Castle Dimitrescu – January 22nd, 2021

It had been a few days since Delia and Daniela had shared their little talk together. Even though moments like those had existed in the past, only to eventually degrade into further bouts of cruelty, it reassured the maid to know that there was still a light worth reaching for.

Not everything was lost when it came to Daniela. There was a part of the noblewoman who could sit down and exhibit a glimmer of humanity beneath her violent exterior. It was a surreal feeling. A strange one, in fact. It was almost as if she was two different people at times. Neither of the other daughters exhibited such qualities.

Cassandra's track record of murder was unmatched, but it reflected her attitude, and rightfully so. Bela, the more level-headed of the trio, kept her wrath contained solely in an authoritative manner. Punishment was never handed down unless rightfully so, even if she found delight in the deliciousness of the flesh.

Daniela, however, acted completely on a whim. She was a ball thrown at the wall, bouncing in any random direction, impacting the first person she could strike with a great force. It was always a lethal game of roulette with her. Everything boiled down to pure chance, and eventually, someone's luck was bound to run out. She'd take exceptional pleasure in hurting someone, intensifying her actions based on the delusions she carried. No one ever knew what exactly was taking place in her head, and that was the scariest thing of all.

But then there were the times when she would put all that aside. Her anger would disperse, clearing the way for deep conversation. Delia liked to hold onto it for as long as she could. It was a relief to be able to not worry for a little bit. She could let down her guard slightly and smile. Despite all the torture that Daniela put her through, there was a part of the servant that saw her master as a friend.

That sense of attachment always piqued Delia's curiosity, making her wonder why she chose to act that way. Whenever Daniela would beat her, all she could think about was how much she wanted to break free and escape this wretched place. But when they sat down and shared a happy moment, Delia found herself wanting to connect even more.

Perhaps it was the rarity of being comfortable in this blood-filled fortress that made those interactions so desirable. Delia couldn't figure out any other answer besides that.

As she dusted the shelves of the library, the young woman inspected her apron, seeing how the particles had now migrated onto her. With a sigh, she closed her eyes and patted her gown, freeing herself of as much of it as possible. She couldn't stop herself from thinking about how the process of dusting never really did much to solve the problem. All it did was just take the clouds and place them somewhere else. The problem was never truly solved.

Daniela was out of the room for now. It gave the servant the freedom to speak, though she still regulated her voice to a mere whisper. "This is so tiresome," she commented, straightening out her shoulders and inspecting the rest of the area. "If I had a dustpan, then things would be better."

Delia gave her outfit one final sweep of her hand before she cracked her stiff back and proceeded to the next shelf. "But Miss Daniela says I do not need one."

She returned to the act again, brushing the layers of dust off the boards with the feathered stick. Delia cast a glare of monotony as she went about her task. It was the same old thing, day after day. It was a mindless job, at best, but one that still required careful attention, lest she find herself brutalized for a simple oversight.

Being Daniela's personal servant often entailed a lot of things, but when the woman wasn't around, she preferred to regulate Delia to the most menial of assignments. It would have been nice to be able to sit down, but there was a story about a servant who once did that exact thing when the redhead was away, only to be caught dead to rights when she returned. Some of the facts may have been lost in translation over the years, but the girl's death was not swift.

That much was certain.

Staring at the books in front of her, Delia couldn't help but think about her master's most prized literature. That blue-covered story with the golden bindings had captivated Daniela for such a long time, likely a year or even more. What was the story about?

Peeking over her shoulder, Delia could see that the book was there. For a second, her desire to learn more got the better of her, but she quickly shut it down, unwilling to risk the chance of getting caught. Breathing yet another sigh, she finished up the shelf and turned away, moving further down and away from the book.

"You're no child, Delia," she mumbled to herself, the duster swaying at her side. "Think."

She wanted to know what could be so enthralling that someone so deranged could fixate on it almost religiously. Part of the maid may have believed that if she knew more about the story, then perhaps she could better navigate her master's dangerous delusions. It was a long shot at best. Delia tempted her hand above the flames. It was so easy to get burned.

