~Hello everyone!
I know it's been a while since I had posted last, and I would like to apologize; but I am currenlty working on a manuscript that I plan on sending out to literary agents. Being an author and seeing one of my stories on a Barnes&Noble shelf has always been a dream of mine, and I'm working on making that dream a goal.

However, when I need bouts of inspiration, or just a break from it, I will be coming back to the fanfictions to help keep the creativity flowing. With that said, updates will be far and few in between, unless I'm really immersed in a certian story. Next to that, my job takes up most of my day, and I need money.

But I want to thank everyone for the continued kudos and support and comments. I never thought this story would be so well-recieved as it did - and I'm sorry for leaving everyone so abruptly. It's the support and encouragment on all of my stories that help remind me I'm on the right path.

Thank you again everyone, please stay safe out there, and I hope everyone has an amazing day.
KeshaRocks~

Donna's basement smells of apples and cinnamon, and when I step through the door to the kitchen, I see four pies lined up along the counter. Apple, blueberry, pecan, and her latest work in progress: key lime.

I dropped my stuff off in my room from before, checking to make sure everything is still in place. And it was. I'd forgotten about the compound bow, wondering why I chose to leave it here. But I suppose it doesn't matter now; winter is settling in, and Lady Dimitrescu has more than enough food, as does Donna.

I instantly yawn as the kitchen's cozy warmth nestles around me like a sherpa blanket. I spot Angie within seconds – she sits in a corner on the counter, new and polished, but unmoving. Silent.

"She looks nice." I say as I take a stool by the table.

Donna stiffens as she rolls the dough thin. But she says, "Thank you."

I fold my lips in. Still a sore subject, I guess.

"I appreciated your vote, back at the church." I decide to say, "I don't think I'd be alive without it."

Without turning around, Donna says, "Heisenberg needed . . . something to remind him whom we all serve. Where he stands."

Silence again. The trickling sounds of the radio in her workshop barely breach the threshold of the kitchen.

Finally, I ask, "Can I ask you a personal question?"

A glance over her shoulder, "Depends on how personal it is."

"Where did those, lycans, come from?"

Without missing a beat, she instantly answers, "I don't know. They were here even before my family settled in the village. It's one of the reasons why we chose this location for the estate."

I lick my lips, suppressing a wince as it stings the cuts on my lips from Moreau's sisters. "I know there's an old fortress outside of the village, many spoke about staying away from it due to the infestation of those things." It limited my hunts tremendously, as a result. I only thought it was just some tale to keep the kids in line, and to stop them from going into the woods late at night. Until a local hunter had shot one and brought its body back as proof. "Is that where they come from?"

Donna turns to me, wiping her hands on her apron. "You're asking a lot of bold questions, Erika." She warns.

I shrug, attempting to appear nonchalant. "I'm an inquisitive person."

She doesn't oblige. "This is dangerous information."

"I've had more than my fair share of danger. And I need answers to questions that no one else can help me with, other than you."

In seconds, the realization smooths her features until it matches one of her dolls. Donna blinks. "What do you know?"

I blink. "Enough."

Donna walks over to me, further wiping her hands on her apron. She rests her hips against the edge of the table, folding her hands in front of her. "I don't know where they came from, but they've been around since before my family settled here." She repeats. "Going off of that, they do have something to do with Mother Miranda. But I don't know what."

"They were experiments, weren't they? They were once people, just like Dimitrescu's daughters."

Donna stiffens again, her one eye widening. "You do know a lot."

"More than I should." I answer gravely.

She swallows. "Then you'll forgive me if I cannot tell you, everything."

I roll my eyes and grunt with frustration. "Fine."

"These creatures were cast out of the village by Miranda in order to keep the remaining townsfolk alive. They then made their den in the ruins of that medieval fort, and were treated more akin to foxes, only occasionally raiding the village to kill livestock. Mother Miranda took to observing them, as they had developed social skills and their own hierarchy, and even learned weaponry, and to ride horses. She keeps them at bay, protecting the village."

"That doesn't make it right. Or explains why she does it."

"No, but her control over them is why I, like any other, are indebted to her; for protecting us."

"Or she's giving you a false sense of security." Donna's fingers tighten. But I challengingly add, "You don't really trust her, do you?"

"My opinion is biased; so it wouldn't be fair. She adopted me after the death of my parents. She raised me, for gods' sake. I cannot forget that."

"Even if you were part of her experiments?"

A stiff nod. "Even then."

