erika's callused hands against her bare skin. The intensity of that desire sweeps her away.

She doesn't give a damn about the party. Or her mother, or Miranda, or her sisters.

Erika's lips leave her mouth to travel along her neck. They graze a spot beneath her ear and her breath hitches.

No, she doesn't give a damn about anything right now.

They had to get back to the party eventually, but not before Bela slipped her fingers down Erika's front, a silent promise of her own present to herself for later. Erika didn't protest.

They made it back inside in time for her mother to bring out the extensive presents brought by the visiting guests, their absence easily concluded as Bela wanting company for some fresh air.

She slipped Erika's present to a servant, ordering it be brought to her room at once.

And promising hell to the girl if anything happened to it.

Boxes and bags, all brightly wrapped and adorned, filled a section between two columns. Servants rolled out the desserts, including Bela's birthday cake – a five-tiered behemoth of a thing decorated to mimic a cliffside waterfall.

Erika seemed deterred at the gorgeous presents that Bela opened, each revealing one luxurious gift another. To many others, it would be eye-widening, some might even be jealous; but to Bela, it was only more clothes and jewels and trinkets that she'll never wear, never use, and never care to think twice about.

Her family's presents came last, by accident, but to Bela, they were the best – next to Erika's.

From Cassandra: a unique puzzlebox that resets itself with the press of a hidden button on the bottom. Bela had developed a habit of tinkering with such devices out of curiosity. From Daniela: a sky-blue scarf she hand-knitted from the softest wool. Bela rolled her eyes but gave her sister a smile of appreciation. This was Daniela's silent way of saying: Quit stealing mine, you bitch! And from her mother: a ruby-and-pearl broach shaped like an eagle's wings. Bela knew exactly what dresses and tunics it would best compliment. Her mother knew her wardrobe, her tastes, everything about her. A jeweled gift from her was different than strangers.

Once the gift-opening was concluded, the music shifts, becoming livelier, the two singers' voices rising in a wraithlike harmony.

The crowd disperses, and Bela meanders through the glittering throng, sparing kind smiles and accepting well wishes as she aims for Erika, snacking on some small pastries. Her brows lift as she pops another strawberry-drizzled something into her mouth.

Bela extends her hand. "Let's go dance."

I dance and dance.

The beautiful youth of the dignitaries had gathered near the platform that held the twin singers, and I had gravitated towards them. bottles of sparkling wine passed from hand to hand, mouth to mouth. I swigged from all of them.

Around midnight, the music had changed, going from organized, elegant dances to a frenzied, sensual sound that had me clapping my hands and stomping my feet in time. The youths seemed eager to writhe and fling themselves about. If there were music and movement that embodied wildness and recklessness and immortality of youth, they were here, on this dance floor.

I didn't see Mother Miranda for the rest of the night, but Donna Beneviento never showed up either. A part of me had been disappointed, furthered when Lord Moreau hadn't shown up either. Though his absence was a little more understanding. It pinched my chest to wonder if he'd even been invited at all.

But it wasn't my problem. Wasn't my worry.

Sweat runs along every part of my body, but I tip my head back, arms upraised, content to bask in the music. A daughter of a duke brushes her fingers along mine. The touch sending sparks shooting through me.

I've never been this free before.

Free, and . . . accepted. To be amongst a crowd of young men and women who share one common interest, one common goal of passion and love without needing to share a single word.

This . . . this is the dancing that my mother could never understand. The classes were nice, they were even fun. But they were also rigid. A cage.

Here the young and wild twirl and shout and clasp and turn, free of such worldly tethers so that they might follow the ribbons of their own song. Sacrifice their bodies to the music, and letting it fill their very essence until it personified them into something else.

Creatures of wind. Of rain. Of bone and dust.

And I am a willing sacrifice.

The music shifts again, a riot of pounding drums and the staccato notes of the twins. Many of the older partygoers had long since left, ceding the dance floor to the young and beautiful.

The clock strikes three – three! How had so many hours passed? How had Bela or Alcina let her stay out here this long? How is she expected to work in just a few hours?

It takes me all of two heartbeats to locate Bela, surveying the crowd from where she sits with her sisters, wine glasses littering their table.

I dance as I watch her, and, as if she had somehow sensed me all this time, our eyes meet from across the room. I give her a smile, then deliberately turn back towards the singers, my dancing a little more careful, a little more inviting.

It takes Bela a few minutes, but I soon feel a hand slide around my waist.

"Glad to see you're enjoying yourself." Bela whispers in my ear. I twist to see golden eyes gleaming at me. Still beautiful. Still perfect.

Seriously, how has her hair stayed up this entire time?

"I'm finally amongst my people," I purr.

Bela chuckles, a smooth, delightful sound. I am drunk, and silly, and so full of the glory of being young and alive in the castle of my village that I can hardly contain myself.

Bela grasps my wrist, running a thumb along the sensitive skin underneath. The moment nearly slowed everything around me as I focus narrows on that single touch. As I feel her thumb brush along the scar down my wrist that bound me to her mother like chain.

It would've ruined everything, but Bela pulls me into a circle of dancing girls, and the revelry takes hold of me again.