Resuming her dusting, she took care of the shelves nearby, finding the tasks at hand to hold greater significance than her curiosities. As the minutes turned into several hours, the maid continued her routine uninterrupted. It was a welcomed respite from the normal chaos, but one whose length of time was uncertain. As much as she wished to be able to sit down and relax, there was no telling if Daniela would catch her in the act.

Enjoying the silence for what it was but living minute to minute at the same time, Delia breathed a sigh as she stepped back and glanced at the final shelf. "All done," she said to herself, only for her crack of a grin to fade away as her head turned to the couches. "But when is anything ever done here?"

In a rare moment of anger, she let go of her duster and allowed it to hit the floor without care. The sound echoed across the walls, amplified by the darkness of her shut eyelids. Delia's face grimaced as her shoulders rose. She could not fight back against this cruel world, but its impact on her would not go unnoticed, even if she revealed just a bit of it.

"You demand so much of me," she mumbled under her breath, weary that vicious ears would hear it. "Push me past your limits. Spoiled."

The grimace on Delia's face intensified, only to fade away immediately after. "No," she said to herself once more. "Contempt. Anger. You are not like them."

A knock at the door shattered her train of thought. Her heart jumped at that instant, ready to eject from her chest as if it were a bullet. She jolted with a low gasp, only to realize that her duster was still by her feet. In a frantic hurry, she dove to retrieve it. As soon as the tool was back in her position, Delia reassumed the stance of a disciplined maid, expecting Daniela to arrive at any second.

Then she realized that Daniela would never have knocked in the first place.

"Drat!" Delia spoke through her teeth, rushing over to open the door. She did not know who this could be. The Grand Chambermaid? Lady Cassandra, ready to play a cruel game? She shuddered at the thought of the latter, but any mistakes right now would worsen a future predicament.

Delia pushed open the door, right as a second knock began to play out.

It was Kyia, the newest addition to the castle. In her opposite hand was a tray of food.

"Oh!" Delia's face was a mix of relief and surprise. "My apologies! I wasn't expecting food to be brought to me for at least another hour or so."

Since she was usually confined to the library, Delia did not eat with the rest of the maids all too often. One would be sent to deliver her something to eat, often taking on her duties for a short while until the meal was consumed and she could get back to working.

What struck her more than the fact that the meal was early was that an inexperienced maid had been sent to accomplish the task. Daniela's demands were not for those who did not know what they were doing. It was preferred to have the seasoned staff be the ones who undertook the work.

Kyia, of all people? Why her?

With those emerald eyes glaring at her, the slender brunette appeared to be less than amused by Delia's soft voice and show of friendliness. "It's here," she said with a cold tone, almost ready to just place the tray in Delia's hands and see her off.

"Yes," Delia replied, reaching out to take the tray. "Thank you." Kyia let go of it as the girl's palms touched the bottom. If it had been any sooner, then the food would have hit the ground.

Just as she was about to walk away, Delia glanced over her shoulder and saw Kyia cautiously inspecting the room from the doorway. That massive bun of hair nearly obscured her face as she moved a little bit further in, but those sharp cheekbones of hers glowed amongst the light. She wasn't old, but she wasn't young, either.

Delia figured that a woman of her age would likely have known what to do, but fearful that leaving Kyia alone may end up risking both their safety, she opted to remain where she was. "Excuse me," she said as the woman began to venture further into the library. "Do you need any assistance?"

Kyia paused, visibly considering the idea, before she shook her head in disagreement. "No. Eat." It looked like she didn't want much else to do with her. By the way her eyes remained forward, Delia may as well have been a statue in the background. An object of little importance. Something that was merely in her way.

But Delia would not relent. Her compassion for the safety of others commanded that she do so. She had witnessed firsthand what could happen to servants who messed up, and when it came to Daniela, there was no room for error.

For Kyia's sake, she had to be there.

"I'd prefer to eat in the library," Delia stated, rotating her body to face the brunette. "It'll save me the time of having to walk through the castle, and it'll save you less time doing my work."

Kyia did not offer any arguments. She looked moderately aggravated, but with the shrug of her shoulder, all she gave was a low grunt. "Fine. Eat." With that, she entered the library, and Delia followed behind her.

...