I shake my head, raking my fingers through my hair. Lowly, I mutter, "I cannot believe so much death has been happening here. And no one even knows about it."

Donna's guilty face doesn't ease anything, but I can only hope she'll continue to spare me, as Dimitrescu has.

"And now she wants me for the same reason she wanted those . . . men. Those lycans."

Donna's face remains neutral, but it's enough of an answer.

I look to her, "Thank you, for your continued protection."

A gentle smile thins her lips. "It's nice to have some company. You've done quite a lot for me; at least, in getting me to talk." She turns downcast. "No one was really concerned with my lack of social skills."

I'm about to comment, until my stomach beats me to it. It growls loudly, furthering when the smell of the key lime pie wafts towards my nose. I fold in my lips while Donna snickers. I must've chewed through my meager lunch on the hike up here.

"Don't suppose you've made dinner in between those pies?" I ask as I give her a sidelong glance, tapping my finger on the wood surface of the table.

Donna smiles, as pretty as a spring dawn, and walks over to the oven. Opening it reveals a deep porcelain pan filled with stuffing on the upper rack. On the lower rack is a turkey small enough for two people. My mouth instantly waters – stuffing is one of my favorite dishes.

"I've been practicing with some recipes other than pastries." Donna says as she turns to me, face beaming with pride. And for a moment, I catch a glimpse of who she might've been before the experiment. Before that bulge of veined skin stole away her confidence.

She might've been the prettiest woman in the village.

"I am more than ready to try them." I stand up and begin gathering a couple of plates and utensils. "Will you be needing anything from me?"

Donna shrugs, "Just your company."

I arc a brow at her.

She shrugs again, but cannot suppress her impish smile. "Truly. I'd like your company - in fact, I'd like to have you be my guest at Seleenwoche."

My eyes widen, and I can only blink as my mouth gapes. "What?"

"I've only ever celebrated it alone; and now that I have some company, it would be nice to celebrate together."

"D-Do you mean to go, together? Like we're together-together?"

Donna snorts and snickers, causing warmth to bloom into my cheeks. "Hardly. I've never even had friends to go with me, let alone a date. I just wanted you to come with me for the experience. Besides, you and Bela are together enough that I know better."

My face grows warmer, and I know I'm red. "Well, we're on the road to being together, which is a start."

Donna grins as we exit the kitchen - Donna carrying the tray of stuffing while I bring up the plates and utensils. She looks over her shoulder at me, "Are you indicating you're still potentially available?"

"I'm merely stating where we are in our, perplexing, relationship. I thought that was the whole point of this 'girl talk."

She gives me a cheeky shrug as the door opens to the elevator. "Never had any friends to know."

"Same." I giggle with a pitiful smile. "Maybe we can read up on it, together."

"Together-together?"

"No."

We enter the elevator and I select the button with my available hand. Over the hum of the elevator, I ask Donna, "Is this something that the Lords normally attend?"

Her chin gently dips and she softly says, "I try to go whenever I can. I've only ever seen Alcina on a few occasions."

I think back to the painting of the three daughters when I first walked through the castle's iron gates so many months ago.

The elevator dings, and we walk our way back towards the living room. Donna places the stuffing at the center of the table while I begin to set up the dishes.

She wipes her hands on her apron. "Let's get the rest."

Wordlessly, I follow her.

"This is one of those times I wish I had servants. Then again, I'm not used to company." she smiles. I mirror the expression.

Though it will feel strange to go to the festival with Donna, there might not be anyone better to share the experience with.

Apart from Bela being confined to the castle with the cold, I don't really know if she's experienced the loss that I have. That Donna and I have. I remember vague facts about the dollmaker - primarily that Mother Miranda had adopted her after her parents had taken their own lives. It was never explained why.

I know what it's like just to lose one parent - Donna lost both. And though my mother may be a lost cause, she's still here, with me.

It doesn't comfort me as much as I'd like it to.

It just means more time she has to slander my name and hers. More time she has to try and make Lacy's life hell, if she tries to fight the restraining order I put in place. I clench my hands as I follow Donna back through the kitchen, and we continue to carry dinner up the elevator.

I can't imagine what my mother might be doing nowadays outside her promiscuity. I wonder how many times she might've harassed Luisa and her family to try and get Lacy back. How she might've tried to bribe the town officials to void the restraining order and adoption papers I'd set up for Lacy.

I'd almost prefer if she were dead - then she can stop slandering our name around the village.

And I've never hated myself more for thinking such a thing. Or for comparing my experience to Donna's.

