Blood and Winter

by Eronald

Ethan's search for Rose is cut short when he finds himself captured by Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters. Ethan must bide his time and plan his escape. All the while, he has to survive being used as blood-cattle for the Dimitrescu daughters. Unlikely friendships are born. It might just be Ethan's key to escaping the castle in one piece and finding Rose. Eventual Ethan x Bela.

54. Reckoning

Bela glared daggers at her reflection as she secured the new medicine cabinet to the bathroom wall. It rattled with the force with which she fastened it.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

She'd had her chance, and she blew it.

Bela crossed her arms, continuing to glower at her reflection – at the blonde idiot who'd failed to stop Cassandra. Her hands trembled with the desire to send her fist through the glass again.

The nerve of that woman to veto her like that – to decide that Olga's life weighed less than the blazing fire of Cassandra's emotions. Stopping the violence was only the first step – once the poor woman was freed, Bela had had every intention of talking Cassandra down, calming her just enough to get her to agree to speaking in private.

But noooo, the senseless fucking violence had to go on – and for what?

Bela's jaw clenched so tight her mouth hurt.

The look Alcina had given Bela as Cassandra dragged Olga out of the room kicking and screaming – what was that supposed to even mean? Was it a power play, meant to remind Bela she was under her mother's thumb, and that Cassandra was the same huntress she had been for the past decades? Was it a warning, meant to prevent Bela from prying into the past any further? Or maybe a threat to keep Ethan's influence far from her mind?

Bela hadn't a single fucking clue as to what Alcina's nearly smug expression meant, but she knew it was no good, and she was sick of it. Sick of this mother-daughter bullshit of putting a roof over their heads and locking them in a never-ending loop of bloody violence. Alcina had been hiding things from them since the day they were born. Times like this, Bela felt Alcina was a jailer more than a mother. The latest connections Ethan had drawn only pushed Bela farther along to the breaking point.

Any way you would try to put it, things looked only worse and worse where Alcina was involved.

Cassandra had been tortured and mutilated, and it had either happened right under Alcina's nose, or their ever-caring mother had simply neglected to ever address the inhumane acts that had occurred right before Victoria had been reborn as Cassandra.

Victoria's personal belongings and her gun had been in storage in the castle, hidden away – which only meant that Alcina either fully knew of Cassandra's past life as Victoria, or had direct participation in Victoria's demise. There was simply no other way that gun would have ended up here in storage. If Victoria had been tortured and murdered elsewhere, then had her remains brought to the castle for experimentation, it made no sense to transfer her personal effects with her. If she'd died in some cabin, like Cassandra believed, then the final resting place of her belongings would be there – where she supposedly died. Instead, her belongings were hidden in the castle's underbelly, out of sight and out of mind; stashed away in the darkest levels, where death lurked, and hope died. Just like the truth that evaded them.

In every scenario that Bela ran through her head, there was not a single instance in which Alcina came out with her hands clean. Ever since last night's talk with Ethan, Bela had been endlessly going over the possibilities – all the ways the castle matriarch could be involved in their death and rebirth.

Up until last night, Bela had never even considered that possibility. Their mother, emotionally distant as she could be, was a rock. A pillar to the family. But, with how Ethan was connecting a few too many logical dots that formed some too-plausible theories, it was too much to ignore, as painful as it may be.

It was simply impossible that things were just as Alcina had led them to believe when they'd been born. There was no way they had simply magically woken up in the dungeons, strapped to those tables. Even if you went ahead and slipped in the implications of Miranda's involvement – it had not been a simple case of Miranda oh-so generously donating three bodies to the castle, and resuscitating them as swarms of sentient flies to act as Alcina's daughters.

Bela winced hard, narrowed eyes still glaring at the medicine cabinet's mirror – hands gripping it by the sides.

Bela knew without a shred of doubt that had not been the case. In the few times Bela had directly worked with Miranda, the latter was never generous, nor kind. Miranda was calculating, ruthless, and cruel. The charitable donation of three daughters to the lonely Lady Dimitrescu did not make sense.

All the talk of those wretched early days struck Bela. It was like a worm wriggling around in her skull, slithering in her grey matter – and as unpleasant and horrid as it was, it was not without its benefits:

She was beginning to remember.

Fragments – nothing but bits and pieces, similar to her other memories that still struggled to gain clarity. But nonetheless they were memories, and they were real. They were unlike anything Bela had recalled before – especially not from that pivotal time of her life – between two lives.

Before, once the rush of memories had first come back to her all those years ago when she stumbled into her home and clinic, Bela didn't remember much of the end. She didn't want to remember the end, as it only left her raw, and aching, and yearning for a swift demise.

All Bela remembered was the illness, and her desperate attempt at seeking out a cure. She remembered lying in a medical cot for days on end, struggling to breathe, barely able to even move – and then nothing.

The next thing Bela had remembered was her awakening as Bela. Huge gaps of missing time persisted in that crucial period – the span of days or maybe weeks that separated her last life from the present one.

But now, the gap was beginning to bridge. Missing pieces of her memory were falling into place.

Bela could now smell the blood mingling with antiseptic in the air, strong enough to make her nauseous. She could feel the sharp, stabbing, throbbing pain in her chest as she stared down at the white bone of her exposed ribcage, peeled open.

She could still hear the slick, fleshy mush of the Cadou larvae burrowing into her lungs, into her stomach, into every inch of exposed meat as they ate her alive. The frantic pounding of her heart as she watched the wriggling insects devour her insides, and she could not so much as scream.

Bela placed a hand over her mouth, and she doubled over the sink for a second. She swallowed hard before the urge to heave could overcome her.

When Bela closed her eyes and thought back – really thought back hard – she could remember the sounds coming from the other side of the room. She had been too weak, too delirious to properly see anything past the tattered medical divider – but she'd heard enough.

Despondent, agonized moans. The rattle of chains. The sickly sound of retching and bile splattering onto the floor.

Cassandra and Daniela had been in that room. That fucking torture chamber, hidden beneath their feet, only a few minutes of walking away. They'd been there at the same time Bela had been there. The only difference was that, for whatever reason, Bela had come to her senses and broken out of the operating table first. It was the only reason she'd been deemed the eldest daughter.

Bela finally relinquished the medicine cabinet, lest she be tempted to destroy it again out of sheer frustration. She wiped her mouth once, and spared the mirror a final glance before stepping out of her bathroom. The door shut behind her with a soft click, and she pressed her back to the fine wood.

Among the sea of intense sensations and feelings, what Bela remembered most clearly of all was Alcina. She supposed that in her subconscious, Alcina had always been the clearest part of those days. It was why they had taken to her so quickly – so easily falling into the role of adoring daughters for their loving mother.

Because even when Miranda had been elbow-deep into Bela's bloody, gory chest, reciting her procedures aloud for a tape recorder, Alcina had been there. One hand in Bela's messy, tangled blonde hair, and the other clutching her right hand. She had drawn a stark contrast to the mad scientist Miranda played. In those hazy dream-like memories, Bela could remember being drawn to Alcina – comforted by her presence, even if only by a little.

What a fool she had been to allow this to slide for so long – to not see it all sooner.

If Alcina had been complicit in allowing their bodies to be experimented on, to turn them into fucking monsters, shaping them into deranged bioweapons, then what else was she complicit in? Ethan's theories gained more weight with each second of contemplation that passed, until there was barely a scrap of doubt left in Bela's mind –

Alcina had stood by idly and allowed Victoria's torture. She'd done nothing to stop it, and then gratefully accepted Miranda's most generous offer to mold Victoria into Alcina's second daughter.

She'd allowed Miranda to toy around with the insides of Daniela's head – whatever it is she'd done to strip all her memories away and take everything from her. All three of them had lost it all, and Alcina had let it happen.

Bela knew it.

There was no other way.

Bela sighed. She knocked the back of her head against the bathroom door once, then craned it to the side.

She eyed her broken bedroom door, precariously leaning on the frame.

So much to do, so much to think of, so many lies and secrets to unravel, but so little time. Bela allowed herself the smallest smirk as she continued to gaze at the broken door – studying its shattered hinges and cracked wood.

At least the medicine cabinet had been taken care of. That just left the matter of fixing her door. Perhaps a certain blonde man-thing may be up for some home improvement. It had Bela smiling, just a little, despite herself; she could use Ethan's presence right about now.

There was a swirling buzz that came right before Bela's bedroom door took that moment to crash to the ground – and Cassandra materialized from her half-morphed swarm, landing hard on her heels – snapping one in the process – as she carried a bloodied figure in her arms.

"Cassandra!" Bela exclaimed, eyes wide, and feet already carrying her forward – her broken door completely forgotten.

The woman in question took a knee as the figure in her arms – the maid, Olga, Bela corrected herself – drew in a soft, labored breath. Dark, damp but drying blood streaked across Olga's bruised and swollen face. Her uniform was ruffled and worn, but did not appear outwardly damaged.

The biggest surprise was that Olga was alive at all. Barely hanging on, maybe, but still alive. Bela had feared her to be dead the moment Cassandra dragged her out of the dining room. Nobody that was yanked out of that room kicking and screaming made it out alive. Ever.

There was no time to question it though, not when Cassandra clutched the maid tighter in her arms and yelled, "Fix her!"

Bela's eyebrows shot up, and she let out a scoff.

Fix her? Did Cassandra think it was so simple?

The dry sarcasm slipped out before Bela could quite reel it in. "Ah, yes – let me get my wand so I can wave it around and get this poor girl back to full health."

Sarcasm aside, Bela was already crouching down onto her knees to survey the unfolding crisis before her; her hands were already beginning to gently poke and prod Olga's body to get an idea of the damage. Cassandra did not take kindly to her tone in any case.

"Do not give me that shit now, sister."

Bela's hand came up in gesture of silence. She had to nip the bickering at the bud before it got out of hand. Besides, Cassandra wanting Bela to save the woman's life ought to be responded to positively – even if Bela preferred that no harm came to Olga to begin with.

She focused her efforts on the diagnosis, rather than Cassandra's narrowed eyes.