As she ate the sandwich that Luana had prepared, Delia watched as Kyia aimlessly dusted the couch. The scowl on the Victorian-looking woman's face said it all—she was utterly miserable. All the ladies were. Some tried their best to hide it with a polite smile to their coworkers, herself included, but one would have been a fool to assume that anyone else besides the Dimitrescu family was happy here.

With the thought of suicide still fading in and out of her mind from time to time, Delia could only bandage her mental wounds with the fabric of hope. Someone like Kyia appeared to have none of it.

"My name is Delia, by the way," she said as soon as the food cleared her throat. Kyia did not answer. "And your name is Kyia, am I correct?"

A groan followed, one that vibrated across the room.

Delia averted her eyes, sighing through her nostrils as she held the sandwich in her hands. Sitting on the ground, the maid went to take a sip of water from the cup nearby. It occupied her mouth, allowing her time to dwell on her failed attempt at communication. What was it about this woman? Why didn't she want to connect?

Delia swallowed the liquid and closed her eyes. "It was rough for me during my first days as well, you know."

With her back facing her, Kyia did not make an attempt to look at Delia. "Are you finished eating?"

Part of Delia wanted to just set down the rest of her food and end the meal. That way, she could relieve Kyia of her duties and send her on her way. There would be no further aggravation to be felt, and Delia could save herself the embarrassment of this foolish endeavor.

But the other part was in control—the one that told her to never give up on someone.

"No," she replied. "I am still eating."

"Talk less," Kyia said. "Then you can eat faster."

With a light huff, Delia laid her sandwich on her lap. She had had enough of Kyia's dismissive attitude, but fighting fire with fire was not going to be the best approach. She had to reach this woman somehow. "Put the duster down," she said. "I can handle the rest of the work. Why don't you sit down and take a break?"

In a blink, Kyia's grip on the duster tightened in fury. It shook in her hand before she swung it down at the couch, stopping herself before she could strike it. "Argh! Am I not doing this right, either?!"

The room fell into silence, save for the sounds of Kyia's frustrated breaths. She regained her composure quickly, but that only came in the form of a still posture. Within seconds, the brunette set the duster on the shelf and walked away, taking Delia's offer for what it was. She was done.

"Wait!" Delia got up from where she sat, rushing over to see if Kyia was okay. "I wasn't saying that you did anything wrong! I wanted you to get a chance to relax."

Kyia ceased her walking and craned her neck over her shoulder, glaring at Delia with those emerald eyes of hers. "Stop talking to me."

Delia softened her voice. "Why are you so hostile?"

Kyia's hardened gaze mimicked the girl's shift in volume. Her tense brow loosened, releasing those green orbs below to drift toward the ground. "I don't want to have this conversation."

"So, you're going to go out there?" Delia pointed to the doors. "Back to them?"

Kyia shifted her head toward the large set of doors, thinking about what lay just beyond their threshold. It would be back to that kitchen, where Bela was surely waiting to berate her some more. The fawn wanted to end that wretched lady's life so badly, but without her powers, the abuse was inescapable. Delia was right; why would she want to return there?

But socializing with the denizens of this world was not in her interests either. Kyia was cautious about making alliances. She learned what could happen if she got too close to someone. Her comfort around Ethan caused her to lower her walls, exposing fragile emotions that she could not reel in. Love—what a thing it was. While she could not foster the same feelings with a woman, Kyia was nevertheless still hesitant to warm up to any of the staff.

There was no telling how loyal these ladies were to the Dimitrescu family. One mere mention of trying to escape could find its way to their ears. She would not risk death over carelessness. If she was going to destroy this family and escape this castle, she would do so by herself.

But with her incompetencies in the kitchen, which granted her not only Bela's ire but the contempt of Luana and Sorina, Kyia felt like she needed a leg to stand on. Someone here would have to be by her side. As much as she hated to admit it, going at this alone was foolish.

She would have never survived Serpenmoor by herself. She needed Bela and Ethan to get her to that clock tower. Vikcia, that feral woman, needed to be killed before those fragments could be utilized to their full potential.

None of that would have been possible if it wasn't for the aid of her companions.

