The afternoon had seen Delia assisting Luana and Sorina with the clean-up, following the completion of the Dimitrescu's lunch hour.

Neither of the bloodthirsty noblewomen would stick around for long after their meals were finished, which left the maids with a brief amount of time to themselves. Moments like these were to be taken for what they were worth—rare instances where these ladies could remind themselves that they were more than food.

Standing beside one another, Delia smiled as she glanced at Luana's ponytail. "You have the loveliest hair, Luana," she whispered. "It's so well kept."

The maid reached over her shoulder as she held her complimented locks. "Thank you," she replied, her cheeks flushing slightly as she returned to her work. "I don't do much for it. In truth, it's always been this way."

Delia continued to stack the trays on top of one another. "Well, I am quite jealous," she remarked. "I wish my hair was manageable like yours."

Sorina, in a rare display of excitement, tapped her close friend on the shoulder. "I'd love to style your hair sometime, Luana."

Delia chuckled softly, brushing a lock of her own short, auburn hair behind her ear. She watched as Luana's grin lifted her cheeks further, both her hands caressing her ponytail, one after the other. It was nice to have a short break from the times of despair that the Dimitrescu family subjected them to. Her heart ached to imagine that this was their final stop.

There was so much potential left in these young lives of theirs. So much to learn and accomplish, but so many other young ladies have never made it out of these stone walls. A pit in her stomach announced its presence. It had been there for quite some time, but she never got used to it.

She had a grave feeling that all three of them were going to die in this place.

With all the empty plates collected, Delia nodded at the other two ladies. "I'll join you for lunch later, if I can," she said as she began to move away from the table. "Please stay safe."

Luana released the hold that she had on her ponytail, following Delia with her eyes as the woman departed. "You as well, Delia."

But just as the maid stepped away, the doorway that led to the Main Hall opened. Delia froze, expecting it to be one of the daughters, but instead it was the newest addition to the staff—Kyia.

The brunette entered the dining room, carrying a large, cloth bag of what must have been garbage over her shoulder as she headed for the kitchen area. Her green eyes only glanced at the trio briefly, barely acknowledging their presence as she continued about her assigned duties. When they turned, her eyes remained straight ahead as she opened the next set of doors to pass through.

Delia watched her go, but she could not shake the odd feeling that came over her as she did.

After Kyia left, Delia turned to Luana and Sorina, curious as ever. "Have any of you spoken to her?" she asked quietly. "She looks so angry all the time."

Luana shook her head. "No," she replied, glancing at the doors that Kyia had just exited from. "She does what she's told, but she doesn't speak much, or so I've heard. It's her first day."

Still holding the plates against her stomach, Delia gestured toward the doorway with a swift tilt of her head. "Well, Madelina has assigned her to help set up for tonight's dinner," she informed them. "I'll try to talk to her then."

Luana and Sorina both exchanged a worried glance, as they were concerned about the new girl's demeanor potentially putting her at risk. While it hardly ever happened, there were stories of a select few maids in the past that had finally reached their breaking point. The outcome was never pleasant.

Luana was unfortunate enough to witness it once during the many months she spent here. Izabelle, another blonde maiden, could not stand anymore of Cassandra's disparaging comments. She was only two days into her employment, and maybe she forgot where she was for those tragic few seconds.

She lashed back at the sadistic one, accusing her of not knowing anything. No maid was able to sleep soundly that night.

Cassandra had made sure that they all could hear Izabelle's blood-chilling screams.

Later that evening…

Delia sat quietly in the Opera Hall, her gaze centered on Daniela as the noblewoman danced across the empty stage. It was a scene that had become all too familiar to the maid, who often found herself dutifully playing audience to the redhead's performances.

There was never a say to have in the matter. The best thing to do was just sit in that chair and clap when the moment came. The structure of the stage did captivate her interests, making her wonder what such a thing would have been like with a full-fledged performance at hand.

But from what she had been told, the Opera Hall had not been used in quite a long time. Decades, possibly. The Dimitrescu family used to hold small parties for very few selected guests. Once the party was over, the guest would stick around for the night.

After a while, there just weren't any more guests to invite.

