Narratha sat in her cell, glancing down at the food on her plate. It was a pitiful offering of dry bread, a few shreds of meat, and whatever else had been scrounged up for her. After such an arduous day of toiling away in those cold fields, this was all she got?
She lamented the way she had treated her own captives back in Locwitary, understanding that this was insignificant compared to what she had done to them. However, that did not take away her immediate feelings about the present.
Across the bars, Heisenberg leaned against the wall, watching her. He had prepared the food himself, or so he claimed, presenting it to her with a theatrical bow and a muttered "bon appétit." Words that she did not know the meaning of but nonetheless invoked the feeling of belittlement all the same. His eyes made her skin crawl, as though he were studying her reactions like she was something to dissect.
She wanted her privacy, but whether it was eating or bathing, she couldn't even get that. It was agonizing.
Heisenberg let out a chuckle as she chewed cautiously, flashing her a grin that was spread too wide for her liking. "Don't act like I'm poisoning you," he commented. "If I wanted you dead, it'd be a lot less subtle."
Narratha ignored him, though her eyes flicked up at him briefly before returning to her food. She finished chewing and then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "You act like this is some great, big joke," she replied, pushing her plate away in an act of defiance. "I didn't realize that was your definition of loyalty."
He raised a brow, straightening up and crossing his arms as he looked at her. "And what exactly would you know about loyalty?"
"Enough to recognize when it's just a lie to keep someone pacified," she replied, aware to keep her emotions in check so that her words would be drummed out clearly. "Your so-called 'loyalty' looks more like an arrangement to me. We had an agreement; I get it. But tell me... do you even understand what it means?"
He shrugged, waving a hand dismissively. "Loyalty is subjective, sweetheart. You're here, alive, eating my food, aren't you? That's loyal enough from me. You could be dead right now. This sounds like a better arrangement."
She narrowed her eyes. "Convenient that your version of loyalty benefits only you. I'd rather you just spare me the lies and call me a prisoner. At least I could respect the honesty in that."
A low chuckle escaped him, and he tilted his head. He normally would have sent a spear of metal through a person's chest if they spoke to him in such a manner. But the way the redhead went about it intrigued him. She was different than the rest, besides her apparent immunity to the mold. "Oh, you think you're not benefiting? This is better treatment than most people get." He leaned in, giving her a wicked smile through the bars. "You wanted to remain alive. You're alive. Is there anything else I can get you?"
Narratha held his gaze. He was so annoyingly confident that it was almost infuriating. She wanted to rattle that confidence and pierce the smugness with an unsettling truth. If only he knew about her true potential, then his jokes would have been cut short long ago. But she forced herself to remain calm, letting silence settle between them.
Heisenberg shifted, clearly expecting her to argue further. But when she didn't, he tried a different approach.
"Fawn," he mused, rolling the word around as though it were just a story. "That's what you call yourself, right? From this other world you supposedly came from." He gestured vaguely at the factory around him. "And here you are in mine. So, tell me something... how much of your story's real?"
"Why should I tell you anything?" she asked with disdain. "Maybe I'll start demanding something in return for information. I've given you something minimal, as you have to me."
Heisenberg laughed. "Oh, really? And what exactly would you ask for?" he sneered. "A softer bed? More gowns?"
She lifted her chin, holding his stare. "Respect. You told me that we may be able to help each other out. I know you want to learn more about why I didn't turn into one of those wretched creatures. It irks you to not know, does it?"
His expression twisted slightly, his amusement dimming. He took a step closer, his eyes clawing past those dark glasses. "You've got a pretty high opinion of your value, considering you're a prisoner."
Narratha's mouth tilted in a humorless smile. "Now, you're being honest, right? No. Now, you're lying to me. You need something from me."
Heisenberg turned away with a groan. One would have thought that this was the end of their conversation, but Narratha knew otherwise.
"Am I wrong?" she pressed, sensing a weak point in his evasiveness. She leaned forward, studying him. "Tell me, Heisenberg, why is it so important to you that you won't just kill me at any moment? What are you trying to accomplish?"