Olga was mostly limp. She hardly stirred in Cassandra's arms. Fresh from a beating like the one Cassandra had doled out, it was no surprise Olga was weak – but this wasn't any ordinary sort of exhaustion. Bela took the maid's pulse by the jugular, mentally cataloging how low it seemed.

Bela squinted slightly, focusing her hearing to the best of her ability.

The maid's heart rate was audibly high, and overexerting – or perhaps struggling – to pump oxygen through her blood.

"After I unstrapped her from the chair…" Cassandra began, but trailed off. She clenched her jaw shut, and her eyes acted evasive.

The bloodletting chair, Bela noted in silence.

"She would not stand up on her own." Cassandra swallowed hard, glaring at a non-distinct point on the floor. "She did not try to flee from me."

Bela's brows popped up once again, but she held her tongue. Of course the maid did not flee. She was barely clinging onto life.

The scene played out in Bela's head, even as she continued straining her eyes and ears to identify what was ailing Olga. In the very back of her mind, Bela could only hypothesize what had stayed Cassandra's hand from finishing the job.

"I – I tried," Cassandra cleared her throat. Her stony face hardened even further. "I tried to clean her up a little."

That explained why she was no longer currently bleeding from the fresh wounds.

"But she still refused to get up… that was when I noticed –"

"She's hardly breathing," Bela finally noted, earning a sharp nod from Cassandra.

Bela reached over to place a hand on Olga's head, tilting her head back by a degree. With the thrashings Cassandra was known to hand out, there were all sorts of manners that her airways could be constricted. Bela carefully examined the woman's head, turning it in her hands – lifting an eyelid up to gauge her reaction. Then, Bela's eyes dipped down to Olga's neck.

The lack of bruising around her neck ruled out strangulation and damage to her windpipe. Maybe something else was obstructing it? Bela gently opened Olga's mouth for good measure, running through standard protocol in her head, to verify if any foreign object may have gotten into her throat.

"Her ribs, Bela." Cassandra's swallowed hard. "I think I broke her ribs."

Fuck.

Bela's eyebrows all but raised to her hairline now. With the relatively intact state of the maid's clothes, she hadn't considered lung damage – but of course, it all made sense. Cassandra was more than capable of inflicting enough blunt force trauma to turn a rib into a foreign body poking into Olga's lung. Just like Bela had taught her, all those years ago.

"Set her down," Bela kept her voice as level as possible. She stood up and crossed her room while Cassandra did as instructed, gently laying the maid down onto the stone floor in the center of the room.

Bela grabbed her brown doctor's bag from the side of her desk. With a swift turn, she returned to Olga and Cassandra. Her sister knelt by Olga's side, right across from Bela as she got into position. The alarm appeared to only grow on Cassandra's face with each passing moment that Olga's wheezing breaths got shallower and shallower.

"Can you fix her or not?" Cassandra asked in a sharp hiss.

Olga's lips were already beginning to form a dour shade of blue. The low oxygen levels and the physical damage done to her body were no joke. Olga may die. Odds were –

"Bela, can you, or can you not?!" Cassandra's voice rose in distress.

"I can try," Bela answered.

Bela went through her preparations with quick, calculated movements. Her hands were sanitized with alcohol, and surgical gloves came into place with a firm snapping of rubber. Wordlessly, she extended the alcohol, and another pair of gloves to her sister.

Cassandra hesitated, her shaking hands hovering over her lap.

"Either help me save her, or give me some room," Bela's tone came sharper, curter than she'd intended; the urgency of Olga's condition could not be overstated.

When Cassandra's lips parted, but no sound came out, Bela reiterated, "Cass, do you want her to live or not?"

Cassandra snatched the bottle and the gloves from Bela's hands. She hastily doused her hands and rubbed them together, dumping the bottle to the side before tugging her gloves on.

Bela let out a breath and nodded. A pair of trauma scissors came free from the bag, and Bela positioned them by the top of the maid's dress.

"No time to zip you out," Bela explained to the half-conscious Olga. She said it more to herself than anyone else when she added in a mutter, "We'll get you a new dress."

The cloth came away cleanly with a few snips, exposing her pale skin, and the dark fabric of her bra. She was losing color by the moment now, save for the blossoming reddish-purple bruising.

"Left side," Cassandra mumbled, jaw clenched tight as she helped shift the ruined dress clear from the site of the injury. It only gave Bela a moment's pause, with how it sounded more like an admission of guilt than anything else. The bruising was already a dead giveaway of which side had sustained the worst damage.

Bela gently ran her gloved hand along the left side of Olga's ribcage. Barely a moment later, Olga, in her hardly lucid state, flinched. Cassandra held her steady, preventing any sudden thrashing. She murmured under her breath, "Hold on."

Bela felt it then – the shift and depression in misaligned bone. The rib had punctured Olga's lung, and now air was trapped in her chest cavity.

Bela frowned to herself. How had she not realized it sooner? When first glancing at Olga's windpipe, she had failed to notice the way it was beginning to move over to one side – pushed away by the forming tension in her chest.

"It was a good thing you came to me when you did," Bela began. After a moment of deliberation, Bela selected a large syringe from her bag. "Any longer, and her good lung or her heart may have given out."

Cassandra eyed the needle. "What are you going to do with that?"

Simply, Bela told her, "I am going to pop her chest." She sighed, mentally bracing herself. "Hold her still, please."

Bela's hand grazed over Olga's clavicle, traveling down before finding its mark between two ribs. Bela drew in a breath. "Here goes nothing."

She positioned the needle upright and gently pressed down.

A gush of air immediately rushed free from the needle, joined by a squirt of blood nailing Bela right in the face. She flinched once, shaking her head before steading her hold on the needle. After the initial eruption of blood, there was a small spatter, further soiling Bela's dress. Then, the breath of air escaping the tube reduced to a dull whistle, and it fizzled out completely. The latent expression of pain and discomfort on Olga's face eased. Her chest then began to rise and fall with slow, albeit difficult breaths.

Cassandra observed the woman with wide eyes and a degree of perplexity, her gloved hands clinging to Olga's dress. Bela busied herself going through the motions of securing the cannula to Olga's chest with gauze and medical tape.

Once Bela was certain the needle decompression was a success, her gloved fingers went back to Olga's ribs. The woman did not stir this time, as the sheer exhaustion of the ordeal appeared to have overtaken her. A secondary round of gentle prodding gave Bela a hint of the break's severity – which was, to Bela's surprise, not a complete clusterfuck.

Taking a deep breath, Bela reported, "Good news is that you didn't completely snap her ribs into pieces."

Now that Olga was stable, Cassandra had taken to clutching onto Olga and her dress, a frown on her face as she glared at the floor.

"I was afraid that I would need to fish bits of bone out of her lungs." Bela grimaced just at the thought of it. "Fortunately, that is not the case. It appears the broken rib shifted at the moment of breakage, and that is what resulted in the minor lung puncture."

With practiced hands, Bela dug through her hand to prepare a fresh syringe, and a dose of antibiotics. The last thing they needed was to lose Olga in a day or two due to an infection caused by this emergency procedure.

Cassandra glanced up at Bela once to ask, "Minor?"

"Yes, minor." Bela nodded, as she administered the shot of antibiotics. Setting the needle aside, Bela then began to gently prod her fingers along Olga's stomach to check for signs of internal bleeding. "Had this been more severe, there would be too much blood trapped in her chest along with the air. We would need medical equipment to pump the blood and air out – equipment I don't have." A pause, and Bela had to observe Olga for a moment longer, just to make sure she didn't jinx it. "But, it appears this quick needle decompression did the job. The damage to her lung is not fatal… at least, it doesn't appear to be."

"How can you be sure?" Cassandra looked up at Bela fully now, the frustration apparent in her furrowed brow and her suppressed sneer.

Bela stared at Olga for a beat longer. Broken ribs, some lacerations, blood loss, probable head trauma, no shortage of bruising – it wasn't a pretty sight.

"Truthfully, I am not sure at all." Bela sighed. "Without more diagnostics, these are all educated guesses."

Even back in the village, it had been one of Bela's dreams to get her hands on an X-Ray machine. The good she could have accomplished with that would have been astronomical.

Not that it would have helped much towards the bitter end of it all.

The Duke could probably procure all the equipment if Bela asked. But, something told Bela that after today's lunch, Alcina would be watching them all a little more closely – purchases included. Bela was in no mood to explain her shopping list to that woman.

So, Bela went about the task of stitching Olga back together. Cassandra remained silent, but watchful over the next few minutes as Bela sutured a cut over Olga's brow, and then went about stabilizing and splinting the maid's wrist.

"Will she live, Bela?" Cassandra asked in a tone that left little room for argument – and even less room for a no.

Bela found herself mimicking Cassandra's frown, her own tattooed forehead creasing as she secured the splint. Their amber eyes met in the middle at a stalemate, neither of them daring to break contact first.

Eventually, Bela nodded. "The fact her pallor is improving so quickly is a good sign. Her lung has not completely collapsed, evidenced by her current breathing. Looks like we do not even need to swap out the tube for anything bigger." Bela rubbed her gloved fingers together for a moment as she racked her brain. "The broken rib will take weeks to heal, and it will be excruciatingly painful for Olga. Same goes for the wrist… and we will also have to monitor her for any signs of infection."

Damage, both physical and undoubtedly psychological, had been done. It would be a long road to recovery, but the worst was hopefully over. If the fractured rib was any more severe, then the symptoms should have manifested by now. The swelling should be twice as bad and her breathing thrice as shallow – but no, there was nothing of the sort.

Bela sighed. "She's quite strong, young, and you brought her to me in time." With a little more confidence in her voice, she concluded, "She will live."

Cassandra let slip a breath – a little sigh of her own. As the exhale left her, Cassandra visibly shrunk, her shoulders sagging low as her head tilted down by a degree. Almost like the news of Olga's health was as relieving as it was troubling for her.

Though perhaps it wasn't her health that was troubling per se.

What weighed on Cassandra was the knowledge she'd condemned the poor woman to weeks, months, of pain amid her recovery period.