Honestly, I can't even imagine what would've happened to us if my mother had succumbed to her grief.

We carry the rest of the food to the dining room, Donna briefly pausing between trips to put the key lime pie into the oven. She brings the timer upstairs with us on the final trip, and we step into the living room now filled with the taunting tendrils of her cooking.

She posts Angie at the head of the table, leaving us to sit next to each other. It's oddly more intimate than if we were just sitting across from each other.

As she lays her napkin on her lap, she says, "You never answered my question."

I'd been lost in thought. "I apologize. I was distracted." I meander over towards my seat as I say, "I'd love to go to the festival with you."

"Bela won't mind?"

A pinch of guilt tightens my chest. "Oh, maybe I should ask." I fiddle with my nail. "May I use your phone?"

"Of course, but don't expect me to wait for you." She grins as she plucks up a fork, her eyes already aiming for a golden-fried chicken breast.

I pout, "And I thought we were becoming friends."

Donna suppresses a laugh as she sips from her water. "It's back down in the basement. I have the other lords' numbers marked in a little book."

I heave an exaggerated sigh. "Thank you."

Heading out into the basement, I work through what I'm going to say while mentally preparing Bela's answer and reaction. Taking Donna to the festival shortly after we've decided to attempt at a future together might not be the best idea. At the same time, I don't want to miss paying tribute to my father. I would've asked for the day off anyway, and she probably would've wanted me to go with someone for my own protection - even when I don't really need it.

I find the phone on a little table next to a lamp, and the little booklet tucked behind it. I find Lady Dimitrescu's number and work past my nerves of her answering before rotating the dial. Looking at a clock on the wall, I might've caught them in the middle of their own dinner.

The phone rings once. Twice. Thrice.

I'm about to give up on the fourth when it's interrupted.

"Castle Dimitrescu." Helga's voice says through the phone.

"Oh, thank the Black God." I mutter before I can stop myself.

"Erika?"

"Hellooo," I awkwardly sing as means to ease my nerves.

"What's going on dear, are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine." I say as I run my fingers through my hair. "Is Bela available?"

I can hear her ponder through the phone. "You've only just left a few hours ago, what do you need to speak to Lady Bela for?"

I hesitate for a moment, but I don't really see a problem in her knowing. Especially if it ends up being something the lords have to discuss. "Donna has asked me to attend Seleenwoche with her. And I want to ask Bela for permission."

A pause. "I see. One moment please."

I can't tell if she's more shocked by Donna's invitation, or at my complete lack of honorifics. It never really occurred to me how I might've sounded to everyone else when speaking so casually about the lords, or Dimitrescu's daughters.

There's quiet muttering in the background, the sound of heels quickly approaching the phone -

"Erika?" Bela greets, hinted with worry.

"Hi Bela," I sigh, my shoulders deflating at the sound of her voice. Gods, how did I come to miss her so much already? "How are you?"

"I-I'm fine, are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm okay. I actually wanted to ask you something."

"What?" she drawls with hesitation.

I take a deep breath, "Donna had asked me to take her to Seleenwoche, and I would like to; but I wanted to ask for your permission."

I can hear her blink through the phone, sense her body stiffen. Maybe even a hand on her hip. "What are her intentions?"

"To pay tribute to her parents . . . as I would like to pay tribute to my father."

Discouraging silence.

And then, a heavy sigh. "Yes, of course you can go."

"She's made it very clear she has no interest in me." I instantly add. "And, I don't want to miss visiting my father."

"I know. But even though she's done nothing to prove me otherwise, you tend to have a habit of . . . attracting people."

"Unintentionally." I grin.

"Be that as it may. You're both so touch-starved I'm worried something may develop."

"Rude."

"Tell me I'm wrong."

"I said rude, not wrong."

Bela giggles. "You can be too charming for your own good."

"I can be just as irritating."

"No," she snickers, "that might make things worse."

I wait a heartbeat after our chuckle to ask, "I take it that means you're not going."

A slow sigh, "I can't, Erika. It's too risky."

"No, I understand. I just didn't know if it was something you regularly attended with Lady Dimitrescu."

In a flash, my blood suddenly becomes lead, weighing me down as I feel the phantom sting on my wrist.

I still haven't told her. And I certainly cannot tell her now, but internally I'm writhing to say something.

"Not really," she answers, startling me. "We only went once to pay tribute to her once-real daughters, but other than that, the cold was just too crippling."

I nod, even if she can't see me. "Thank you," I say, but my voice tightens.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I am just, relieved that I'm able to go visit my dad."