Kyia's lips pressed into a thin line as she considered Delia's words. A brief flicker of something—perhaps agreement, perhaps just fatigue—crossed her face, but it was quickly masked by her usual stern expression. She took a step toward the couch, her movements slow, but Delia's voice halted her in her tracks.

"Miss Daniela won't take kindly to seeing anyone on that couch, Kyia," Delia warned, concerned for the woman's wellbeing. "She might react violently."

Kyia's eyes narrowed at Delia, and for a moment, it seemed as though she might ignore the warning and sit anyway. But then, with a barely audible sigh, she straightened up. The brunette did not want to show her frustrations in full. Instead, she turned and walked over to a nearby shelf, leaning against it begrudgingly, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. The movement was sharp, almost defiant, in some ways. It was as if she wanted to present herself as someone who would not easily bow down to orders, even if her actions implied such.

If it wasn't for the consideration of one of the Dimitrescu daughters tearing her to bits, she would have told Delia off. But her common sense took the wheel, and leaning on her pride instead of this shelf meant almost certain death.

She fixated on Delia with an intense stare, her eyes narrowing as though she were trying to decipher some hidden motive. It was in her thoughts that every single one of these servants was not to be trusted. She was the outsider, and just like the citizens of Serpenmoor, outsiders were the epitome of evil to these folk, it seemed. They probably viewed her as some sort of vile outcast, and they were probably right. She had no care for them.

Delia, seemingly oblivious to the scrutiny, offered a small, reassuring smile. Despite Kyia's visible hostility, the girl's attitude would not falter.

"How are your duties in the kitchen going?" Delia asked, genuinely curious as to how life has been for this unknown woman.

Kyia's glare intensified. The question stung, not just because it was an intrusion into her affairs but because it touched on a raw nerve. She hated to admit failure, despising the thought of being anything less than perfect when the situation called for it. And yet, lying was out of the question—Luana and Sorina were always there, and they could easily contradict her statements.

Delia and all the others would believe those two in a heartbeat. The risk was high, and the reward was low. It wasn't worth it.

"I'm struggling," Kyia finally admitted with a plateaued voice. It was painful to say. The kitchen was foreign territory, one that she was far from mastering. Her tirade in front of the family about how she was so considerate about making food and whatnot was nothing more than a mere show. She pulled it off well, but evidently, she bit off way more than she could ever chew. Bela was now her direct supervisor, and that was a fate worse than death itself.

Kyia wanted to kill the blonde so badly. If she could just muster up her powers, that entire kitchen would have been engulfed in a sea of blue fire. Bela, Luana, and Sorina would all be fried to a crisp. She didn't care if those two maids perished. They stood in her way, and that was all she needed to destroy them. "I can't seem to get anything right."

Delia's expression softened, and her eyes filled with understanding rather than judgment. "It's not easy learning something new, especially in a place like this. It's only natural to struggle at first."

Kyia's jaw clenched when she heard the sympathy in Delia's voice. It grated on her nerves to believe that she was in such a position of weakness, but it was true. As much as Kyia wanted to separate herself and go about this on her own, she knew that this was a losing game. Luana and Sorina were at their wit's end with her by now. There had been enough arguments in the kitchen to solidify that.

Bridges burned and unlikely to ever be crossed. It was a wonder that the girls hadn't sold her out to Bela yet, but it all seemed to be on borrowed time. Sooner or later, the day would come, and Kyia knew that she needed an out. Could this be someone that she could trust?

"I know how to cook," Kyia said, only to tighten her arms immediately after. "But this... it's different. More complicated."

Delia nodded. "It's understandable. You're not the only one who has ever made a mistake here. To be honest, things have been better than they used to be. I've heard stories about how maids would be sent down to the dungeons simply for spilling some soup. Whatever the case is, you still have a second chance."

Kyia looked away. "I'll manage," she replied, her tone softer than before but still guarded.

Delia smiled, seemingly satisfied with the small bit of progress. "You got this."

Kyia remained silent, her gaze fixed on the floor as she tried to push away the growing sense of weariness. This game she was playing, the facade she was forced to maintain—it was all so draining. But she couldn't let her guard down, not even for a moment. She did that once, back in Serpenmoor.