Bela watched the brunette out of the corner of her eye as Cassandra began to finish what she had earlier started – cleaning Olga's face up. She dug the needed materials from Bela's bag and used a pad of disinfectant-soaked gauze to rub slow, firm circles over the woman's unconscious face. The maid would be in for a world of pain when she regained her senses, but the least they could do (aside from drugging her with the best painkillers the Duke could offer) was ensure she woke up clean.

In time, Olga's bruised, youthful features were clean of blood. Her face, painted black and blue as it was, had a semblance of peace to it as she floated through the void of unconsciousness.

With a slight grunt, Bela pushed herself up to her feet. She allowed Cassandra the silence in the privacy of her thoughts; her sister had not moved an inch from where she knelt by Olga's side. Cassandra said nothing. She only clutched onto the bloodied gauze in her hand and stared down at the woman she'd nearly killed.

Bela packed up her bag of tools before passing by her bathroom. The gloves were swiftly disposed of, before Bela thoroughly washed her hands. Looking at the newly installed mirror revealed that Olga had spared no blood when targeting Bela's face. With a slight grumble under her breath, she pooled water in her hands, and lowered her face to the sink to wash the blood off. Bela repeated the process a few times until she cleaned the worst of it off. The dark crimson still clung to her hair, the corner of her jaw, and the side of her neck.

The water splashed into her face a final time, and Bela ran the wet hands over her hair to get some of the blood out. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she allowed herself the smallest of smiles.

She'd saved a life. It had to count for something.

By the time Bela had toweled off and returned to her bedroom, Cassandra had managed to snatch a throw pillow from the fireplace. The small rectangular cushion in its silken blue pillowcase was now tucked underneath Olga's head. Cassandra remained kneeling by her side, just as before; the only difference was that her gloves were discarded.

Bela's fingers flexed at her sides. She came to a stop at the center of her room, standing over Olga.

When neither the unconscious Olga nor the statue-like Cassandra moved or acknowledged her presence, Bela sighed again. She stepped over to her pair of desks by the corner of the room. Parking herself in one chair, Bela propped her elbow up on the wooden desk, craning her head to Cassandra.

"Come. Sit with me a moment."

Bela's invitation fell on deaf ears. Cassandra remained stock-still, eyes vacantly staring at the ground just past Olga. The only indication Cassandra had heard her was the way she crossed her arms tightly over her chest. Her pointer finger tapped incessantly against her upper arm.

"You will hurt your knees kneeling that long," Bela tried. "Come on, Cass."

It got the slightest reaction from the brunette, but not one Bela had been banking on:

Cassandra shook her head gently, dark hair swaying.

Bela kept her voice soft. "Why not?"

Even if Cassandra didn't answer, Bela already knew why not. The woman need not name the hundred reasons she was better off staying far, far away from Bela – the person who twisted and corrupted her to begin with.

Bela didn't want to delude herself. She knew fully well that she and Cassandra were on the rocks.

Bela's special treatment towards Ethan since he'd arrived. Cassandra's torturous bloodletting that same day. The game she'd put Ethan through, and the entire chain of dominoes it set off, concluding in Cassandra taking the fall for him, so Alcina would not turn her wrath towards the man.

And more. So much more. Bela and Cassandra had been on shaky ground for some time now, and today's exercise in cooperation had simply been a necessity, nothing else. Cassandra didn't know who to turn to, to save Olga's life, and it had led her right back to Bela.

Even though she was undoubtedly the last person Cassandra wanted to see.

Maybe Bela was the one who ought to speak first. Get the long overdue apology out there while Cassandra was still here. Better to say her piece while there was still a chance in hell that Cassandra actually wanted to hear her out.

The unease rippled through Bela's insides like a swarm of rabid butterflies. This was not how Bela pictured her reunion with Cassandra. She'd always imagined it beginning with a much less eventful backdrop. Something as quiet and mundane as sidling into Cassandra's armory at night with a plate of her favorite lemon squares handy.

Or a bottle of alcohol. Hell, maybe some blood. Anything to help break the ice and ease them into something remotely resembling a normal evening chat in this godforsaken castle.

She never really pictured the maid fresh from death's door to be lying unconscious a few feet away when the talk unfolded – what more having the taste of said maid's blood in the back of her mouth. Fate has always had a cruel and strange sense of humor; Bela knew it all too well.

Ethan had been right about Cassandra.

In the immediate aftermath of the incident at lunch, Bela had doubted him. Cassandra beating the daylights out of an innocent maid didn't exactly scream turning a new leaf.

But she had been too quick to judge. Beating or not, Cassandra had ultimately stayed her hand. And more than the simple act of sparing the maid – Cassandra went the extra mile to ensure her victim survived. Olga could have easily been left in the cellars to succumb to her injuries. Bela would not have put doing that beyond the Cassandra she thought she knew. It's not like punished maids had not been battered down and left to die and transform into Moroaice before.

Now though, it was a simple matter of fact:

The Cassandra who knelt over Olga's body in this moment was no longer the Cassandra Bela once knew.

Just like how the Bela she was today was not the same Bela who'd torn through countless men, women, and children, laughing the whole way through the bloody slaughter.

And so, it was high time that Bela did all she could to help guide Cassandra into this new chapter in her life. A chapter that even to this day, Bela still struggled with on her own. Hell, it was only because of the goodness in Ethan's heart that Bela was still around and fighting the lingering darkness and despair that lurked within the depths of her soul. Now it was Bela's turn to pay it forward and help the person who she had damaged the most over the years. No matter the cost.

Bela opened with a question she already knew the answer to.

"Why?" Bela shifted in her seat, clearing her throat. "Why did you want me to save her?"

A stretch of silence, thicker and far more loaded than the last. In this stillness, Bela could perfectly hear the way Cassandra held her breath.

"Why did you spare her?"

"You fucking know why!" Cassandra snapped, sending a piercing glare Bela's way. She sprung up to her feet, stomping forward with uneven steps – until she kicked off her broken heel completely. Cassandra came to a stop in front of Bela. The brunette jabbed an accusatory finger forward as she loomed over Bela. "I am done falling for your – your bullshit! Stop pretending like you don't know what's happened to me."

The words stalled in Bela's throat as Cassandra towered over her, eyes alight with fury.

"He told you, didn't he?" Cassandra's tone cut right through Bela, and she flinched when Cassandra barked, "Ethan told you!"

Bela raised her hands up in an attempt to placate Cassandra. She nodded and replied, "He did. Ethan told me everything."

Cassandra sucked in a long, shuddering breath, struggling to keep her composure. She took half a step back, withdrawing the finger she pointed at Bela's face. Her fingers fidgeted at her sides as she stood there with one shoe on, and the broken one discarded. Her tense fingers crumpled into fists as she growled, "Is there anyone in this fucking castle that idiot did not tell? Or can I expect mother to give me one of her oh-so-uplifting speeches about things she doesn't understand?!"

It gave Bela the opening to try and steer the conversation to productive ground – away from Ethan and his big, but well-meaning mouth. "Cass… what happened to you is not a bad thing." She straightened up in her chair, trying to sit tall as she faced Cassandra. "Remembering your last life is the best thing that could have happened to you."

A snarl cut through Cassandra's lips. "That is easy for you to say, isn't it?" Every simmering word erupted forward, joined by Cassandra's tight, loathing frown. "It must be so easy for you to tell me that after what you did to me."

It dashed away any hope Bela had of lifting Cassandra's spirits. The guilt and regret dripped free from her heart, burning through her insides like acid – enough to make Bela nauseous.

"Just look at you, sitting there, all prim and proper! All high and mighty." Cassandra's voice quivered, even as the sheer hatred overpowered all other emotion on her face. "I trusted you, Bela."

Bela felt her lips trembling when she whispered, "I know."

"I fucking trusted you!" Cassandra's hands came up before her, fingers tightly, painfully curling into fists.

"I'm sorry," Bela whimpered out, shrinking in her seat as all the resolve fled her body.

Bela could never forget it all – the way she'd twisted Cassandra's fear into pure, unadulterated hatred. She'd been locked onto an endless crusade for revenge against humanity since that fateful morning in the cellar. It was a score that no amount of blood could ever settle – and that had not dissuaded Cassandra in the slightest. It had only given her more drive to rip and tear through anyone that stood in her way.

That cellar may have been the pinnacle, but it was far from the end. All those years, they slaughtered and tortured people together – goading Daniela into joining them. Bloody, awful decades of time Bela would give her life to undo. If she could erase that moment – that entire spring morning with the cellar, she would. But she can't.

When Bela blinked her blurry vision clear, it was to see Cassandra's balled fists open, and fall back to her side. She sneered down at Bela, repeating in a mocking voice, "Best thing that could happen to me," she scoffed, "You know what, Bela?"

Nothing but a bubbling resentment in Cassandra's eyes, ready to boil.

Bela did her best to sit straight. She wanted to make up for it all. She wanted to be the big sister that Cassandra needed – had always needed, now more than ever, now that her past life's memories had resurfaced. She desired more than anything to be good to Cassandra.

Bela sat tall for all she was worth and braced herself. Before she could say her piece and be the good sister Cassandra needed, Bela needed to first let Cassandra say her part. Allow her to let it all out, and put all her feelings out there. No matter how much it would hurt, now that the dam had clearly been broken.

"Everything just feels worse now," Cassandra paused only to lick her dry lips and take a deep breath, "It feels awful knowing that it was all for nothing." Cassandra had to pause to steady her voice. She pushed every word and syllable out through her clenched teeth. "Every. Single. Fucking. Thing."

Cassandra's eyes carried the slightest glassy tint. "All those people we killed… all those people you taught me to torture," Cassandra took a step forward, nearly staggering because of the missing shoe. The frustration reached its tipping point, and Cassandra's hand shot down to grab her remaining shoe. "All of them! Everyone died for nothing!" Cassandra flung her shoe right over Bela's shoulder, sending it crashing into the stack of books piled high. The tomes came clattering to the table, tumbling down to the floor as Cassandra bellowed, "We made them die screaming for nothing, Bela! For nothing!"