As Daniela twirled around, skipping wildly in random directions, she envisioned herself before an astounded crowd. The room had gone dark, save for the spotlights cast down on the sole performer of the night. Everyone's eyes were fixed in her direction, unwilling to blink, lest they missed a fraction of the show.

Lost in her own imaginary world, Daniela could not stop. She just kept dancing, hearing the music in her ears that no one else could.

Delia couldn't help but feel some pity for the troubled noblewoman. Despite her outbursts and horrific nature, there was something about her mentality that separated the youngest daughter from the rest. One could say she was a broken jar, unaware of the missing pieces. It did not excuse how that jar filled itself with blood, but it added to the genuine concern that the servant sometimes felt for her.

Delia's tongue brushed along the back of her bottom lip, contacting the still-healing cut that Daniela had caused. It was a reminder that pity came at a price. She could not disillusion herself and think that the redhead was not the violent creature that she was.

There was a reason that many of the maids were terrified of her. The fact that she herself had survived this far as Daniela's personal maid was a feat in its own. But Delia could count the number of times she had been beaten and harmed, and that number was high. She was just lucky to not have had her throat cut—at least not yet.

She was not Daniela's first personal maid.

Delia twiddled her thumbs as she silently prayed for strength, knowing that she would need to not give up on herself. This castle had literally chewed up and swallowed generations of women, and she was the next in line. Her only hope would be that she could withstand the test of time and maybe see a day where she could be free of this madness.

But that time was so far away, if it ever would exist at all. For now, she simply sat and watched as Daniela's dancing continued.

As the noblewoman spun around again and continued her dance, the Opera Hall transformed into a grand ballroom filled with women swirling around her. Their choreography was past perfection. Every movement was perfectly in sync with the other. It looked like they had been born from a collection of mirrors—one being in the form of many.

The chorus of classic instrumental music was rich in her ears now. The crescendo of the squad of violinists had reached its peak, which began the vast harmony of the soothing metal dings of the triangles, right before the piano solo that began at the foot of the stage, just feet away from her. The brass in the background heightened the intensity of the act, with each call of the trumpets elevating her to the image of a goddess.

This is it. This is my chance to show them all!

Daniela waited for the music to reach its intended lull. It was her cue to open her vocal cords and ignite the flames. She could barely see the faces of the attendees, but the whites of their eyes were brighter than the sun.

With a slow tone, Daniela began to sing.

"Alone, will I stay?" The violinists sawed at their chords. "Am I one, who's not the prey?"

Daniela closed her eyes, her feet molded together, and her arms spread out wide like an angel.

"In dreams, I do not sway." Her arms steadily rose and sank, imitating a bird's wings in a graceful, vertical flight. "It is clear." Those amber eyes awakened. "Night and day."

The pianist intensified his rhythm. The violinists unleashed a barrage of riffs. One, then another. Three, four, and five. Daniela clapped her hands above her head when the music paused, and once she did, it returned in force.

"But where will I call home?" A violin riff. "To whom will I belong?" A second riff. She threw her arms outward at her hips. "When I call out your name, the world calls back to me, all the same. When I think I'm the one to blame, I just play this old game."

Her dance resumed, and her singing followed her. "A wild tiger shall be tamed, but will the man be maimed? A crystal heart, hard as stone. A love stripped down to the bone. Will you hold my hand when I die, or look down at me when I'm alone?"

As she sang, various flower petals cascaded from the folds of her now-crimson gown, floating in the air around her like the flies she knew. Daniela's eyes met those of Delia, who watched from the front row with joy, clapping and cheering her on.

But then Daniela's gaze shifted to the figure standing behind Delia, a handsome man whose striking features hooked her attention and reeled her in like a fish. He stood still, the only movement being the growing smile on his face.

With a seductive grin of her own, Daniela extended her hand to the man, her eyes blooming with want as she motioned for him to take it. His broad shoulders and chiseled jawline only added to what she desired the most. He was like a knight at the foot of the princess's castle—but one who had already entered.

"Dance with me," she spoke with a ravish tone, swimming in the pit of the encounter that she had longed for all these years. The man took her by the hand and jumped onto the stage with her. The people around them vocalized their excitement, whooping and hollering as the calps intensified.