"Will you visit your mom?"

A moment of contemplation. "No."

"Lacy?"

"I don't know. I wasn't planning on it."

Nonchalantly, Bela adds, "Well, you might just see them at the festival anyway."

"Am I allowed to engage?"

She snorts. "Engage?"

My hand slaps my thigh in irk, "You know what I mean. Am I allowed to speak to her?"

"I don't see why not."

"Well, it just feels like I'm breaking some kind of rule talking with my family."

"You've been sending her letters."

"Secretly," I hiss, in case she's within hearing distance of her mother. "And I actually haven't sent her one in a few weeks. I hope she's not worried."

I hear the tapping of her nail on the other side of the phone. "Why do I get the feeling you don't want to see her?"

I don't bother trying to lie. "Because I'm worried she'll see the change in me."

"There's no hiding what's been physically done." She grits, no doubt picturing the scar that traces next to my eye. I allow my fingers to trace over it. A chill trickling down my spine at just how close Cassandra was to gouging out my eye. "But how could she see? She's so young."

I blink away the unprovoked tears, hoping my nose doesn't go red immediately. "You don't know my sister. She's seen a lot more at her age than most five year olds should. She's always had such . . . perception to her. And I'm worried she'll see how broken I feel."

Bela viciously swears.

"Broken?" Bela's voice hitches as she repeats the word.

I blink away more tears. "I've been through a lot, Bela."

"But that's not what you're worried about."

I nod, whimpering, "No."

I'm worried she'll see the scars beneath my skin, see the emptiness in my eyes and be afraid of me. She'll see the hollowness of my heart and will want nothing to do with someone so empty and broken.

Not that I'd blame her. She's always been so full of life, more than the average child, I believe. Where she's a meadow in spring's morning, I'm a thunderstorm bent on unleashing hell.

"You've done so much for her, Erika. She'd never turn you away. You've gone through hell for her - are still going through hell, if I'm being honest. If she has as much maturity as you claim, then she must understand."

"I don't know." I mumble, running my fingers through my hair. I blink and I see the tips tainted with blood. I blink again and it's gone, but I'm left with a quivering hand and little air.

I take a deep breath, dropping the phone to my thigh. I can hear Bela talking, but the words aren't reaching my ears. I'm trying to decipher, but it's like curtains are blocking the words from coming in, shadows beyond writhing to envelop my mind.

I lift it back and say, "Yeah," hoping it'll connect with whatever encouragement she was trying to give.

There's a distant female voice in the background, and Bela says, "Hey, I need to go. I need to finish dinner with the family."

"Okay, sorry I took up your time."

"Don't be sorry." Bela chirps. "Helga said it was an important call, and it was."

I become bashful, fiddling with the phone cord. "Thanks. Enjoy your meal."

"You too. And Erika . . ."

"Yeah?"

The silence is palpable, but not tense; more . . . gripping. But she says, "Be safe at the festival."

My heart drops a little. "Thanks. Enjoy your evening."

"You too."

"Thank you. Bye."

Hanging up the phone, I lean against the wall and just wait for my body to do . . . something. I don't know what, but I'm anticipating it.

After a few minutes pass and my body stays stable, I take the elevator back up before Donna decides to come down. Or before she decides to finish the stuffing without me.

Even with the weight of the past few days pressing on my shoulders, and the elation of being able to start a future with Bela . . . my heart still feels, broken. Conflicted.

Bela said she could change, or at the very least adjust - but do I really want her around Lacy? Because if I actually leave this village, there's no way I'm leaving Lacy behind. I won't abandon her.

I have no doubt that Bela is right - I'd like to believe that Lacy won't ever be afraid of me.

But that doubt roots in my mind like a parasite - a wiggling worm burrowing into my temple. I shake my head, as if I could shake it out. It'd be hard for Lacy to adjust - but seeing her with Bela in that meadow, seeing her paint and smile and worry free about me, our mom, about our life. . .

Meandering through the hall back to the living room, I try to keep my face optimistic. I try to hold on to the excitement of going back to the village, to celebrate and see my father's grave. I hope it's not too overgrown.

I'll be able to visit with Lacy, trim back any plants, clean off the grave and leave some fall flowers for him. Perhaps confide to him the things that I can only whisper to the shadows of my room.

Donna has already made me a plate when I stop through the door. I spare her my brightest smile as I sit down next to her, sharing the good news.

Her answering smile brings a little bit of warmth back into my chest.