Only Cassandra's shaking breaths matched Bela's own trembling in that moment. Cassandra bared her teeth for a long moment before she managed out a hiss, "They all died for that – that idea that this is how I get my revenge at this no-good world." Her finger jabbed out again to point its accusation at Bela. "You remember, sister?! That idea that you put in my fucking head!"

"I'm sorry," Bela sniffed. She simultaneously wanted to avoid Cassandra's simmering, hateful glare, but found herself just as unable to look away. Bela could not look away now that someone had finally come to call her out – to say it right to her face what a monster she had been. "I'm so sorry, Cassie."

"It was never about protecting the family or putting food on the table," Cassandra went on as if Bela had not even spoken, "That was never it for you. It was always just a damned power trip, wasn't it, Bela?" Her jaw clenched hard, and she growled, "Wasn't it?"

Bela swallowed the lump in her throat.

"Fucking answer me!" Cassandra roared – lurching forward and right up into Bela's face. Her hands grabbed Bela's desk on either side of her – wood splintering in her grip – and she effectively trapped Bela in place.

There was nowhere to go now. Nowhere to hide. No more running from her horrific past.

Cassandra's deep, piercing eyes pinned Bela down with their endless fury – and what a terrifying sight they were up close.

Bela parted her lips, and willed her voice to remain steady.

Cassandra spoke in a grave whisper. "If you even think of telling me that we killed for the family…"

"I liked it."

Bela uttered her confession out through teary eyes and shaking lips, "We killed and tortured people because I liked it." The shame churned in her insides like a rotten meal in a starving stomach. "Hurting people made me feel alive."

The raw honesty stunned Cassandra – enough that the bewilderment shone through her rage. Her fine dark brows pitched up. The wood of her desk splintered in her tightening grip as she asked, "Why?"

"All I felt in those days was rage…" Bela fluttered her eyes shut for moment.

Heart pounding in her chest. Hunger stirring her stomach. Blood pumping hatred through her veins as she killed, and she killed, and she killed.

"Just fury and hunger," Bela whispered, eyes opening. "I… I don't know, Cass. It was unfair to me that everyone out there could go out, living their lives, being happy – while all I felt was emptiness." Bela's own brows pitched up in silent plea as she gazed up at Cassandra – barely inches away from her own face. "Making them suffer was simply my way of getting even."

Cassandra's scoff was hot on Bela's face. "It wasn't fair – that's it?" Cassandra's lips remained parted, and her tattooed forehead retained its crease for a while longer. "You – you dragged me into this hell because you were – what, sad? And it wasn't fair to you?" She asked again, voice softer and higher than before. "That's it?"

Bela shut her eyes tight, feeling the dampness trickle down her cheeks. She shook her head. "It's a terrible reason."

Abruptly, Cassandra pulled back, pushing herself off of Bela's damaged desk. Her voice was no less sharp when she spat, "What a poor fucking excuse."

"I know," Bela managed out through her steadily tightening throat. She suppressed a sob. "I know."

Cassandra took a shaky step back, head swaying side to side in disbelief. Her hands came up to press into her face for a beat. Then they slipped up to grip her hair in small fistfuls. She craned her head back – gazing up at the ceiling as her lips moved, appearing to mutter a curse under her breath.

When she released her hair, Cassandra motioned to Bela. "Why me, Bela?" The livid curl at her lip had momentarily been displaced by the utter confusion. "Why'd you drag me down with you?"

Bela opened her mouth, but no words came out.

She swallowed and tried again, "I…"

…needed a companion in hell.

Bela winced hard, hanging her head low for a moment, sending her messy hair cascading down. She raised her head back up, sweeping her golden locks back into place as she took another breath.

"I don't know, Cass." Bela brought her hands to rest on her lap, restlessly pinching and gripping the rough fabric, desperately wishing Cassandra would understand. "I…"

Cassandra spoke in a low, deadly tone, uttering the words out through clenched teeth, "Out with it."

"Maybe deep down, I always felt the killing was wrong," Bela let out in a single breath – rushing to get all the words out, lest her throat seize up. "And maybe I – I only thought that if I had you at my side, then…" She could not look Cassandra in the eye. Her voice fizzled out into a whisper. "Then maybe it was not as bad as I feared."

In the stillness of Bela's bedroom, she could hear the way Cassandra's breath hitched.

The words continued to trickle out. "Maybe that somehow justified it all."

Cassandra's pulse audibly quickened in Bela's sensitive ears, drowning out Olga's labored breathing. Her teeth gritted together hard enough to produce a grating, grinding sound.

"If we were both doing it, then killing was just a normal affair."

It was a dumb, ludicrous delusion, and Bela knew as much by now – but Cassandra had to hear this. Cassandra needed to know the truth, no matter how stupid it sounded, no matter how wrong it was, even if it would cost Bela everything.

When Bela tore her eyes off the floor to look at Cassandra, she found the brunette frozen in place. Despair and disbelief alike mingled with the rage twisting her face. She licked her lips, throat bobbing once as she shook her head.

Cassandra drew in a shaky inhale. Her voice came out slowly, softly – and picked up volume with each word that stumbled out. "You turned me into a monster just to make yourself feel better." Her voice rose in pitch as she shook her head. "No… no, no, no. I don't believe this. I don't believe you did this to me just so you could feel better."

Tears beaded at Cassandra's eyes now – red, hot, angry, sorrowful tears.

"Did you know?" Cassandra sniffed. "Did you always know that I had a good life as –"

She cut herself off before the name – before Victoria – could leave her lips. Cassandra wore the pained grimace plainly on her face. "Did you keep it from me all those years?"

"No," Bela was quick to reply. "No, I swear, I did not."

As manipulative and hateful as Bela had been in those days, even she had not hidden Victoria's life from Cassandra in the early days. It was for the better Bela had not known the truth. Who knew what she would have done with that information, how she would have twisted it to manipulate Cassandra right where she'd wanted her.

Bela told Cassandra as much, "In the beginning, I remembered nothing – I remembered even less than you did. My memories were like that of Daniela – nothing."

Face stony, Cassandra asked, "Is that the truth?" Warning filled her voice. "Do not lie to me, Bela."

"It is," Bela nodded, sniffing once and wiping her face. "The hunting, and your time with Boris – I only remembered your life in the village when my own memories returned."

Cassandra unclenched her jaw, clearing her throat once or twice. She nodded and blinked vacantly – trying to put on her mask of neutrality as tears trickled down her cheeks.

"I tried to tell you, Cassie," Bela gripped her dress tighter, hands fidgeting on her lap. "I did."

But Cassandra never believed her.

A soft huff, and the disdain overpowered whatever poker face Cassandra tried to wear. As if reading Bela's mind, Cassandra picked up on the unspoken afterthought. "Do you know why I did not listen to you?"

Bela remained silent. Ten years was a long time, but she still remembered quite clearly how poorly Cassandra had reacted to it. Poorly did not even scratch the surface of utter disbelief when Bela had tried to broach the topic back then. Not when the truth amounted to:

'Yes, I lied to you all along, and you were actually happy in the last life. Trust me.'

Bela's insistence on what the truth was had been a pivotal part of the schism that formed between them. Decades of mindless slaughter justified by righteous vengeance against humanity – all for Bela to claim that no, it was not all bad.

Of course Cassandra had not believed her. There was no way she would believe her, not after decades of lies and manipulation. Of course she would cling to the old ways, and interpret the actual truth as lies.

"Bela…" Cassandra's shaking voice came out her tight throat. Droplets of tears trickled down her face as it split into a horrific grimace. "I built this entire life around what you taught me." She stepped closer, breath hitching as she inhaled. "I dedicated this – my entire life to the hunt – to punish these people, these rats," As if finding her second wind, Cassandra's voice gained its steel and fervor as her body shook, and she roared, "to punish this entire fucking species for what they did to me! I did that Bela – I maimed, and I killed them! I tortured and ate all these people! All because hurting each other is all they're good for!"

The disbelief came out in a lost, despondent, confused chuckle. "Because all humanity does is create suffering – and I have to make them pay, and we have to protect the family from them." A brutally succinct recap – all the better for highlighting the absurdity and the delusion it had been drawn in. Cassandra's face twisted into a tight wince – her very skin trembling. "You taught me that, Bela."

Cassandra stopped her advance right in front of Bela. Her hands raised up, occupying the space between them – fingers flexing as if she were stopping herself from strangling Bela.

"The idea that the very foundation I built my life on was a lie," Cassandra scoffed, "You think I could have just accepted that? That I could just take your word for it that I had a good life – after you were the one who built these fucking foundations on every goddamn body in that cellar?"

Every inch of Cassandra shook as she drew in a breath. Bela remained stock-still – there was no word or action now that could defuse Cassandra.

This was the grave Bela had dug for herself.

"Don't just fucking sit there, you dolt!" Cassandra grabbed Bela by the shoulders as she yelled. "Are you even listening to me?"

"I – I am," Bela managed out – trying to sound strong, only for her voice to crack.

Cassandra pushed Bela back against the chair, releasing her grip on her. She clenched her hands into tight fists as her voice cracked, and Bela shut her eyes tight. "Don't you understand what you fucking did to me, Bela?!"

"You fucking ruined me!" Cassandra slammed her fist down, past Bela's head, and into her desk. It splintered and cracked, sending a plank of wood snapping into the air as Bela trembled and whimpered.

Cassandra turned, throwing a kick at the chair by Bela's side. It smashed into the closest wall and landed on the ground as a pile of ruin.

Her hands came up – deliberately and purposely as she yelled, "You know what these fucking hands have done?!" Cassandra shot towards Bela's second desk, up against the wall to their left. With effortless power, Cassandra hurled it to the far side of the room – avoiding the unconscious Olga completely.

The furniture crashed with a deafening clatter. The desk collided against her bathroom door, tearing it clean off its hinges and cluttering the doorway with rubble. Stray books and shattered glass from her lab equipment littered the room. Twisted candelabras reflected the dim fireplace, and the shattered oil lanterns glimmered away in the dark.

Cassandra's rampage went on – bending low once to look Bela in the face as she bellowed, "You know what we've fucking done?! You fucking bitch!"