With their bodies intertwined and their fingers interlocked, Daniela and the man danced as if they were one. Their movements personified the rhythm of the music that enveloped the scene. She was lost in those blue eyes of his, unable to turn away. Passion hijacked her heart, propelling it into a series of fast beats, diminishing her control of her breath.

So, this is what it is like, isn't it? I am being held. Oh, what a lovely feeling it is.

She had no clue who he was exactly. A man with no name but whose face she had seen behind her eyelids every night. It was strange to feel so oddly connected with a stranger. Could love be defined by such spontaneousness?

That is what the fairy tales often depicted. Sure, they were fictional, but stories had to be based off something, right?

Even the imagination had to come from somewhere.

Daniela leaned in closer to her partner, her lips parting as she readied herself to kiss him. She shut her eyes, still envisioning what lied just beyond the skin that shielded her orbs. But when her head moved forward and mouth opened, the lights in the room suddenly came on, and her perfect world was gone.

Blinking in confusion, Daniela found the Opera Hall to be completely empty, with the exception of Delia, who was held within her arms, panting and out of breath.

Wait, where did that man go? Why is Delia in his place? He must be somewhere!

Still reeling from the experience, Daniela focused her stare on the tired servant, whose drained eyes only morphed to that of fright when they beheld the fury brewing in the amber flames. With a snarl, Daniela's face contorted into rage as she seized Delia by the collar, shaking her roughly.

"Look what you've done!" Daniela's voice was venomous hiss, blaming the maid for what had been taken from her. "You ruined everything!"

Delia trembled under Daniela's grip, unable to do anything but await and endure the punishment that would come her way. She hoped that the redhead would break from her storm of hate, but there were no guarantees that it would be so. "Please, don't hurt me," she begged.

"I should hurt you, Delia! You're the worst! I hate you so much!" Flies erupted from all around her as she lifted the helpless servant higher into the air, now above her head. Through the cloud of insects, she glimpsed the fear in the woman's eyes, and that set off what would follow.

Daniela let go of Delia's collar, causing the maid to fall onto the stage, landing harshly on her hip and shoulder. A wave of pain flared across her side upon the impact, coupled with an anguished groan. She rolled over, only to open her eyes and watch as her master was already on her way out.

"Clean this room," Daniela demanded, not even looking at her as she dissolved into a horde of flies and flew out from under the door.

With a weary sigh, Delia combated the pain as she pushed herself to her feet, taking a moment to catch her breath. When she stood up, her right hand was clenched against her left shoulder, and her brow winced when her hip made its first forward movement after the tumble.

The weight of Daniela's outburst had done more than just leave a couple of likely bruises. Delia was shaken up, more so than usual. She could not forget the diluted look in the noblewoman's eyes as she reached out and dragged her onto the stage, seemingly unaware of how out of control she was when she swung her around the stage.

Delia had pleaded for her to loosen her tight grip, which hindered her breathing and pressed her skeleton to its limits. But Daniela was so lost in her own world that she had not noticed a thing.

That was the scariest part of it all.

Silent tears trickled down Delia's cheeks as she left the stage and approached the fireplace. With trembling hands, she reached for the duster that lay nearby, knowing that she now had a job to do. But when she went to go apply it to the table, she found herself too distraught to concentrate.

She knew that she needed a second to sort out her emotions, but the urgency of her maiden duties screamed louder than she could. Yet, after so many instances of the same kind of treatment, her limitations were being met. A human being could only take so much. Delia turned away from the table and walked over toward the piano.

Along the way, the only thing that she could think about was the family that she had left back in the village. She wanted her mother and father to enter the room and take her out of here, but her common sense kicked that fantasy straight out of her mind. Delia missed them so much. It had been so long since she last hugged them.

This wasn't the life that they wanted for her, and the thought of that hurt her so much worse than any of the daughters ever could. To think about how her mother would react if she knew what her beloved daughter was going through…

Delia did not consider where she was setting the duster until her finger felt a key press in and a single note ring out, left to hang in the air like as she stood still.

When that happened, her suffering finally won the fight.

Delia's tears flowed freely, and her stiff posture finally loosened up. She lowered herself onto the ground, her spine pressed against the piano leg as she buried her face into her hands, hoping that this moment would not be discovered by anyone.