Getting too close to others was detrimental to her success. She had not expected to find love for a man like Ethan, but yet she did, only for it to end violently. Had her feelings not been there, she could have escaped that world in a much smoother fashion. There would have been no need to stay there and beg him to come with her. She could have simply left her companions there to rot.

For now, she would continue to play her part, biding her time until she could figure out her next move. And if Delia wanted to be a part of that plan—well, Kyia would let her, as long as it served her own ends.

With a final sigh, Kyia pushed herself away from the shelf. The moment of vulnerability had passed, and she was back to being the calculating, cold-hearted woman she needed to be. "I need to get back to work," she said abruptly. "This conversation has gone on long enough."

Kyia turned to leave, her mind already preparing itself for what awaited her back in the kitchen, but Delia's voice cut through her thoughts, once again stopping her in her tracks.

"Kyia," she asked, "where are you from?"

Kyia's shoulders tensed. Of course, Delia would ask that. Everyone had to pry at things that they did not understand. She slowly turned to face Delia, her expression as neutral as ever. She couldn't tell Delia the truth—that she was from a place that Delia could never even begin to comprehend. But she also couldn't afford to dismiss the question outright; that would only make the girl more curious.

Curiosity bred fear, and fear bred absolute terror.

"I'm from a place far away," Kyia replied, revealing nothing in detail. "So far that I don't even know why I chose to come here."

Delia's eyes glimmered with interest; her curiosity was clearly piqued by the woman's answer. "I've always wondered what the world outside is like," she confessed. "The stories I've heard... they make it sound so magical, so different from here."

Kyia's lips twisted into a bitter smile. Magical? No. There was no such thing. Not as far as she knew, anyway. "Don't believe everything you hear." That was the most honest response that she would give.

But Delia's smile only widened. "I've heard stories of tall cities," she said, almost as if she were speaking of something mythical. "Places where buildings reach the sky are made of glass. Machines that can fly. Ways to communicate with others from so far away. It all sounds so beautiful. So fun!"

Kyia scoffed, her disdain barely concealed. "Cities are nothing but cages," she said, the words slipping out with more venom than she intended. The memories of her own experiences were not fond ones—they were places of oppression, suffocation, and cruelty, filled with nothing but brainwashed folk who clung to the words of a false book written eons before. Words were so ingrained in their minds that they would harm someone they did not know—all out of the fear of being punished by the perceived higher powers above.

It sickened her. Serpenmoor deserved its dark ending.

Delia took a step closer to Kyia. "Are you from a city, then?" she asked eagerly.

Kyia shook her head, her expression riddled with disgust. "No," she replied, her tone firm. "But I know enough to hate them. You would be wise to abandon those thoughts."

Delia's expression shifted slightly, her enthusiasm dimming as she took in Kyia's words. "I just wanted to think that there was something worth seeing out there." She then began to appear somewhat sad, depressed, or even. "All my life, I've dreamed of seeing what is beyond these mountains, but you are older and wiser. Maybe I should put my dreams to rest."

Kyia considered ending the conversation and leaving, but something held her back. Delia was naturally kind, seemingly willing to overlook another person's shortcomings. The brunette couldn't help but think that there was some way that this woman could prove to be useful.

Maybe she knew something about the Dimitrescu family that could be used to her advantage. Better yet: the Dagger of Death's Flowers.

Kyia's voice changed to a gentle tone, reminiscent of the woman she used to be years ago. "How long have you worked in this castle, Delia?"

...

Daniela Dimitrescu stood in the center of the Main Hall, her slender figure almost dwarfed by the scale of the room. Her amber eyes were fixed on nothing in particular, staring ahead as if lost in a world that only she could see. She did not recognize just how close she was to those double doors. The Tower of Worship was so close, but the cold air would not allow her to pass.

That quality was the only bit of herself that she remembered in the dull abyss of her mind.

But as silent as the room was, it wasn't entirely devoid of sound. At first, she thought that it was the wind slipping through the cracks of the door, but it soon became apparent that there were different voices at play here. The words they spoke were indiscernible, a murmur of sounds that carried no comprehension. Daniela wanted to know what they were saying, but their words just seemed so far away.