She pointedly avoided Bela – reaching over her shoulder to grab the microscope on the desk. With a single smash against the table – she twisted the metal beyond recognition and punched a hole clean through the desk.

All Bela could do was flinch and weep and sob as Cassandra's tirade went on.

"You know how many people have fucking suffered because of us?!" Cassandra took a nearly drunken step back, flinging the microscope over Bela's head to smash it into the wall; the pieces clattered down onto the ruins of the desk next to her. She pointed a finger right at Bela's face. "They fucking suffered because of you!"

"I'm sorry," Bela's hands covered her mouth as the tears streamed down her face. She choked out the sobs, "I'm so sorry, Cassie."

Cassandra was a pacing, frantic ball of rage. She grabbed Bela's wardrobe with one hand, yanking it over and tipping it over to the side with a loud crash. "You think sorry will ever bring any of them back?!" Cassandra bellowed in her breaking voice, "You think sorry will undo all the torture?! Everyone we've left to bleed and die?!"

"It doesn't," Bela shook her head sharply, struggling to string the simplest of words together.

Cassandra turned and swung her fist into the stone wall to the left. The chunk of rock cracked on impact and sent a puff of dust through the air. She whirled right back around to turn her snarling face to Bela, "I – I stabbed Artyom right in the fucking face in that cellar! Do you remember him, Bela?!" Her hand drew a sharp, cutting motion in the air right by Bela's nose. "I ate his fucking wife, and – and I don't even remember her name anymore!"

Her pulse beat up all the way into her ears, pounding against her brain – fogging up her memories and any hopes of a clean recollection right now, when it mattered the most.

"Do you fucking remember killing all our friends, Bela?!" Cassandra slipped over her words, her voice cracking each time it peaked as she screamed, "They – we – they're all fucking dead because of us!" She stumbled a step to the side from the sheer force she gestured as she spoke, and spat the rage out, "Killing wasn't even the worst we did! We fucking tortured some of them for days!"

"And now, you," Her hands whipped about in sharp gestures, "you're waltzing around the fucking castle with Ethan!" Cassandra's tone nearly slipped into the ether completely – and it gave Bela pause through her tears amid Cassandra's mad raving. "Why do you get to be happy?! Why does the lying bitch deserve to be happy?!"

"Cassie…" Bela whimpered as Cassandra picked up the fire poker, which stuck out amid the rubble of furniture. Cassandra stalked forward, stepping over Ogla's blissfully unconscious body.

"You're my fucking sister, Bela!" Cassandra choked on a sob. "I trusted you!" She slammed the fire poker into Bela's battered desk, and she could do nothing but hug herself tight, curling in on herself. Cassandra swept all the desk's contents crashing into the walls and floor with a fling of her makeshift weapon. Despair and rage were common bedfellows now as Cassandra faced Bela. "I fucking trusted you! I trusted you and you left me! You left me to be a fucking monster!" Cassandra clenched her eyes shut hard, dropping the poker, and allowing it to roll along the floor. Her hands – wringing in place between them and on the verge of throttling Bela – finally came to clamp over Cassandra's eyes. With a final exhale, she screamed out, "Fuck!"

Cassandra stumbled a pace back, hands in her face. The despondent sobs broke through in earnest, rocking her shoulders.

Bela struggled to steady her own breathing as she took in the sight of Cassandra through blurry eyes. All alone, Cassandra stood there, elbows tucked in close to protect herself, hands covering her face as the grief overcame her. The low flames of Bela's fireplace cast long shadows over the brunette. Surrounded by the ruin she had made of Bela's bedroom, Cassandra had never looked so lost and isolated.

And it was all Bela's fault.

Even though much blame could be lumped onto the likes of Miranda or their mother – there was no denying it. There was no running from it any longer:

Bela had brought this all on herself.

She alone had stuck a knife into Cassandra's psyche and twisted her into a killer for the most selfish reasons imaginable. Even if turning them into bug-women was Miranda's doing, it was only by Bela's hand that Cassandra became the vicious man-hunter that splattered the valley in red. Had Bela simply left Cassandra alone all those years – if Bela never pressured Cassandra into the hunt – then Cassandra would have gladly gone all these decades as peacefully as their miserable existence could allow.

Bela gulped hard, swallowing a pitiful sob before it could sputter out.

She had to be strong. She had to be strong for Cassandra.

Bela could lament and ruminate all she wanted about how monstrously terrible she had been – but that would do nothing to help her sister. And it was just as Ethan had said: she needed to help Cassandra. She needed to help her younger sister who was suffering because of her lies.

With slow, cautious movements, Bela stepped forward. When Cassandra did not immediately recoil, Bela took another step. She showed no signs of retreat the closer Bela got – not even any indication that she noticed Bela's approach at all.

It was only when Bela stood a foot away that Cassandra noticed her. The hands clutching her tear-streaked face lowered an inch – allowing them to lock eyes. Cassandra's sobs marginally reduced to whimpers. For a moment, her perplexity overcame the grief as she eyed Bela warily.

Bela didn't think twice now, and simply planted her hands on either of Cassandra's shoulders.

Cassandra's lower lip trembled, brows coming to pitch together.

Bela slowly, gently pulled her sister into an embrace – giving Cassandra the opportunity to shrug off her touch.

It was all too quick that Cassandra brought her arms up to wrap around Bela in earnest. Cassandra's beat of composure came and went, and whatever little walls she still had standing finally crumbled in their entirety. Cassandra wailed freely into the crook of Bela's neck, grabbing fistfuls of the blonde's dress as she squeezed her tight.

Bela dug her teeth down onto her lips – biting hard to suppress the overwhelming rush of emotion, because this was not how this confrontation should be going. Cassandra's onslaught should have only escalated further – the raging fire should have rampaged on until Bela's entire room was nothing but a desolate ruin.

That sort of destructive vengeance was the least that she owed Cassandra. And such damage to Bela's sanctuary was the absolute least she deserved after all she had wrought.

But no – here Cassandra was, clutching onto Bela like her life depended on it. And maybe it did. Despite the horror, the living nightmare Bela had locked her into, Cassandra held onto Bela so tightly as though she had never ruined Cassandra's life to begin with.

Words failed Bela. Any thoughts that she hoped to vocalize were muted. All the things she wished to tell Cassandra died there in the back of her throat in that moment. Bela's looming, abysmally deep sense of self-loathing murdered ever comforting sentiment she wanted to impart with her sister.

There was no leniency that Bela deserved. No hugging and making up and acting like they were sisters – Bela had lost the right to that when she manipulated Cassandra into becoming a killer. All she should be getting is her apology shoved right into her face along with the open palm of her sister's hand – being told to fuck right off with her sorry – that was all Cassandra ought to give her.

Bela clenched her sister tighter, gulping the lump in her throat that felt like a rock.

Cassandra spoke first, to Bela's relief.

"It was easy hurting Olga." The confession slipped out in a low, quaking whisper. "It was so easy."

Bela closed her eyes. Even with Cassandra's teary face out of sight, she could perfectly imagine the utter anguish and despondency. Bela had been in that position in one way or another, after all. She knew all too well how easy it was to let all humanity and sensibility slip away and allow Strigoaica Bălaie to reign free.

"Fucking…" Cassandra drew in a strained breath – bracing herself, "beating her was the easiest thing I've done since it all came back to me." She clutched the rough fabric of Bela's dress tighter as she trembled.

Freedom from all rational thought. The thin chains of morality gone. Nothing but the thrill of warm blood under your hands and dripping into your mouth.

Bela held Cassandra tighter – but more for her own sake this time. Anything to ground herself in the present and away from the shame of her relapse on the day Ethan arrived.

"Before, Bela," Cassandra fought to steady her voice as she said her sister's name – ensuring she had Bela's full attention, "Whenever you cut them down… was it ever done with other people in mind?" She sucked air in, and breathed out, "Was… was there anyone you ever blamed for all of this?"

A shuddering breath of her own, and Bela steeled herself. She pulled back from Cassandra to hold her at an arm's length – fingers still digging into her dress. This was one of the ugly truths that came out easier than the others. "No. In my rage, I never had anyone to pin it on." She paused only to lick her dry lips and make the effort to look Cassandra in the eye. "I cared not who was in my way." Men, women, children – she abhorred them all. The volume of her voice fizzled away as the words spilled out. "All I knew was they had to suffer." Her eyes dipped down. "… so that I wouldn't suffer alone."

Bela struggled to parse the disappointment and anger in Cassandra's gaze. She could only silently thank Cassandra when she shook her head and made no further comment. She instead went on to say, "In my worst days, I'd think to myself that maybe the latest corpse at my feet was that bastard from the cabin."

The mere mention of it elevated Bela's heartrate – flooding blood through her veins as prickling anger simmered deep within her.

It had to have been Miranda.

The thought went unsaid for the moment as Cassandra went on, "Today was different." Puffy amber eyes avoided Bela's watchful gaze. Apprehensive lips paused, hanging open for long seconds, until, "I saw Victoria in her." A shorter pause, and Cassandra's shoulders trembled with a suppressed shudder. "I saw myself. From before."

Bela's heart stilled in her chest, as all the pieces fell into place. Cassandra's outburst no longer seemed out of place at all.

"Clumsy, skinny, pitiful thing." Cassandra let out a hot scoff, a sad smile on her face. "A dark-haired bundle of anxiety and worry. Nothing to say for herself but apologies and pleas for mercy."

"Cass…" Bela's gentle reproach came, but she left it at that.

"I wanted to punish her." Cassandra gently extracted herself from Bela's hold on her shoulders. She appeared to chew the words over in her mouth for a beat. "I'd always blamed Victoria for her weakness." She brought her arms up to wrap around herself. "It was her own fault that she was abused and beaten and tortured."

Bela sensed the coming point Cassandra was working towards, and refrained from interrupting.

"This whole life as Cassandra – I blamed my woes on Victoria's weakness."

Just as Bela had pinned all her unhappiness and rage on humanity; when she couldn't find peace, she made it her mission to take away any semblance of peace from them all. "But…" Cassandra sighed. "I was wrong. I was so wrong, Bela."