"What did I do?" She spoke to the air as her voice choked, hoping that she could somehow get the answer. "What makes me deserve this?"

The Factory

Freed from her restraints. Narratha stood behind the curtain that Heisenberg had set up for her. The man did not trust his captive with total privacy. She looked like someone who would attempt an escape if given the opportunity. How right he was, she thought.

But her body was still weak. After everything that had been tossed her way, she was nearly at zero. Even walking wasn't without its difficulties. She knew that if she tried to fight Heisenberg now, he'd overpower her, and any chance of getting out of here would be gone.

She'd play her cards right for the time being, hoping that she would soon be dealt a better set of circumstances.

He stood on the other side of the curtain, presumably looking the other way. Before she would take her clothes off, Narratha peeked over her shoulder just to be sure. She could hardly make out his silhouette in front of the light, and she assumed the same would apply to her.

With a sigh, she removed her bloodied vest and skirt, taking a moment to cover up her nude form, even though no one was there to see. With a furrowed brow, she slowly lowered her arms, allowing the light to shine upon her large, freckled breasts. She dragged her finger tips down her stomach, shuddering as she tried to come to terms with her past.

Narratha always hated her body, viewing it as this ugly abomination. She yearned for a paler form, like most of the other fawns. A patch of freckles across the nose was commonplace, but all over her? This bushy red hair? Those exceedingly dark eyebrows?

It was no wonder she felt so left out. Even without the lack of powers she displayed as a child, she never saw herself as anything like them.

Bending down, she reached into the box of clothing that Heisenberg had provided her with. He told her to just pick something, but she wanted what would be best to combat the cold environment. At her disposal were an assortment of gowns and sweaters of varying sizes. It looked like none of these had seen the light of day for quite some time. If she was to guess, this box had been stowed away inside this building for a number of years.

Narratha dug through, eager to slip into something comfortable. Her eyes took notice of the cuts and scrapes along her arms and legs. She could still feel the sting of the wounds that both Cassandra and those Lycans had inflicted. Heisenberg was gracious enough to apply a tonic to the surface, but it only served to stem the flow of blood that continued to trickle out.

Since he had not tended to her injuries in full, the fawn reasoned that he expected her death to arrive sooner or later. She did not want to go out this way, but this was out of her control. In her current state, the redhead's powers were absent; otherwise, she would rip his head off with the twist of her hand.

Her fingers briefly twitched as she held onto the softest dress that she could find.

The blood. She needed the blood.

With a hopeless sigh, Narratha shut her eyes and grimaced as she shook her head in frustration. Not another round of withdrawal symptoms, she thought. Not now.

Heisenberg called out to her from behind the curtain, his voice having grown tense with the passage of time, "Are you almost done?"

She rolled her eyes, wanting nothing more than to kill him. "I don't suppose getting the chance to bathe is an option?"

"You're lucky that you're getting this at all," he barked. "Do I have to come back there and pick something for you?"

She stood up and spun around at that very moment, the dress in her hands held against her chest. With her head craned over her shoulder, she replied with a flared brow above those emerald orbs of hers. "Don't!" Narratha's fingers gripped the fabric, her eyes locked onto the thin barrier between her and the man.

She did not know what she would do if he were to open it.

The sound of his lighter perked in her ears. He was having yet another cigar. "We haven't got all day! Get dressed and come back out."

She shut her eyes, pressing her lips before she tilted her head toward the sound of his voice. "Okay." There was nothing more to say on her end. She was just grateful that her bargain had been accepted. Sorting through the remainder of the chest, a cloth bra and a pair of undergarments were soon discovered.

"Please, be clean," Narratha mumbled as she inspected the items, bringing them up to her nose. They smelled clean enough. She put them on, only to have to fight to adjust the bra over her chest. It was not sized to her—not by a longshot. "Really?"

With a faint groan, she tilted her head back to the curtain. She didn't want to ask. Not at all. "These gowns do not have any internal support for…" Her voice cut, and her eyes glanced down at her breasts. "Would you mind checking if there are any other boxes?"

Seconds later, a smaller box came skidding under the curtain. He must have kicked it over. Narratha reached down and popped it open. Sure enough, there was a large selection of bras to choose from.