Her mind was swirling with many thoughts and emotions that presented themselves in the form of flashes that only her occupied eyes could see. Images flickered before her—visions of breaking free from the confines of the castle that had been her prison for so long. But alongside these thoughts were fantasies of love and passion. She imagined herself in the arms of a lover, someone who could see beyond her monstrous nature and accept her for who she was. But who was that lover?

There came that image of that strong man with long hair. Her knight in shining armor, minus the steel. He looked like a normal man, but she still could not guess his name. All she knew was that the passion in her heart grew every time his face appeared.

Daniela's breath broke as she realized that she had been standing completely still for, who knows, how long. Her body felt rigid, as if she had been frozen in time—another statue in this empty room. Slowly, she forced herself to move, but as she shifted her weight, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. A shadow darted across the wall, accompanied by the faintest sound of giggling.

This again? Who is that?

Her head snapped to the side, her red hair whipping around the confines of her hood as she searched for the source of the sound. But there was nothing there—only the emptiness that surrounded her. Daniela frowned, her lips curving into a pout. With an audible huff, she made her dismay known. It had to have been her sisters, she thought. Bela and Cassandra were likely around somewhere. Perhaps the brunette had taken the opportunity to torment her yet again.

But as she waited for someone to reveal themselves, there were no signs of life. However, that did not mean that the shapes in the corners of her eyes remained hidden. No. They were still out and about. The moment her mind broke free from the thoughts of her siblings being around, Daniela quickly returned to the oddities at hand.

The shadows climbed the edges of the walls, disappearing only when her head turned to face them. The giggling returned, this time from the opposite direction. Daniela turned once more, her eyes narrowing as she tried to catch a glimpse of whoever was toying with her. But again, she found nothing. Only darkness and the ever-present whispering.

Who are these people?

Was she imagining things? This felt more personal. Something—or someone—was deliberately trying to unsettle her.

Her thoughts shifted, drifting toward Delia, her most trusted maid. Delia had been with her for so long, enduring the cruelties that Daniela often inflicted upon her in fits of anger or boredom. But there was something about the girl that kept Daniela from going too far—something that made her hesitate when she was on the brink of taking that final, fatal step. Was Delia still alive? Had she finally succumbed to the torment?

The thought made Daniela's chest tighten, causing a pang of anxiety that she did not fully understand. But then she remembered—Delia was alive. She had seen her just a few hours ago, dutifully dusting the shelves in the library. A giggle bubbled up from Daniela's throat, a sound both light and dark, as she realized how foolish her fears had been. Delia was fine. She hadn't killed her yet.

The whispers grew louder and more insistent. This time, they were not just meaningless sounds; they formed words, clear as ever. "Come outside to the garden." The command was enticing, as if whoever was speaking was somebody that she naturally trusted. Yet Daniela couldn't steer herself away from how concerning the offer sounded.

Even in her delusional state, there was a part of the redhead that recognized the hint of danger.

She frowned, wrapping her arms around herself as if to ward off a chill. "It's too cold," she whispered back. She could already feel the icy wind that would greet her if she stepped outside, the bitter cold that could reduce her to nothing. A call to the throes of death itself. Why would she go out there? What waited for her in the garden? But there was no answer, only the fading echo of the command.

The voices fell silent, leaving Daniela alone once more. She stood there for a long moment, her mind tangled with the continued thoughts of wanting to escape and find love. However, the thing that really got to her the most was the question of why. Why would she ever want to leave this place? She loved her mother more than she loved herself. Her duty to this castle was absolute, and it was a duty that she would never give up.

Suddenly, she felt her mind go clear, as if it were back on track again. Her desire to remain inside this castle returned, and the voices around her all faded away soon after for good. Daniela shook her head, trying to dispel the lingering unease.

With a sigh, she turned away from the empty hall, her thoughts returning to those of her faithful servant. The garden could wait.

The Village

The bitter wind of winter cut through the village like a hot blade. Narratha shivered as the currents battered her skin. She was so accustomed to the temperate climate of Locwitary, not this frigid wasteland. She had spent the last few days working in these conditions, returning only to Heisenberg's factory to sleep.