"The memories, they…" Cassandra gripped onto her sleeves. "They changed everything."

Her outlook on the world, her past life's image, her extensive list of accomplishments in that life – Cassandra's entire world had been rocked just like Bela's had been. Even if Cassandra did not spell out every detail, Bela could easily fill in the gaps.

Victoria the proud, deadly huntress. The best shot in the village. The one that rallied the hunters to protect them from the increasingly sinister threats that plagued their home, before it all came to a horrific end.

Bela's prior experience with memories coming back gave this entire talk an odd sense of déjà vu.

Cassandra shook her head, "I didn't want to believe it."

Bela had been there too.

"I did not want to believe everything I ever knew was a lie."

From living a good life to becoming a murderous beast – it was a twisted path that would drive anyone to madness.

"I rejected it. I rejected it all." Cassandra swallowed hard, eyes glaring at the loose books strewn about the floor. "I…" Words soon failed her, and she choked on the tears that made their return.

There was no further elaboration needed. Bela saw the train of thought Cassandra was drawing: she'd rejected the reality of her past life in the only way she knew how – in the most physical way she knew how. Rejecting the revelations of her past was, as Cassandra herself had said, the easy thing to do. At its core, it could even be argued as her subconscious' attempt at protecting herself, in the same way it had repressed the memories for so long. Acceptance of the full, true duality of her two lives was the only way to make peace with it all – but it also meant coming to terms with having slaughtered countless innocent people for absolutely nothing.

"I'm afraid, Bela," came Cassandra's whisper.

Bela rubbed the back of her hand across her cheeks and eyes – streaking whatever ruined makeup still persisted on her face. She flexed her anxious fingers at her sides for a beat – unsure if she should keep them there or reach for Cassandra – who continued staring daggers into the rubble on the ground.

Ultimately, Bela spat the words out before cowardice could overcome her. "You cannot let go of that life, Cassie."

The statement reeled in Cassandra's attention, and she turned her hardy gaze right towards Bela.

"The only way – and I mean the only way to get through this," Bela's fingertips ran along the inside of her palm in restless strokes, "is to hold onto those memories. Never forget everything that you once stood for – everything that Victoria lived for. You must –"

A huff and a roll of the eyes interrupted Bela.

"Save it. Your blonde fool already gave me the talk." There was the tiniest crinkle at the corner of Cassandra's lip. "Earlier, you asked me why I spared Olga."

Bela's teeth gently pressed down on her bottom lip. "Because of what Ethan said?"

Cassandra gave a little nod. Her chest rose and fell with a deep breath before elaborating, "I suppose deep down I knew he was right. That was why when it came down to it, I…" She darted her eyes away from Bela – a flash of shame evident on Cassandra's features, however briefly. "Killing Olga wouldn't kill Victoria. It wouldn't erase the past."

It would only cause more suffering, and further push her down the deep end.

"I need to hold onto that life. Do better. Be better." Cassandra's teeth bared for a second when she snarled, "I only wish I'd come to my senses sooner." Out of the corner of her eye, her gaze fell to Olga. "All this could have been avoided. Olga did not deserve any of this, Bela. A few more minutes and I would've…"

Bela gave her the gentlest shake to stop her from dwelling. "What matters is that you did not end her life," Bela voiced her reassurance, brows coming up to pitch in sympathy. "Bones heal, Cassie – she will live."

The brunette shook her head in a silent sign of disagreement – to say that no, it was not fine. Nearly beating someone to death did not merit a pat on the back and a praise of good job.

When Cassandra spoke, it was to ask, "How do you do it?" Her eyes narrowed, and her head tilted slightly to the side. "How can you live with everything we've done and not just…" Cassandra's hands came up to gesture in the air – but her fingers simply trembled before she balled her hands into fists. She scrunched her face up in frustration. "How does it not eat you alive?"

"It does," Bela said quite plainly.

Ear-piercing screams pleading for their lives.

Slick, bloody, broken hands clutching to her clothing.

The stench of death filling her nostrils, getting stuck in her hair, clinging to the underside of her fingernails – the taste of it all was as revolting as it was delectable.

Bela gulped hard. "It eats me alive every day."

The familiar tightness set into her throat. She couldn't disguise the visceral grief. Cassandra's eyes darted to Bela's hands – which visibly trembled before she brought them together to try and steady them.

Through the hellish orchestra of damned souls screaming for mercy, through the ocean of blood and viscera spilled to appease her fury, and through the towering mountain of writhing, broken bodies she had left in her wake – it was the pair of betrayed, confused, fading grey eyes peering up at her which nearly made her legs buckle in that moment.

When Bela found her quaking voice, she admitted, "Every day, I wish I'd never woken up as Bela Dimitrescu. Every day, I wish I'd died on that operating table, all those years ago," a pause, only for her to softly add, "I imagine you have felt similarly the past few days."

Cassandra's silence spoke volumes. The only sound that came was the audible strain from the fabric of her dress' sleeves – from just how tightly she was gripping onto herself.

"I will spare you the Ethan talk," Bela inhaled and braced herself. She needed every little smidge of stability she could get. "…but I hope you will let me give you some long overdue Bela talk."

Cassandra met Bela's eyes. She nodded, bobbing her dark head of hair, as her lips quirked into the tiniest smile, and she mouthed a silent, "okay."

Bela had long since damned herself to this conversation the moment she left Cassandra in the dark. This was not a position she'd ever wanted to wind up in – but that was selfish of her. It was now or never.

"You are putting a lot of weight on your shoulders," Bela began. "Weight that you never should have begun to carry – ever."

"Helping carry that weight is the absolute least I can do, because…" She licked her lips and willed herself not to cower away from Cassandra's sad eyes. "Because I put that weight on you."

Cassandra had already said as much earlier, but it was important that it came from Bela. Cassandra had to hear Bela say it herself.

"I want you to know that this is not on you," Bela took a small pace forward, "None of this is on you, Cassie." She fought off the tremble in her voice. "There is no blood on your hands – only mine. It is only because of me that you did those things. If I was never in your life…" She trailed off.

Cassandra's tattooed brow furrowed as she watched Bela – mirroring her own expression whether she knew it or not.

"It's all my fault, Cassie. I never should have dragged you down with me. I never should have taken advantage of your fear." Bela stopped wringing at her hands to wipe the tears beading in her eyes yet again. "I never should have left you in the dark when my memories returned. I should have stayed with you – should have really tried to help you see the light and remember Victoria's real life."

Bela held Cassandra's gaze. "I was not there for you then, but I'm here for you now. Whenever you need me, I am here. What I did," she scrubbed another stray tear, "It's my responsibility. My burden. Not yours. So whatever you need from me, sister, whenever you need it, I'm here."

Bela threw all caution to the wind when she held her sister by the hands without second thought. "I am so, so sorry for it all, Cassie. You need not forgive me, or even say anything if you don't want to – but please, please know…"

Cassandra's lip began to tremble, and she set her held Bela's hands tighter.

"You are not a monster. You're just as much of a victim as everyone else I've hurt, and you have every right to distrust me – to hate me."

"I don't hate you," was all Cassandra managed to get out. She whimpered, "I never did."

"You should," Bela sniffled, blinking the droplets of tears from her eyes. "You really should, Cassie."

"Shut up," Cassandra made a show of rolling her eyes – even if that's what finally got her tears to roll down freely. She reeled Bela in for a hug, voice muffled by her blonde hair when she said, "You always talked too much."

Bela's laugh mixed with a choked sob on the way out. She held Cassandra all the tighter. They hugged it out for a solid minute or two, soaking in the comfort and the relief they could find in solidarity of their shared pain. When the tears eased up enough, and their breathing grew stable, Cassandra managed to mumble into Bela's hair with her signature dry tone, "Any more words of wisdom, sister?"

"These memories you're rediscovering – they can be the biggest blessing and the worst curse. To know of such a bright, wonderful period of your life," the words came out quickly, and in her haste, Bela tripped over her words, "but – but only remembering them in these, these –"

"Flashes," Cassandra added before clearing her throat, "loose bits of sensation and emotion."

Bela gave the slightest chuckle at that – at the idea that she and Cassandra now shared this experience that only the two of them could relate to. "And you have to count yourself lucky when you remember complete pictures… faces… voices…."

Cassandra held Bela at an arm's length, pulling back to look at her. "It's all so familiar, like it could have been just yesterday, but…"

"So far away, like you're looking through someone else's eyes."

Cassandra's lips parted in a smile and a breathless chuckle. "Exactly." The mirth was short lived when Cassandra then furrowed her brow and asked, "Why do we remember, Bela? What makes us different from Dani? Why is she lucky enough to not have remembered anything?" A wry look crossed her face. "I'm almost jealous."

Bela would be lying if she pretended she hadn't thought about the same thing nonstop since Ethan had gotten her up to speed. The possibilities were endless, but ultimately she could only tell Cassandra what she had pieced together.

"For me, it was walking right into my old house and clinic." Bela tilted her head a fraction towards Cassandra. "For you, it was the gun, and Ethan accidentally finding your name." A pause, and Bela remembered the moniker of Victoria Van Helsing. "And that silly nickname we all called you."

Cassandra's frown deepened, but she nodded in acknowledgement.

"It is possible that Daniela simply has not found her trigger." Bela shrugged. Though, judging by those paintings Daniela had drawn – some of which clearly came from her past… "It's also possible she is just repressing her memories even harder than the both of us – for the subconscious fear of the fallout that would be brought about if she did remember." Bela took a breath – pointedly slowing down her speech. "But… it is also possible that she was made not to remember."

"What are you saying?"

Bela spoke plainly, "Ethan thinks that Miranda… did something to Daniela." She pointed to the side of her cranium – where Daniela's scar would be. "Something to Dani's head." Her breath came out shakier, shuddering, "To turn her into the perfect weapon."

For several long seconds, Cassandra's eyes shifted one way and another – chewing the thoughts over, racking her brain and her spotty memories. When her lips parted, it was still another few seconds until she uttered, "We'd always known Miranda was the one to turn us into these bugs, but…"

"The days of our birth were all a blur for the longest time," Bela muttered.