Heisenberg called out to her, less impatient. "Take an extra minute."

She wondered why he had this box, but asking him that question right now might not fare all too well for her. Part of the fawn felt like she would not enjoy the answer. "Thank you."

Once she finally found a suitable size, she donned the accessories, and then the gown itself.

Heisenberg wasn't exactly the charitable type, and the clothing that she had been given was more akin to third-hand items, rather than anything significant. The dress was a simple, long-sleeved garment, soft and thick enough to provide some warmth. Once she had slipped into it, the fabric soothed her frozen skin.

After putting on a long pair of socks and some old leather shoes, Narratha casually dusted her outfit, anticipating what would follow. "I'm dressed."

Heisenberg grunted in response. She heard his heavy footsteps approaching, and she took a deep breath, uncertain whether he had a comment ready for her. He pulled back the curtain and gazed at her new appearance, his eyes scanning her from head to toe.

"You look warm," he muttered. "Now, let's go. Your food is going to get cold."

…

Narratha was seated at a small wooden table, eagerly devouring a plate of sausages that Heisenberg had provided her with. Her hands were still shaky as she ate, a testament as to how much strength she had yet to regain, even after being provided with a moderate form of comfort.

As she went about her meal, Heisenberg was not too far away, his body leaning against the wall. One leg crossed over the other, and that signature lit cigar living on the edge of his lips. She could tell that he was staring at her through the dark lenses of those glasses.

The lighting in the room was not that bright, she thought to herself. Why was he still wearing those things?

"You seem hungry," he remarked, taking a drag from his cigar as soon as he had spoken.

Narratha's eyes darted upwards to meet his, and she nodded cautiously. "I am," she admitted, her voice muffled by the food in her mouth. She reached for the cup beside her plate, glaring at the unspecified beverage inside. She brought it up to her face slowly, but only to sniff its contents. "Is this poison?"

Heisenberg did not respond. Instead, he approached the table and grabbed the cup from her hand. Tilting it to his mouth, he visibly poured a stream down into his mouth and then swallowed it without a second thought. He handed back to her and moved away, only speaking once the back of his shoulder had returned to the wall. "Satisfied?"

Narratha watched him for a moment before deciding to trust the gesture. Unless his body had established some immunity, then it was likely that her drink had not been sabotaged. It was a paranoid idea, yes, but the fawn was a paranoid person. She didn't trust a single soul with blind regard, especially someone as outwardly callous as this man.

But thirsty, and with nothing else to base her suspicions on, she lifted the cup and took a large gulp, only to immediately spit it out, coughing and groaning. It was a fiery mixture, the likes of which she had never tasted before. It burned her tongue at the slightest touch and left a bitter taste in its wake. "What is this?" she exclaimed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Heisenberg chuckled, clearly enjoying her reaction. "It's called Jägermeister. An imported drink." His cigar obscured his grin when he brought it back to his face. "And an acquired taste, I suppose."

Narratha shot him a displeased look, then reached for another sausage, ignoring her fork and biting directly into it. She chewed aggressively, trying to rid her mouth of the vile scent. The meat only did so much. How could someone find such a drink enjoyable? Was it even an actual drink at all?

The taste reminded her of a poil mixture, which some called Dast. The men loved the stuff, but they always lost their minds to it. Admittingly, she had made use of some of their scavenged goods over the years. Narratha could recall an evening or five where she downed a great deal of their drinks and enjoyed dancing alone in the forests.

It was a fun time, but the mornings that followed were some of the worst.

"So, was the choice of food and drink correct?" Heisenberg asked.

She didn't know what to say, choosing to reply in a monotone voice, "It's fine."

"You look like a German," he commented, seemingly out of nowhere.

Narratha raised an eyebrow, her posture becoming slightly more defensive. She wasn't certain if this was an insult or not, but the amused expression that he had on his face didn't help. It looked like he basked in the joys of antagonism, so why wouldn't this be a jab at her? "What's a German?"

Heisenberg waved off the question, a dismissive smirk on his face. "Never mind," he said. "I just thought with the red hair and all those freckles..."