He shrugged, looking at anything but her. "Science," he muttered. This was personal to him; that much was obvious. Something in the way he grumbled that word hinted at a deeper motive.
"I see," she murmured. "I've studied science before too. It's not about curiosity—it's about vengeance."
He turned back, his hat and raggy hair obscuring most of his face as he peeked over his shoulder. "The science of vengeance, huh?"
"I'll be personal with you, if only for the moment." Narratha rose from her seat, dusting off her dark dress as her bushy red hair dangled down her chest. Her emerald eyes bored right at the man as she made her way closer to the bars, inches away from where he was. "I've felt weak before. So weak that I had to learn how to get stronger. There had to be a way to do it. Maybe in your case, you want to get stronger."
Narratha's nose graced the edge of the rough metal. She could smell the iron. It filled her lungs with a potent tinge. She spoke in a low, sweet voice. It was so villainous. "Or make someone weaker. That's how you kill them."
"Enough." Heisenberg's voice had changed to a more serious tone. His hand clenched into a fist, and for a moment, she thought he might lash out. But he reined it in, controlling whatever deep-seated hatred he had for the time being. She knew it from the start; this man was hiding something. His hatred wasn't directed toward her. No. It was about something else that existed long before her arrival.
"Isn't it strange," she continued, her tone feigning innocence, "that you have all this power, but yet, you still want more?"
He stood still, looking dead at her. "You don't know what I want. You don't get to ask questions here. You're lucky I don't kill you and study your blood for myself."
"Kill me?" She gave him a perplexed look, still playing on his emotions once again. There were times when he made her uncomfortable, and even a few where she was truly terrified of him. Yet, that did nothing to quell her nature. Narratha would exploit what she could. "But then you'd have no way of knowing how my abilities actually work, would you? What good is my blood if it's just... blood? You wouldn't have kept me around if that were an option. Face it—you're the one who's desperate, not me."
Heisenberg's face twitched, irritation brimming upon its features. That comment was what struck a serious nerve. Being called "desperate" emphasized an immense sense of weakness. With his reaction, she knew that something made him feel weak.
The redhead curled her pink lips before her white teeth flashed between them. Her freckled smile practically laughed at him. "Tell me what my value to you is."
"Not your business," he replied as he backed away again. It looked like he was ready to finally leave. But then he stopped without warning. She watched him turn back, an odd look in his eyes. He approached the cell door, and before she could fully process his intent, he unlocked it and stepped inside.
Narratha's breath caught, her instincts flaring in alarm. He was standing mere feet from her now, his broad shoulders blocking the frames of the exit. Her heart began to pound inside her chest. Had she tested him too much? What would he do in spite?
She had voiced her concerns about him raping her. Would he decide to act on them just so she could suffer?
"What are you doing?" she asked, keeping her voice steady, even though she was becoming deathly afraid.
"You want to know your value?" he said. "Is that it?"
She eyed him with a persistent glimmer of anticipation, wondering just what exactly it was that he was getting at. She didn't move a single muscle, lest this conversation derail from its intended purpose. He had something that needed to be said and she wanted to hear it.
She could feel the tension between them as it lingered heavily in the air. She didn't trust him—not in the slightest—but she sensed that he didn't trust himself either. And maybe that was what kept him from going further. Heisenberg looked like he was debating something critical.
Narratha could see the anger flashing along the corners of his lips. He probably wanted to kill her, but there was a reason why he wouldn't. That value they spoke about. It was there. She was worth something.
His face got close to hers, that rancid, cigar-laced breath washing her skin. "You might be immune, but that doesn't mean you're invincible. I want answers. How I get them is up to you."
A small, defiant smile tugged at her lips. "I'm a simple woman," she said. "Just be honest with me. Let me trust you. Let me have faith. I can do wonders when I believe in something."
He stared at her for a moment longer, his expression a mixture of frustration and something she couldn't quite place—a brief flash of confidence, perhaps? She wasn't sure. It was gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by his usual mask of cold arrogance.
"Faith," he repeated her words. "Okay. I want to show you something. It's… a test of sorts." He grinned, his teeth glinting beneath his unkempt beard. "If you can be as loyal as you claim, then this is your chance to prove it."