The ending of Bela's statement caught Cassandra's attention – and her eyes darted back up to Bela's. "Do you remember something new?"

Bela was silent for a beat, peering right back at Cassandra, nodding. With an even, measured tone, she said, "I do not want to possibly contaminate your own memories. You first – what do you remember?"

Cassandra nodded – a sharp, snappy motion, and so very quick to understand Bela's concern. She then asked, "Starting from when?"

It was a touchy topic. But touchy topics had to be dragged out into the light if they wanted to make sense of the exact circumstances of their origins.

If they wanted to find the truth.

"Death," Bela told her.

Cassandra let out a slow sigh, but nodded her agreement just the same. After taking another breath, she said, "Nothing you don't already know. I awoke strapped to a table in a cabin." The words came out quickly, and Cassandra clearly hurried over in her retelling to avoid being swept up by the trauma. "I was tortured for days on end in many different ways. In the delirium, I saw my own face in the place of my torturer's." Her eyes closed, the discomfort on her features. "The suffering went on until I died – then I woke up in the dungeons, strapped to another damned table. Mother was first to greet me."

Cautiously, Bela offered, "What if it was not a cabin?"

Cassandra shrugged. "I remember only a cabin."

"But imagine – what if it wasn't a cabin?"

The annoyance crossed Cassandra's expression for only a split second; it was very quickly replaced with a palpable look of unease. "You mean… what if it happened down… there?"

Bela gave a solemn nod.

A renewed anger bubbled just beneath the surface when Cassandra spoke through clenched teeth. "Are you saying Miranda did this? That she did all of that to me?" Her hand whipped in a gesture between them. "To us?"

"I cannot say for sure – it is all still spotty for me, but…" Heat began to pool in Bela's own face as the memories came at her – far too fresh. Throbbing, searing heat of blinding pain – blood and antiseptic thick in the air. The scraping of pen on paper and dull, vaguely interested hums with every damned note Miranda jotted down. That dull, analytic, monotone voice of hers as she noted her procedure. "She pried me open like a fucking animal on a dissecting tray. If she could do that to me, then –"

"Then she could have been the one to turn my body into her personal fucking playground," Cassandra snarled, "She could have made a mess out of Dani's brain!"

Bela muttered, "And she wasn't alone."

Cassandra's jaw ticked. "What do you mean she wasn't alone?" Then, only a second later, her eyes widened, pupils dilating. The next thought from her was one Bela had anticipated – but it was still as difficult as imaginable to confront. Cassandra connected all the dots, and disbelief filled her voice. "Mother let that happen to us and then paraded us around like her real flesh and blood!"

"Yeah," Bela sighed. "She has… some explaining to do."

"Explaining? Explaining?!" Cassandra scoffed. "She owes us some fucking answers I'd say!" Cassandra, fully riled up now, stepped away from Bela. She paced the small space of Bela's bedroom – the little clearing void of furniture debris. Each stride rocked the ground with violence and apprehension alike.

Bela raised her hands up in a meager attempt at placating her sister. "It is understandable that you're angry – believe me, I am too." She'd stewed over it all ever since her talk with Ethan, after all. "But if you are thinking of storming mother's bedroom right now – I think this may be unwise."

"Unwise?" Cassandra scoffed. "Unwise is letting her get away with being Miranda's lapdog – letting her get away without giving us answers!" She pointed a finger at Bela, that trembled with righteous fury. "What she let Miranda do to us wasn't unwise – no, Bela. Mother's as fucking mad as Miranda to let her experiment on us, to torture us!" She kicked the fire poker, sending it noisily sliding a few feet away. "And then to fucking parade us around like some prized treasures!"

"She is not going anywhere," Bela assured her with a vague gesture up towards the castle proper. "And she certainly isn't going far from us in any case. Not while she still wants us as her daughters."

Cassandra sighed, a rough, exasperated huff more than anything else, but ceased her pacing just the same. She turned to face Bela, spreading her arms in question. "You speak like you have a plan already – out with it then."

"Not so much as a plan as it is… waiting and watching."

The displeasure in Cassandra's sneer was enough of an answer.

Bela added, "We sure as hell will get no answers by kicking in her door. The best we can do now is to wait, consolidate all our memories, get our facts straight – and we confront her when we have the full picture."

"Full picture," Cassandra echoed with another disdainful scoff. "Why wait that long?" She frowned ever deeper. "Won't the full picture come from her?"

"Doubtful, given how many times I have had to sweep the castle from dungeon to rooftop, whenever I asked about the past," Bela grumbled. The past ten years have had an inordinate amount of punishment by cleanup duty. "Even if we confronted her, she would just lie, right?" She shook her head. "No, but if we have the whole story straight before we see her, then it would be easy to catch her in a lie." If there was one thing Bela had learned from Ethan – aside from his lessons in self-love – it was that the impossible was achievable if you took your time and played your cards right.

Who knows where this castle would be if Ethan had escaped the dungeons and gone guns blazing, after all. It was almost impossible that his current standing in the castle would be where it was today if he had chosen any path other than waiting, watching, and acting as smart as he was charismatic.

"In short," Bela concluded, "She won't be able to bullshit us if we already know the truth."

Cassandra sighed and ran a clearly irritable hand through her hair. After a few half-hearted attempts to ease her messy hair, she put one hand on her hip, and waved her other hand – gesturing towards Bela.

"You say we consolidate our memories like it were that simple." Cassandra offered Bela a wry smile. "It took a stupid joke, a gun, and a mental breakdown to remember what I do now." Her hand waved towards Olga, and she frowned. "I needn't remind you of the cost of my remembering… What will it take to remember the rest?"

Bela bobbed her shoulders up in a slight shrug as she said, "A lot of thinking and reflecting, honestly. If you really focus on your memories – especially the clear ones – sometimes you get lucky enough to remember one detail more than you did the last time." Her brows pitched up slightly to add, "Sometimes it is a real detail, sometimes your mind plays tricks on you. You'll figure out what's real and not the more you look back on it."

Cassandra gave a simmered down version of her usual death glare – crystal clear in her communication that she thought this was all ludicrous. "That's it?"

"What is clearest to you? What do you remember well?" Bela tried in the hopes of convincing her.

Sharp eyes narrowed Bela's way for a moment. When she relented, it came with a sigh, and Cassandra's apparent attempt at wiping her mind of the sense of urgency and anger alike. Cassandra was a woman of action through and through, and so Bela did not blame her in the slightest.

When Cassandra had gotten the chance to simmer down, she managed a little smile, and her voice grew softer. The tension left her frame, and her posture eased.

"I remember Boris."

Bela's heart sank all the way down into the abyssal hole in her chest. The all-consuming void within her swallowed it right up. All too painfully, it reminded Bela of just how much destruction she sowed, even up until mere weeks ago.

Cassandra's smile brightened, and it only served to twist the rusted knife into Bela's insides.

"Big man – built like a truck. He was the kindest person I'd ever met." She closed her eyes, a sense of wonder sneaking its way onto her features. "I remember waking up to see him sleeping close by. His spot was the chair at the foot of my bed, right by the window, snoring like a bear." A soft chuckle, almost a giggle, slipped past Cassandra's lips. "What a handsome lug he was in the morning light."

When Cassandra's eyelids fluttered open, she appeared too lost in the memories to note the growing unease on Bela's face. Cassandra said, "Surely you remember Boris?"

Bela wished she didn't.

"Cass…" Bela began – and oh, how she wished she never needed to have this conversation. "There is something you need to know."

The grim tone was unmistakable, and Cassandra visibly tensed. The moment of happiness was snuffed away before it could even take root. Hackles up, Cassandra tilted her head down by a degree. "What is it?"

Very cautiously, Bela prefaced by saying, "I do not know how, and under what circumstances it happened, but…" Her lips remained parted for a beat, tongue just hovering low in her mouth as the words caught in her throat.

No more running. No more hiding.

Cassandra deserved to know. No matter the cost Bela would pay.

"Miranda turned Boris into Uriaș." A pause, and she emphasized, "The Uriaș that mother told us about, the other week…"

The Uriaș that Ethan had killed. Bela did not bother tacking on what Cassandra already knew.

Complete silence settled into the stillness of Bela's trashed bedroom. Cassandra remained perfectly motionless for a long, long while. When she broke the stillness, it was to raise her gaze up towards the stone ceiling and draw in a shaky breath, fighting to stay afloat – to not drown in the despair. Her throat bobbed with a gulp, and a glassy sheen returned to her eyes. She nodded slightly – a lost, disoriented sort of motion of her head. Cassandra sniffled once and managed to part her trembling lips to say, "I, uh – I had a feeling it didn't end well for him." She shrugged, giving Bela a small glance before her eyes fell to the floor. "I knew it would be too good to be true if he somehow escaped this damn village." She scoffed slightly. "People like us, and the people around us – they do not get the chance to live old and die peacefully, do they?"

Bela remained silent as the swirling guilt kept her voice box muted for a long moment. This was not even half of it – Cassandra had no idea what became of Boris' remains.

"I suppose," Cassandra raised one shoulder in another helpless shrug. She brought her hand up to scrub her eyes as she muttered, "I suppose I should at least be glad that Ethan put him to rest. Better he stay dead than continue on as Miranda's thrall in this living nightmare."

"Cass," Bela's voice cracked, "There's more."

Quiet tears trickled their way down Cassandra's tear-streaked face. The sadness and disbelief alike were overwhelming to look at – and it was only in speaking quickly that Bela had hope of uttering her confession out.

"A few weeks ago, I snuck out of the castle."

For a beat, the confusion overpowered the grief. "What?"

"On the night of the day of your game with Ethan, I… I snuck out of the castle with the Duke's assistance." Bela gulped down air, even if it did nothing to steady her voice. "I resolved that I wanted to help Ethan, consequences be damned – and so I left the castle in search of information to help Ethan."

The mild repetitiveness was her subconscious attempt at delaying the inevitable – Bela noted in the back of her mind.

Cassandra seemed to pick up on this as well, because she pressed, "And then what?"

"The Duke pointed me in Karl Heisenberg's direction."