Narratha narrowed her eyes but chose not to press further. Instead, her gaze drifted down to the assorted spots on her hands, which continued all across her body. With a slow sigh, she tapped her forefinger softly at the edge of her plate and quietly went back to eating her food.

"Could we not talk about the way that I look, please?"

He seemed surprised at her response, but with bigger things to deal with, he just decided to leave things be. "You know," he began, "the most important thing is that you don't have patches of fur and a set of claws right now. Maybe you can fill me in on why you haven't turned into one of those feral creatures?"

Narratha paused, swallowing her current mouthful of food. She knew this was the moment to choose her words carefully. The leverage of control was like a scale, and at any second, the weight could shift. "It's because I'm a fawn," she said slowly.

"You've said that before. So, a deer?" He looked at her like she was insane. "You throw that word around, but I don't think that you know what it means."

There was a bit of anger that rose in her heart. "I don't know what a 'deer' is, so maybe you don't know what I mean."

Heisenberg did his best to curtail his impatience from getting the better of him. Inside, he was tempted to just kill this woman. Her attitude was enough to warrant a trip down below, but he could not ignore the truth that her body may somehow be resistant to the mold. "Explain this shit, would you?"

"Fawns don't get sick," Narratha explained. She didn't want to make mention of her abilities, which could spur him into viewing her as a threat to his safety. If she could avoid that, then hopefully he would let his guard down. "It's just how we are. The poils were always the ones who became afflicted with diseases."

"Poils?"

"They're just regular people, I guess." That was the only answer that she could muster. Fawns were so radically different in nature than the poils, despite how they looked just like their women. The presence of males was regulated only to the poils themselves—a quality that made Narratha's past all the more troubling.

She lacked any form of power on that tragic day. She might as well have been the same as them. How many poil women had suffered under the vile cruelty of sexual violence?

She shuddered at the thought.

Heisenberg slammed his fist against the wall, which caused it to rattle. The moment he did, Narratha suddenly heard a muffled, yet loud, buzzing erupt from underneath the floor. The man paced over to a small opening and shouted at the top of his lungs. "Shut your fucking hole!"

He steadied himself with a cough, but his annoyance was no less swayed. Narratha had jolted at the act and was now sitting quietly in her seat, aware that she was hurting her chances of betterment. The longer she drew him on, the more likely it was that he would give up on peacefully obtaining information from her.

Worse off, she knew how aware he was of her fears. Any smart person would have played on them, if needed. She still couldn't trust that he wouldn't force her clothing off. That was what kept her eyes open and her breath still.

So many years, and it was still so fresh in her mind. She just wanted to escape that day and forget about it all.

"I need more than what you're telling me," he warned her, pointing the cigar in her direction. "I know that you're trying to stall for time." Heisenberg took another fill of his smoke, blowing it across the room in Narratha's direction. His voice settled down, but it was no less menacing. "You think I'm stupid, don't you?"

"I don't think you're stupid."

"Do I need to repeat myself?" He tapped some of the embers off, his voice rising as his anger gained hold of it.

Narratha rolled the corners of her mouth as she decided to lean into some more truth. "I told you that I am not from your world, but to be honest, where I am from is outside your realm."

Heisenberg's expression turned extremely skeptical. "Another realm, huh? You expect me to believe that?" He felt like he was being played for a fool. The only reason why he had not thrown her back into that other chair was because of how fantastical her story sounded.

It made him want to hear the rest, just for the fun of it. What else would she say?

He insulted her answer, treating her like a child. "Does your realm have dragons and wizards?" He began to consider that she was not mentally all there. She seemed to believe in her words, after all, no matter how little sense they made. The look in her eyes said it all, but nothing about her story clung to realism.

"I do not know what those are," she answered.

"Alright, let's say I entertain this idea," he said slowly. "Why are you here?"

"I don't know why or how a portal to this world opened," Narratha admitted, remembering how that energy had inexplicably manifested itself right as she was about to finish off Cassandra. "But I wish to stay in this one."

He laughed as soon as he heard that. "You want to stay in this shithole? You really are crazy." Heisenberg grabbed her cup and downed the rest of the liquor that was in it. Narratha could only watch him as he did so, twiddling her thumbs under the table as she sat there silently.