Narratha tilted her head, her eyelids still but her brows elevated. "What kind of test?"
Heisenberg chuckled. "You'll see," he told her. "You'll have to trust me for a bit. Have faith that I will prove to you that I am your best chance in this place."
The word "trust" coming from him felt like an absolute lie. She would never have trusted this man back in her old world, but in this new one, he was all she had to go on. She kept her gaze on him as he opened the cell door, and when the iron bars creaked, her feet stepped forward to follow him out.
She did not say anything else as she exited her cell, watching only as he gestured his head in the direction that they would move towards.
As they moved through the darkened halls of the factory, Narratha felt the cool draft of air shift around her. The mechanical sounds grew louder, signaling just how alive this building was. She still could not get over the advanced technology of this universe. It was all so strange to her. The redhead wondered just what else she had yet to see, but it felt like those answers were not too far away now. He was going to show her something, but what?
"Where are we going?" she finally asked, glancing at the pipes overhead as the hallways grew narrower. With each step down, the light suffocated.
"You'll see," he replied. They rounded a corner, stopping at a metal box set into the wall—an elevator, though Narratha didn't know the word for it. He opened the grated door and motioned for her to step inside.
She hesitated, eyeing the confined space. She'd never seen a contraption like this in her life. "And this is...?"
"An elevator," he said with a smirk. "It goes up and down." He paused, letting his eyes roam over her, clearly amused. "What, you've never been in one before?"
Hesitantly, she stepped into the metal cage, feeling the floor shake as their bodies walked onto it. Narratha appeared startled for a second, her eyes wide as she looked around in all directions. Heisenberg followed her in and pulled the door shut with a loud clang, then pressed a button on the wall. The floor suddenly lurched again beneath her feet as the elevator began its descent, and she stifled a yelp, grabbing the side rail.
Heisenberg couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of it. "First time for everything, huh?"
She shot him a glare, steadying herself against the jerking movements of the elevator. "Leave me alone."
But as they continued their descent, she couldn't help but stare at the passing floors, each one becoming larger. There were conveyor belts and racks of abandoned parts that littered the surrounding scenery. Flickering lights passed them by, and for a moment, she forgot her annoyance, too captivated by the scale of the place. Metal was a rare element back in her world, but the sheer abundance of it in his astounded her.
Finally, the elevator came to a shuddering halt, and Heisenberg slid the door open, stepping out first. Narratha followed him, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the massive room before her. She walked over to the edge of a balcony, right as she looked out over the sprawling expanse of Heisenberg's underground empire.
Conveyor belts crisscrossed the vast space, laden with bodies—as far as the eyes could see. At first, she wasn't sure what they were, but the form quickly became unmistakable. She had never seen so many dead people before. There had to be hundreds of them, each one hooked up to the rotating lines and carried forth into the dark unknown.
She took a step back, a shiver running down her spine as she tried to fathom just where the dead could have come from. Did he kill them all himself?
"What… what is this?" Narratha whispered.
She felt the pressure of his hand land on her shoulder, and she stiffened at the touch, fighting the urge to shake him off. Heisenberg's voice, however, was calm. "These," he said, "are the fruits of my labor. My loyal soldiers."
She glanced back at the bodies as they dangled in the air like withered fruit from a rotted tree. "They're dead."
Heisenberg chuckled, shaking his head as he moved to stand beside her, his arms wide open. "They're still an army."
Castle Dimitrescu - later that night...
The library was quiet, dimmed by the late-evening darkness that overshadowed the room through the skylight above, saved only by the candlelight. In the middle of the circular space, lounging upon her velvet couch with a book draped loosely in one hand, was Daniela.
Across from her stood a tall man. His features were gentle but sharp. His long, dark hair cascaded down the tops of his shoulders, his rugged jaw highlighted in the middle. He leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, as he gazed at Daniela with an intensity that she felt she could melt into.
She looked at him and sighed, her voice soft and wishful. "I've been thinking about you every day," she admitted, her eyes dropping to the cover of her book as if embarrassed by her own words. "I know it's silly... perhaps it's even foolish. But…" Her voice trailed off, and she looked up at him with a hopeful glint. "Do you think about me too?"