The man instructed her to continue doing as she was told. As much as it pained her to relive her past as someone only fit for manual labor, shoveling snow off of the fields of other crops felt somewhat more insulting. She despised these villagers, regardless of what that unnaturally fat man advised. Poil or not, they were all the same.

At least back in Locwitary, the sweat on her brow was for her fellow fawns.

Narratha's fingers, numb from the cold, gripped the rough handle of the shovel as she tossed yet another heap of snow aside. The icy wind found every gap in her clothing, creeping in and chilling her to the bone. She glanced up occasionally, her emerald eyes narrowing as she caught the suspicious glances of the villagers who passed by.

They stared at her with fear, mistrust, and sometimes even pity. Pity. The thought made Narratha's blood boil, igniting a fire of hatred deep within her chest. If only they knew the truth. If only she still had her powers, she would show them the meaning of fear. She fantasized about it as she worked—how the villagers would look consumed by blue flames, their screams filling the air. But these were just fantasies. For now, she was trapped in this powerless state.

There was no blue flame to light her path of vengeance.

The thought of Kyia crossed her mind again, as it had so often in the last few days. Narratha still could not figure out how another fawn had managed to cross into this world. Perhaps there was some sort of wider anomaly that caused other portals to open somewhere in Locwitary. Maybe there were other fawns in this world as well that she had yet to meet. Without an explanation, anything was on the table, but regaining her powers was the top priority.

If Kyia could be of any sort of help, then Narratha would need to find a way to enter that castle. Without her, there were no answers. She wanted to find her, but without any help, her goals were in vain. With the Lords of this village seemingly nowhere but everywhere, the redheaded fawn was hesitant to try to sneak into the fortress.

She would have to continue waiting, but she was unsure just how much longer she could go on like this.

Narratha's thoughts were interrupted by the soft crunch of footsteps in the snow behind her. She turned her head slightly, just enough to see a young woman with deep brown hair, tied back in a straight tail, approaching. Her features were sharp yet soft. This girl couldn't have been older than her early twenties.

"Are you hungry?" She asked.

Narratha stiffened, her grip tightening on the shovel. "No," she answered in a voice as cold as the wind around her.

The woman paused, her brow furrowing slightly as she looked at Narratha. "You should eat something," she said after a moment. "I saw you earlier. You've been working for hours, and it's freezing out here." She reached into her bag and pulled out a piece of fruit, a small apple. "Here," she said, holding it out to Narratha. "You look hungry. My name is Elena, what is yours?"

Narratha's eyes flicked to the apple, then back to Elena. She could feel the anger bubbling up inside her, threatening to spill over. She didn't need this girl's concern. She didn't need anything from these wretched villagers. But something in Elena's gaze—something genuine. For a moment, the burning hatred inside her dimmed, but that respite of rage only lasted so long.

"Leave," Narratha grunted, turning her back to Elena and continuing with her work. But Elena did not leave. She only got closer.

"I just want to help you, that's all."

With a vicious glare, Narratha turned around, but her attention was soon stolen by the sound of hurried footsteps crunching through the snow. She looked up to see a much older man with gray hair rushing toward them. His eyes were wide with alarm as he grabbed Elena by the arm, pulling her back from Narratha.

"Stay away from that woman!" he said with urgency. "She's an outsider."

Elena hesitated, her eyes shifting between her father and the stranger she wished to help. There was a spark of defiance in her gaze as she looked back at him. Whatever it was in her heart, it told her to keep on trying. "But Father," she protested, "she's still a person, like the rest of us. She doesn't deserve to be treated unfairly."

Her father shot a worried look at Narratha. "You don't understand," he said in a firm voice. "Outsiders bring trouble. She's dangerous. Come home with me now."

Narratha watched the exchange, her hand still gripping the shovel tightly. She could feel the hatred boiling within her, the urge to lash out, to show these villagers exactly what kind of danger they were dealing with. The man's words, his fear, and his prejudice, was similar to those of the poils who had unjustly murdered so many fawns across the centuries.

She wanted to repeat her past actions in this world. A skilled fawn could easily tear a man's limbs apart, piece by piece—all with the flick of her finger.

But before she could act, Elena, still resisting her father's pull, turned back to Narratha and tossed the apple toward her. "Here," she said softly, apologizing for the way her father was acting.