There was a frown on her face, one that mirrored the expression that she used to hold often in her younger years. She hated being insulted, and even more so, being degraded so casually. While part of her was happy to have finally escaped Locwitary, another yearned to return to where she was at the top of the food chain.

Her treatment in this realm was nothing compared to the torment that she had inflicted upon others. She knew that her wicked deeds warranted a fateful retribution. Maybe that was where her paranoia stemmed from. As a young woman, she believed that fate had robbed her of her greater potential when her powers failed to reveal themselves.

So, why wouldn't fate still be keeping her under its eye?

Why should a serial killer ever be allowed to enjoy their life?

She sighed again, pushing her plate away and gently clasping the tassels of her gown as she sat there. Delving into her emotions was the hardest thing in the world for the redhead. The benefit of being able to kill anyone who challenged her meant that she could believe that such things were gone. But they were not.

"You don't know what it is like to have so many bad memories tied to one place, do you?" Narratha suppressed a tear that wanted to swim out of her eye. "I just wanted to get far away from it. Being shut out from my world makes me feel like it doesn't exist anymore, and if so, then maybe everything about it should stop existing too. Or, at least, that's what I hoped for."

She brushed her hand across the strands of curly hair that dangled over the left side of her forehead. In a rare display of defeat, Narratha sounded genuinely upset. "I made my choice to jump through that opening. I've made all my choices. Thank you for the clothing and the food. You've shown me more hospitality than I have shown others, so I cannot argue anymore. This was pleasant enough."

Heisenberg studied her closely. She was clearly holding something back, but her story intrigued him. As preposterous as it all sounded, he knew that her presence in that forest demanded a rational reason. This village was nowhere near any other form of civilization. He had seen the vast stretch of the mountains in the past. There was no way that someone as ill-dressed or equipped as her could have even made it that far. She would have been dead days ago.

But that wasn't the only thing. Her outfit and the presence of the sword in her hand were undoubtably strange. She looked like some sort of Viking, or a character straight out of a fantasy novel. Examining the wounds she had sustained, he could tell that some of them had been inflicted by another person's blade, and it sure wasn't the primitive weaponry of the Lycans.

There had been instances where outsiders unwittingly stumbled across the village, but those were rare incidents where well-versed travelers who summited the tall peaks found themselves within Miranda's grasp. Those men were professionals, and their gear spoke for them.

Narratha, on the other hand, seemed to have no clue as to where she was. She looked like she had never seen snow before in her life. The fact that she had yet to turn into a Lycan only added to this growing mystery. Heisenberg was not as impulsive as the other lords. He made his decisions well after he understood what was at his disposal.

If there was more to this woman, which he believed, then maybe her story might indeed be true. His mind swirled with thoughts, especially those that concerned his hatred for Mother Miranda. If this woman was truly from another realm, she might be the key to a new strategy.

In an unforeseen display, he slowly approached her, placing his hand gently upon her shoulder. "What do you think about the word 'loyalty'?"

Castle Dimitrescu

It was nighttime, and the preparations for dinner were already well underway. The cooks were busy inside the kitchen, supervised by the notoriously strict eldest daughter, Bela. Several other maids had been assigned the responsibilities of maintaining the rest of the castle, which, in hindsight, was a stroke of pure luck.

It kept them away from the Dimitrescu family for a while, and by proxy, the chaos itself. However, that wasn't to say that Cassandra's boredom kept her in one place. She was known to frolic around the castle, eagerly awaiting her meal. Any maid who crossed her path was sure to feel the hunger-induced wrath that she had to bear.

Kyia, the newest of the staff, had been tasked with cleaning the dining room table alongside another maid, Sabrina. The last hour had seen the two working endlessly to ensure the fixtures were spotless. It wasn't a big room, but the lady of the castle's orders were absolute.

The job was not done until she said it was done.

Sabrina, a short, young woman with rosy cheeks and rounded eyes, tried to break the ice with the new girl once the coast seemed clear. "Hi, I'm Sabrina. Kyia, right?" She wanted to sound as cheerful as possible, given the circumstances they were handed.

Kyia's face, however, sat with a permanent scowl, and the brunette barely acknowledged her as she went about her job. There was a cold sense of determination as she pressed the cloth against the surface of the chair she held, the muscles in her thin arms growing more and more tense with every swipe of the cloth.