The man gave no answer. His gaze remained still, his lips ever so slightly curved as he continued watching her in silence.
"Oh, I know," Daniela's voice spoke. "Your eyes say it all, don't they? They tell me things your mouth can't bear to express." She laughed. "Love is such a peculiar thing, isn't it? So much confusion, and yet I long for it."
The man's face held no change. He remained exactly where he was, like a statue.
He is so handsome. What makes me deserve him?
"You're right, of course," she went on, filling in the silence as though he had said so much. "Maybe I am silly to dwell on such things. Perhaps I should just focus on what's here, what I can control, instead of these... fancies." She paused, her eyes scanning him from top to bottom. "But how could I let go of you? Why would I want to?"
There was a long silence, and though he said nothing, Daniela seemed to hear words only she could grasp. She hung on them as if they were her lifeline. A break from the life that brought her so much disappointment and distress.
"I knew you would understand." Daniela bowed her head with a smile. "You always do."
"Miss Daniela?" Delia's voice cut through the silence. In a blink, the man was suddenly gone.
Where did he go?!
The maid stood nearby with a goblet of wine balanced carefully in her hand, as if she'd been waiting to hand it to Daniela but couldn't bring herself to interrupt until now. It proved to be a terrible mistake.
Daniela snapped her gaze toward Delia, blinking as if waking from a dream. "What are you doing here?" she demanded. The warmth she'd been feeling moments before dissipated, replaced with a blistering rage.
Delia's hand trembled slightly, though she tried to mask it. "Forgive me, Miss Daniela. I only brought the wine you requested."
Daniela's nostrils flared as she stood from the couch. "Do you realize what you've done?" Her voice was a low hiss, her fingers curling as she advanced toward Delia. "You interrupted us!"
Delia flinched, confusion mingling with fear in her eyes. "I—I'm sorry, Miss Daniela, I didn't mean to—"
Before Delia could finish, Daniela's hand shot out, and she slapped her across the face with such force that Delia stumbled back, dropping the glass as she lost her balance. The impact rang out in the library with a large clap, and Delia's hand flew to her stinging cheek as soon as she landed, her eyes welling with tears. She looked at Daniela, both shocked and unsurprised.
Daniela's chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, her anger blazing. But as she stared at Delia, her eyes shifted, catching movement in the corner of her vision. There, just at the exit of the library, was the man again, watching her with that same silent gaze. But now, his expression had changed; he looked disappointed, his once warm smile gone. He wasn't happy with her at all.
The sight hit her like a blow, and Daniela's fury dispersed. She watched as the man left the room, leaving her with a regret she hadn't expected. She already knew why he had turned his back on her.
Daniela kneeled beside Delia, her hands reaching out to help her back up. "Delia..." she said quietly. "I didn't mean to... I..."
Delia looked up, her tearful eyes meeting Daniela's. The slap still burned on her cheek, but seeing Daniela's anger fade into remorse left her speechless. Instinct kicked in. "It was my fault, Miss Daniela. I should have paid better attention." That was all she could say.
But Daniela's change of heart did not end there. She placed her hand on Delia's cheek, right where she had struck it. "Delia… You didn't…"
The servant glanced at her with worried eyes. "I'm sorry."
"Me too."
Kyia stood beside Sofia as the two ladies conversed. The tiny, condensed hallway that led up to the second floor was secluded from view. Many of the maids would stop there to talk. Its secretive qualities were perfect for the kind of conversation Kyia was intent on having.
Sofia, a young, slender woman with a long braid that fell over her shoulder, occasionally cast cautious glances down the hall, worried that Alcina or her daughters would be lurking about. Her resemblance to Kyia's old friend Vattia tugged at her memories, but she resisted the urge to reminisce; it would only risk breaking her focus.
They'd been speaking for a short time, Kyia acting friendly, slowly easing her way into the topic at hand. Sofia had been polite, if a bit reserved, answering Kyia's questions with just enough detail to keep the momentum going. Yet Kyia could sense that the girl was enjoying their time together. Like Delia, she probably did not get to socialize much.