Narratha's reflexes were quick, despite the cold and exhaustion. She caught the apple in one hand, much to the displeasure of Elena's father, who scowled at the exchange.

"Elena!" he snapped. "I said come home!" The man sounded more frightened than angry, and the way his daughter glanced at him hinted that there was no abuse, only a tight bond between a parent and their beloved child.

Elena allowed her father to lead her away, though she glanced back at Narratha one last time before they disappeared behind the wooden fence that separated the fields from the rest of the village.

Narratha stood still, the apple in one hand and the shovel in the other. Her heart pounded with anger and something else—something she didn't want to name. She watched the pair vanish from sight, the man's harsh words echoing in her mind. Outsider. Dangerous. Trouble.

The temptation to follow them—to approach the man from behind and drive the shovel into his skull—was strong. She could almost feel the satisfaction of hearing his bones crack and of seeing his blood stain the pure white snow. It would be so easy. So satisfying.

But the apple in her hand seemed to weigh her down.

Slowly, she raised the apple to her lips and took a bite, the sweetness filling her mouth. It was strange, this fruit. She had never had anything like it before.

As she chewed, her thoughts drifted back to a time long ago, to Acomb. She and Falena had laid waste to it with ease. She remembered the screams of the poils she killed and the pleas for mercy that went unanswered. She had reveled in the destruction and in the power she held over life and death. It had been a game to her, a way to prove dominance over those who thought they could harm her. Had Lia not intervened, more would have been slaughtered.

But as she stood there, the shovel in one hand and the apple in the other, she found herself questioning those memories. Had it truly been worth it? The blind violence, the senseless destruction—could she do it to these people? Would it all be worth it again after Acomb's ruin accomplished nothing?

She had killed Milo, but that wasn't enough. It was never enough. What would it take to finally be happy?

Narratha considered the duality between Elena and her father. She still wanted to bludgeon the man to death for the way he acted. But as far as Elena went, Narratha felt as though the initial kindness could warrant a non-fawn being spared—possibly.

However, what good would killing the girl's father bring? Was it truly mercy if she still took everything from her?

Narratha stabbed her shovel into the ground and bit into her apple again, savoring the taste. That man, the Duke, said that these people weren't poils.

Did that matter to her at all?

NOTES:

Welcome back! I hope this chapter was worth the extended wait!

Kyia is still the same miserable woman that we remember, but when I said that she is always on the lookout for her next approach, I meant it. Delia is a kind soul, and we know what happens to kind souls who cross this hateful fawn's path. Delia does not hold the secret to where the dagger is, but Kyia needs a direction.

If she even manages to touch that blade...

Daniela is in her own little world yet again. I wanted to show how random her mind is. The garden holds no significance, I promise. The image of the lover she fantasizes about may not be what (or who) you think he is. However, we see that she doesn't even trust herself, and that makes her so dangerous.

As for Narratha, restraint is the name of the game. Those who read Fragmented Flies will remember how out of control she was. Even though she is in a vulnerable position and shows some remorse, she isn't a good person. What will happen if she continues to interact with these villagers? Will one of them break through her evil will, or will she physically break through them?

Some of you may be expecting her to go through a path of redemption, just like the daughters, but she is still a villain. Whether she does anything good or not, she will earn that role.

A little update on how my life is going: it's going well! I'm simply not home as much as I used to be, and I've been enjoying some new things that have come my way. My passion for writing has not ceased, nor will it ever. I would spend several days getting these chapters done each week, and my dynamics have just changed, that is all.

I do want to give an update on the latest chapter of Fragmented Flies: Flickers. It's still being worked on, but it will be released! However, I have decided to no longer set a strict release date for those chapters, as I wish to devote all my effort to this story when it comes to maintaining a schedule. This is not a hiatus. I will never do that. They will still come out in a timely or organized fashion.

As for the next chapter of Fawns, you can expect it on the 6th! See you then!

I hope you guys have been doing great out there! I am so sorry for my poor responsiveness to your comments. I will get to them soon! You guys mean the world to me, and I have been so grateful for this site and this audience! Thank you so much!

Enjoy your weekends and stay safe out there!