Sabrina sensed that the newcomer to the castle was far from happy. Every maid was. Some more than others, at times. It usually had to do with the false promise of prosperity. With how shanty the village was, who wouldn't want the chance to bring in extra money by working in such a lavish castle?

Men in the settlement were often jealous of how the employment was only offered to young women, which meant that they would have to spend their days toiling away in the fields instead. But nobody knew the truth of this place until they entered, and once those doors shut, they were closed forever. The endless abuse and torment that these young ladies suffered was horrific, and it was common to see the revelation of blind ambition fall upon them.

Kyia's case was different. Sabrina was there when she was introduced to the majority of the staff. The woman was not from this village. A rarity of the highest form, but still a person, regardless.

"You know," Sabrina said softly, "things are often better when we stick together. We can avoid making mistakes if we help each other out."

Kyia's motions grew more enraged. "Your voice is only distracting me," she snapped, not bothering to look up, leaving only the edges of her face still in view.

Sabrina sighed but didn't let Kyia's harsh words deter her. She figured that Kyia probably had a lot going on, and that was fine. But as she resumed her duties, she found that there was one other question still burning in her mind.

The desire to know more got the better of her. "Are the stories true? You're an outsider?"

Kyia stopped what she was doing, her emerald eyes narrowing as she finally glared at Sabrina. "People need to stop talking about me," she said through gritted teeth.

Sabrina's expression softened. She knew that she had just made a mistake and sought to do whatever she could to rectify it. Kyia was visibly older than her by about fifteen years, but that didn't change the fact that she hoped to one day have some form of connection with her. "Forgive me. I just want a friend," she said quietly.

Kyia shook her head, a bitter scoff escaping her lips. "Friendships mean nothing when someone's life is on the line," she muttered.

Sabrina hesitated, then asked gently as she glanced over at her one more time, "What do you mean by that?"

Kyia remained silent, her eyes focused on the table. She would say nothing else.

NOTES:

Uneasy alliances and fragile friendships.

Daniela's delusions come in many forms. I imagine her as someone who literally lives in a fantasy world, imagining things that aren't there, and reacting violently when reality indicates otherwise. It's clear that she wants a man who can give her the lifestyle that she reads so much about. Delia's presence in this chapter weighs on her chapter in different ways.

She's Daniela's unwitting best friend, of sorts. A fan who has no choice but to be there. We finally see her break after a moment of solitude, reminding us that she is a beaten-down woman who is struggling to make sense of her life. It doesn't make the situation better that Daniela sometimes considers Delia as a substitute for what she wants, and that places the maid in very dangerous territory.

I want to really explore the psychological aspect of these scenarios as they go along, and when Daniela's mind goes to many different places, so shall we.

As for Narratha, she's not in the best situation either, but she's trying to make the best of it. I want to show a side of her that we didn't get to see in Fragmented Flies. Stripped of her powers, she knows that she can't just resort to violence to solve her problems. Withdrawing from the blood of her kind that allowed her to obtain such abilities, her mind is slightly clearer. With Heisenberg cradling her fate, she is at his mercy in so many ways.

Make no mistake: Narratha is still very cruel and willing to kill someone if it helps her get what she wants. Her current weakness doesn't erode her past, but this is a series about villains fighting worse villains. Is anyone here truly worth redeeming? It is easy to forget the sins of one's past when the past is hidden, and Narratha has always ran from hers.

Where will the story take these two? When the time comes, will Heisenberg finally have a way to upend Miranda's control over his life? And if he can, what will be the price of unleashing a torrent of fire whose fury borders on the uncontrollable?

Narratha isn't the only fawn in this village, nor is she the most powerful…

I hope that you all are enjoying this story so far! The next chapter is going to be quite the eventful one. Expect a flashback ages in the making, and a turn of events that some of you may not have seen coming. Piece by piece, these chapters are setting up the action that is to follow!

The next chapter will release on June 21st, one week from today!

Follow this story on Archive of Our Own to see the latest artwork of Heisenberg and Narratha!

I hope that you all have a great weekend, and I look forward to seeing you again soon! Stay safe! 😊