How perfect, the fawn thought.
"So," Kyia continued, "I've heard a story that sounded so impossible that I could not believe it to be true."
"Oh!" Sofia raised her thin, dark eyebrow. "What was it?"
"Apparently, there is a dagger in this castle that is said to be very special," Kyia went on, her emerald eyes glinting at the girl. "I would have paid no mind to it had I not been told that it was somewhat magical. Impossible, right?"
Sofia chuckled softly, her fingers twisting the end of her braid. "Oh, yes," she said. "It does sound like something out of a fairy tale, doesn't it? But that's how these stories get passed down, I suppose. Old stories tend to grow a little larger than life."
Playing her part, Kyia mimicked the same giggle that Sofia had let out. She knew in her heart what the dagger was capable of, but to get more information, it had to be as mundane as one of the kitchen knives.
"So," Kyia said, "where did you first hear of it? Was it a rumor from one of the other maids? It sounds so made up."
"Oh no," Sofia replied, shaking her head. "I actually found a note in the attic once. I was up there cleaning when I stumbled across it."
Kyia's gaze sharpened with interest, but she pretended that she had not known about this prior. "Really? What did it say?"
Sofia hesitated, casting another glance down the hall. "It was a very old note, and I'm afraid I didn't keep it. But I remember the name, the 'Dagger of Death's Flowers.' It stuck with me." She shrugged, giving a modest smile. "Definitely something out of a fairytale, if you tell me."
Kyia felt a surge of irritation but kept it tightly locked away. "You don't recall anything else from the note? No details about the dagger itself?" She softened her tone, leaning back as if she were just casually curious. "Whether it was intact or... perhaps broken?"
Sofia shook her head, finding the assortment of questions just a little odd. "No, I'm afraid not. I don't remember much besides the name. Though, honestly," she added, "I'd be careful asking around about the family's relics. Sometimes... they don't like it when we get curious." She gave a wary look that followed her whisper.
The anger Kyia had been holding in check simmered dangerously close to the surface; her patience was well-worn by this point. "The Dimitrescu family," she said, nearly hissing, "are nothing but feral animals."
The words escaped her before she could hold them back, each syllable dripping with venom. Realizing her slip, she cut herself off, her eyes darting to Sofia, whose face had suddenly gone pale. The girl's hand flew to cover Kyia's mouth, and she looked around as if fearing someone might have overheard.
Kyia's eyes landed downwards in what she hoped would seem like regret. "Forgive me," she said softly, forcing a sigh as she gently removed Sofia's hand from her lips. "It's just… I've been under so much strain recently. It's a relief, finally, to be able to speak openly with someone." She gave Sofia an apologetic smile, hoping to ease the girl's evident alarm.
Sofia's hand dropped, and she nodded slowly, still wary but also sympathetic. "I understand," she said softly. "Living here... it can be difficult."
Kyia nodded, seizing the opening. "You've been here a while, haven't you?" she asked in a friendly manner.
"A matter of months, I'd say. Maybe close to a year," Sofia replied. "Not long, compared to a few. But it feels longer, especially when Miss Cassandra is around."
Kyia arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"
Sofia glanced down, her voice hushed. "Sometimes, Miss Cassandra has us sent to the attic to clean; hence, why I found that old note. I suspect it's just an excuse."
Kyia's brow then furrowed. "An excuse? For what?"
"Miss Cassandra likes to be alone with us, away from the others." Sofia's voice dropped, her fingers clutching her braid a little tighter. "She finds... amusement in it. There is no one to stop her from hitting or cutting us. She'll stand you there and insult you until you break out into tears, and then she'll hit you some more. I even heard she got so carried away that she cut a girl's throat open and just left her there some years back. Made the other maids clean up the body."
Kyia's mind raced as she absorbed the information. So, Cassandra sent the maids to the attic, where she could torment them without the others seeing, maybe even kill them. It was a piece of insight that Kyia could use, perhaps even leverage, if the opportunity presented itself. She had heard about how low the staff was and how punishments were handed down differently nowadays.
She had no clue how to access the attic, but she needed to find that note. It appeared the only way up there was via Cassandra. Unless…
"How do I find this attic?"