Cassandra frowned and shrugged her confusion. "Okay… I guess if anybody would be willing to talk behind Miranda's back, it would be him."

Bela nodded, biting down on her lip – hard. She bought what little time she could by taking slow steps towards Cassandra, who eyed her with confusion and suspicion alike. "Karl would not give me information for free. He demanded my assistance in exchange for the information."

Fully agitated by the longwinded explanation, Cassandra asked in a sharp tone, "What sort of assistance?"

Bela closed her eyes for a second – as this bomb she was about to drop went deeper than she'd even thought of at first. Revealing what she'd done was one thing. Revealing Karl's secret was another – and he had made it very clear what would become of them if word of his army came out: popsicle, as he had put it.

She needed Cassandra to trust her. Trust went both ways, and so the full, ugly story, the raw honesty had to be what Bela offered.

"Karl is building an army. A half-machine, half-corpse army." When Bela opened her eyes, she was once again met with Cassandra's stunned face. Her brows were raised up high, and her lips slightly parted. "He intends to rebel against Miranda."

Cassandra raised a hand up to stop Bela – or to slow her down, at the very least. "You're saying Heisenberg… the same Heisenberg our mother always belittles, and calls an idiot every chance she gets – he is going to turn the village into a warzone," she shook her head and corrected herself, "even more of a warzone than it already is with Ethan's squad running around?"

"Yes. That's right."

Cassandra blew out a low exhale. She muttered under her breath, "Good lord." When her eyes darted back to Bela, they narrowed. "What did you do for Heisenberg?"

Now or never.

She'd dug this grave weeks ago, and it was time to lie in it.

"The body was there. The same tattoos, scars, and everything – there was no mistaking it." Bela sighed, eyes falling away. "Karl had Boris' body."

All confusion and scrutiny fell from Cassandra's face. She furrowed her brows together, trembling lips parting as she put two and two together before Bela could even blink. Cassandra took in a silent breath as if to steady herself – but the exhalation came in a shudder. She shook her head gently. "No… no, you didn't."

"I did." Bela's shameful eyes dipped down. "I helped Karl bring him back."

Pain flashed across Bela's cheek fast – faster than even her swarm could react to disperse the impact of Cassandra's open palm. Bela blinked through blurry eyes, one hand coming up over her throbbing cheek. Cassandra looked at Bela, horror in her eyes, and the hand she'd used to strike her was up, trembling and cocked to strike again.

Cassandra sucked in a shaking breath. Her quivering mouth opened to whimper, "How could you do that?" The tears streamed down her face all over again as the fresh revulsion overcame her. "He was your friend too – how could you do that? How could you fucking do that?!"

Another hot flash of pain came across her face, and Bela stumbled a step back.

Bela's hand came free from the stinging heat of her cheek. All she could do was look Cassandra in the eye and tell her the truth.

"I can't say for sure if there was a bit of Boris left in Uriaș – back before he crossed Ethan's path," Bela struggled to gulp the renewed lump in her throat. "Maybe a part of him was still in there, maybe Miranda wiped the slate clean – I do not know, but…" Bela had to force the words out when she saw the absolute repugnance on Cassandra's tear-streaked face. "Ethan really made short work of him, Cass. There was no way enough of his brain survived to retain a semblance of who he once was." She got the words out, for better or for worse – it was all she could say to explain how she brought herself to operate on Uriaș. "There is not a scrap left of Boris in that body now. There can't be." She shook her head side to side, eyes pleading with her sister.

Cassandra scoffed, face still scrunched up in grief and disgust alike. She motioned to Bela with a sharp swing of her hand, "You don't know that, Bela – you don't know that! We can turn into a swarm of fucking flies – I'm pretty sure that defies normal anatomy, but we still remember who we were!" She stomped closer to Bela until their faces were inches away. "You can't tell me that Boris is gone because Ethan shot his brains until his skull became a fucking bowl of polenta – you brought him back!" Her breathing grew shallow. "He could still be in there! He could –"

"I'm telling you – there is no way, Cass. I brought Uriaș back, not Boris – Boris can't still be in there in that condition."

Yet another hot flash of pain sent Bela staggering backwards, and her hand instinctively went up to cover her throbbing face. The strike once more came faster than her swarm could disperse the impact. But even if Bela could see it coming, she knew she would do nothing. She couldn't take the easy way out. A slapping was the absolute least she deserved.

Through her own tears now, Bela could see Cassandra fighting to keep composed as she shook her head, stifling her sobs.

When Cassandra's breath steadied in the slightest, it was the growl, "Is that your excuse? Is that why it's okay that you turned Boris into a mindless puppet?"

"No," Bela quickly said, "God, no – I'm not trying to justify it."

"Good! Because there is nothing justifiable about it! All you did was give him a new master, Bela!" Cassandra's arm swung up in a cutting gesture vaguely upward – to the valley around the castle. "From Miranda to Heisenberg – you're letting them use him."

"I'm sorry," Bela sniveled.

Cassandra seized Bela by the choker – knuckles digging into her neck as the jewelry strained in her grip and threatened to pop. She pulled Bela close – close until their noses nearly touched as Bela felt the heat radiating from Cassandra's face.

"Must have been so easy for you," Cassandra hissed. "I'm sure it barely took you a second to choose between Boris' dignity and Ethan."

Bela opened her mouth to protest, but was quickly cut off by Cassandra slapping her across the face, and shaking Bela once by the collar – her knuckles now painfully cutting into Bela's windpipe.

"Would you have done that to somebody you loved?"

Silence – save for Bela's whimper when Cassandra gripped the choker tighter, bringing Bela's face even closer.

"Would you have done that to Ethan's body?" Cassandra's question came in a low, cutting whisper – hot breath fanning Bela's face.

When Bela gave no answer, Cassandra's temper flared, and she struck her again.

"Would you –"

Another slap.

"– have done that –"

And another across her stinging face.

"– To Nichola?!"

The final blow snapped the choker's metallic links, leaving the necklace in Cassandra's fist, as the force of the slap sent Bela to the ground.

"No," Bela sobbed, eyes squeezed tightly shut as she shook her head over and over again – hands coming up to press into her face. "I'm sorry."

Cassandra sucked breath in through clenched teeth, he free hand trembling in the air yet again – clenching into a fist that, by all rights, should have gone right into beating the life right out of Bela.

Yet Cassandra resisted.

She discarded the broken choker with a scoff. The rage and disgust – at Bela, at Alcina, over all that the necklace represented, built on lies and broken corpses – it was all too clear on her face. Her fingers uncurled, and her hands dropped back to her sides. Cassandra dripped with righteous indignation as she glared and sneered down at Bela's weeping form.

They both remained where they were for a long moment – Bela openly in shameful tears on the ground and Cassandra shaking, prickling with rage and grief, her sobs momentarily suppressed. It could only be guessed what ran through Cassandra's head in that stretch of silence. Maybe all the ways she envisioned making Bela pay for her sins.

It would be just what she deserved, really. There was, after all, no happy ending for the likes of her.

Bela knew she could have tried something – anything – with Karl. Negotiate a different way to secure his help – maybe promise to spy on Alcina or something. Anything was better than the mockery she had made of Boris' remains. The mockery of someone she once called a friend.

Instead, she'd taken the path of least resistance and proven herself to be the biggest hypocrite in the valley. Cassandra had every right and more to be livid. Try as she might to rationally justify her decision to help reanimate Boris – or Uriaș – objectivity did little to assuage her sister. She could prattle all she wanted about how it was for the greater good, how it would help stop Miranda, how Boris was long gone and it was only a body – it didn't change the hurt that such a decision brought.

"I can't stand to look at you a moment longer," Cassandra broke the silence. Bela looked up to see the pure disgust on her sister's face, and promptly regretted ever breaking out of the operating table all those years ago. "We're done here."

Cassandra presented her back to Bela, who could only watch as the former stooped down to carefully scoop Olga into her arms. Once the maid was secure, Cassandra stepped over the stray books and scraps of wood leading to Bela's door. Cassandra paused at the threshold enough to glance over her shoulder.

"I hope Heisenberg's information was worth it."

Without another word, Cassandra disappeared out the door.

A/N: Guess who's back? Back again. Eronald is back. Tell a friend.

(For now).

Hi. Yes. I'm alive. No. The story isn't abandoned. Yes. Writing has been hard, and I've gone through a couple of love-hate relationships with this story. No. I don't plan on dropping it for good. No. I don't know when the next update will drop. Yes. I am indeed writing and working on Blood and Winter when I am able to. Yes. Going on these hiatuses has helped. No. Please don't get your hopes up as to when we'll wrap this up for good. Yes. I do, in fact, want to finish this in 2025, so I can work on new stuff, when I enjoy the art of writing.

Okay, now that that is out of the way, hello, darlings, if any of you are still alive and reading! Missed y'all. Yes, this is indeed my yearly sign of life, which hopefully won't be merely a yearly thing. I hope you guys enjoyed this rather emotional chapter.

This is another one of those ones, where it's sorta up to you guys how you feel about our dear Bela and Cassandra's ruminations of bloodshed, and guilt, and being absolved for all the terrible things they did. I guess all I have to say in that regard is that our characters here may not be right or wrong, but it's the only way they can live with the burdens they carry, right? They've both said it, both thought it - they wish they'd never woken up to begin with, but that wasn't in the cards for them, so now they have to deal with the consequences - and that goes doubly for Bela, the bloodiest of all our dear sisters.

Chapter fun facts:

Cassandra's rampage took heavy inspiration from Tobey Maguire in Brothers (2009), which might be one of my favorite depictions of someone absolutely losing it.

In my notes, this chapter is what I identified as the end of the Cassandra Arc. The succeeding chapters are labeled in my notes as "The Final Arc", of which I have projected there to be at least twenty more chapters.

Okay, my brain is melting and that's all I've got for notes right now. I sincerely hope you fellas liked this little update (and belated Christmas present for you all), and the quality's at least up to snuff from what y'all are used to. I promise I'm still cookin' shit behind the scenes; I'm just taking my sweet time.

I'll catch you all at the next update. Stay safe out there, and happy holidays!