Sofia shrugged her shoulders. "I unfortunately do not remember. It has been so long. We rarely go up there."
Taking a slow breath and forgoing the urge to scream, she gave Sofia a reassuring nod. "Thank you for trusting me with that," she said with a feigned sincerity. "I'm sure it must help to get some of the pain off your chest."
Sofia looked up, offering a smile. "It kind of does. But please, be careful. I just don't want to see anyone else get hurt. You're new, but the new maids don't truly understand what is going on here."
Kyia blinked a few times, nodding just a little as she picked up her broom and dustpan, preparing to resume her tasks. "I will. Thank you, Sofia."
"It was nice meeting you, Kyia," she said.
The fawn grinned as she walked past the door, her plotting eyes focused straight ahead. "You too. Until next time."
January 25th, 2021
The weight of the basket pressed into Narratha's arms as she trudged along the cold dirt path through the village, avoiding the villagers who cast her odd looks. The air held a sharp bite, yet the chill was nothing compared to the bitterness she felt within. The events of the previous night at Heisenberg's factory remained in her mind. She could still see the pale, lifeless bodies moving down the endless conveyor belts, hearing Heisenberg's words as he went on to explain them.
"They're here to serve a great purpose," he'd said. She'd asked what that purpose was, but he hadn't answered directly, only defining the word "loyalty" with that of keeping secrets. Then he'd demanded she share her own. Heisenberg seemed to be assessing whether she was worth keeping around. She knew that she had to give him something in return, as the presence of those bodies was likely something the other lords knew nothing about.
But Narratha hadn't given him everything. She'd admitted to her immunity, telling him that her blood could resist infection and that she could heal with her powers once they ignited, but she kept her most dangerous abilities hidden. She didn't trust Heisenberg—how could she? She knew nothing about his intentions, and his willingness to use the dead so freely unsettled her. Even a woman who cannibalized others for her personal gain could not withstand the horrors of his domain.
So, she held back, kept her abilities with fire and her more violent powers to herself. Still, she wondered if he suspected more than she'd told him. The answer was probably that he did, but progress had been made.
The sound of children laughing broke through her thoughts, dragging her back to the present. She glanced over, catching sight of the boy from yesterday sitting by himself on one of the benches besides the main square of the village. He had the same nervous, lonely expression etched across his face. With the other children frolicking around as they did, it was a no-brainer that he was an outcast.
Narratha turned away, adjusting the weight of the basket, and moving on. She wanted no part of his world, no connection to this village or its people. Her life depended on the labor that she was forced to perform.
As she continued, though, her eyes drifted back, and she noticed something change. The group of children approached the young lad, taunting him, their laughter becoming more mean-spirited as it grew louder. One boy grabbed a handful of snow and threw it, then the others joined in, pelting him until his cries split the air. He tried to shield himself, hunching his shoulders, but the snow kept coming, hitting his face, his clothes, and his hair. He sniffled, tears welling in his eyes, and his cries peaked, desperation wailing through his throat.
Narratha took a steadying breath, turning away. She had no reason to involve herself. The village had made it clear they didn't want her. Damn their children, she thought. But the kid's sobs scratched at her conscience. As cruel as she had been to others, her apathy could not take over right now. With a sigh, she set the basket down, clenching her fists before turning back to the group of children.
The children noticed the imposing redhead woman as she closed in, their laughter fading quickly. The expression on her freckled face was stronger than the meager concerns of a regular adult. She looked angry.
"Enough," she said, glaring at the group, while the victim of their act gazed upward at her in shock.
They all stared at her, and one of the older kids pointed in her direction. "You're an outsider!"
Her patience snapped. "Put your arm down, or do you want me to break that finger? How about all of them?" Her gaze darkened with a steep warning. The threat was clear, and it was enough to send a shiver through the group. She advanced toward them without another thought, which caused the horde to scatter far away.
Once they were gone, the only sound left was the boy's quiet sniffles as he sat in the snow, rubbing his eyes and brushing the flakes off his face. Narratha exhaled, ready to leave him behind.
"Thank you," he called out with a shaky voice.
Narratha paused, annoyance flashing in her expression, but she held her tongue, glancing back at him. "You shouldn't let them treat you like that," she said.
He wiped his nose on his sleeve, his gaze dropping. "They pick on me because I'm... Because I'm weird."
Narratha's eyes stayed on him for a bit, the look on her face as emotionless as it was focused. Her thoughts drifted back to her own past, her own strangeness in her commune. "Everyone's weird," she replied.
The boy looked up at her, a glimmer of hope in those brown irises. "Would you maybe want to play with me today?"
She closed her eyes. This again. "No." She turned away, preparing to leave. But the boy reacted as if he had already expected her refusal. There was no second attempt. He merely just sat there.
He hesitated for a moment, then looked down, shuffling his feet. "What's your name?"
She clenched her jaw, weighing her options, but eventually relented. "Narratha," she said, her voice flat.
He nodded, like he was committing it to memory. "I'm Marco," he offered, managing a small smile. She nodded curtly and then picked up her basket.
"Bye, Marco." She turned away, determined to put distance between them. She did not want to interact with the boy any further. What was the point? The only purpose that kid served was to endanger her. If she was such a poison to this village, as Miranda and the other lords treated her like, then it would just cause future complications.
But she didn't make it far. Those little footsteps trailed behind her, and she glanced back to see Marco following. She stopped, feeling her temper flare and her grip tightening on the basket. She was ready to just throw it onto the ground, or maybe at him.
"We know each other's names now, so we can be friends, right?" His eyes were as hopeful as they could be, but Narratha did not have room in her heart for hope.
"You don't get it, do you?" she said, her teeth flashing. "Knowing my name does not mean you know anything about me. You're just begging to get hurt, aren't you?"
Marco hesitated, looking down, his face contorting with sadness. "But... but you helped me. And you told me your name. That means…"
Narratha let out a harsh sigh, shaking her head. She turned, facing him fully. "It means nothing! Just because someone helps you, it doesn't make them your friend."
He seemed so confused, unaware as to how those two things could not correspond. "But why wouldn't you be friends with someone if you helped them?" The boy's questions appeared to be endless. It was one thing after another. Narratha wanted to rip out her hair in lieu of his throat.
"Because bad people do good things sometimes," she said. "But they are still bad people. You're a child. I don't expect you to understand this. Just go away." Narratha set off for the main square, hoping that she had finally driven him away. Hurting this kid right now made no sense.
As she drew closer, that familiar little voice found its way into her ears. "Are you a mom?"
She halted again. Eyes pressed. Teeth clenched. Her lips barely parted as she spoke. "Marco…"
"Yes, Narratha?"
The redheaded fawn let out a sigh of defeat. She understood her will. She would not hurt the boy. Scaring him away required too much ferocity. Even though she was angered beyond measure, something inside herself told her to hold back.
Maybe it was the memories of what she did to Leta. Perhaps it was the loss of her dear friend, Balia.
Oh, Balia, she thought. What would that girl say if she saw her now?
She peeked over her shoulder, her bushy red hair swimming around her freckled cheeks. "I have to work."
He looked up at her, his determination to find a friend still going strong. "Can I walk with you?" He asked, his voice small. "I won't get in the way."
She stared at him, frustration mingling with something else inside of her.
"Fine," she responded. "But don't expect anything from me." She turned back toward the village, clutching the basket, feeling Marco's presence behind her as she moved. She would have thought of the child as stubborn, but the fear in his voice when he spoke to her indicated otherwise.
The boy genuinely wanted to not be alone.
As they walked in silence, she wanted to tell him to leave, to go find someone else, but each time she opened her mouth, she found herself falling silent. At one point, Narratha stopped, just so that he could finally catch up and walk by her side. Their eyes met for a brief second, only for her to look ahead.
Narratha spoke in a low voice, "How old are you?"
"Six."
"Hmm." She nodded. "I was right."
"How old are you?"
Wrapping her arms around the heavy basket, Narratha brought it higher up against her chest. She rolled her eyebrows as she thought about how all the years had passed her by. "Thirty-five."
His childhood innocence went into full swing. "Wow! You're old!"
She glared down at him as she continued to walk, her emerald eyes returning to the forward position seconds later. She was so annoyed to hear that little remark, but then a minor chuckle—one so tiny—escaped her lips. "Shut up."
Locwitary – 512 years before Cassandra's arrival
Vattia and Oenella teleported back to the camp after a short span of time. They both knew that if Kyia hadn't returned soon, then she was in danger. Thankfully, as soon as the blue particles around their bodies faded away, the two fawns were met with the sight of the brunette as she stood beside her tent. Kalennia was still held tightly in Oenella's arms, cooing as she reached out into the open air.
However, the cheerful reunion between the three was quickly cut short once they noticed the presence of the deceased poils that had been laid out on the ground. Vattia stopped dead in her tracks, gasping as she halted Oenella's advancement as well.
"Oh, no…" She said under her breath, just as Oenella withdrew one hand from Kalennia so that she might cover her own mouth in shock.
The three poils had been torn to pieces, gored beyond all measure. There was so much blood spread across their clothes and skin. Flesh sheered from bone. Guts strewn about. Kyia stood there with an expressionless face, and for a moment, the others thought that she was the one responsible for the carnage.
"Kyia," Vattia called out, "is this your doing? Did those men try to kill you?"
Kyia sighed just as Renilvo emerged from the back of their tent with some branches that he had gathered. The man appeared more distraught than she was, but his presence alone was cause for alarm. If Kyia had slaughtered the three poils herself, then why had he been spared?
"What?" Oenella spoke.
Vattia was in total disbelief. "Kyia! Why is he here?"
She pointed to her daughter, gesturing for Oenella to return her to her crib. Even if the girl was just an infant, Kyia did not want her to be around this. "We'll speak about this once Kalennia is away. Please, just hurry up. I have work that needs to be done."
Oenella stopped for a second, but she knew that it was best to not have any child near this kind of scene. With haste, she ran over to the tent to drop the baby off, returning only after Kalennia was safely tucked away. The three fawns convened together, while Renilvo continued to lay down the collected branches next to the bodies of his former friends.
"What is the meaning of this?" Vattia whispered sternly into Kyia's ear. "You brought this poil back to our camp?"
Kyia shook her head, her brows tensing as she took a step away from her friend. "Do you see what has happened to the others? They are dead. He told me they were attacked by a dhin. His story was true."
Oenella joined in, hoping to inspire some sense in the brunette. "Okay, I get that. Dhins are everywhere in these forests. But what is the plan?"
Kyia took a breath, steadying herself as her emerald eyes glanced over her shoulder, watching the heartbroken man as he silently cried over the corpse of the final victim. "We're going to bury the dead with dignity. I refuse to let them decay where they were killed. It is the least we can do."
"What about him?" Vattia inquired, seeking a form of solace in the outcome. "Where is he to go? Isn't the closest poil settlement far beyond those mountains? How are you going to take him there?"
Kyia stalled, wishing not to incite conflict just yet. "Let me… Let me just bury them, okay? We'll discuss this after."
"But, Kyia…"
"Vattia!" The slender fawn's eyes widened. "Please, just let me finish this."
Vattia pressed her lips, silencing herself so that Kyia may speak.
"I need your help," she said. "It'll get this done quicker. I trust you."
"Kyia," Vattia replied with an uneasy tone, "I..."
"Please, Vattia. It pains me to involve you, but once these bodies are in the ground, we can all begin to move on from this."
The fawn nodded, relinquishing herself to the mutual trust that she shared with her longtime friend. Together, they set to work, lifting the bodies and placing them carefully in the air. Renilvo remained nearby, watching as they went about their tasks, his grief written plainly across his face. Kyia spared him a glance, her heart heavy with pity. He had lost so much already, and though she knew it was a risk to bring him here, leaving him to his sorrow had felt crueler.
The two women's hands glowed softly as they called upon their magic, channeling energy through their fingers to manipulate the soil beneath them. The ground shifted and parted, creating shallow graves for the fallen. Renilvo's quiet sobs filled the silence as he kneeled beside his friends, his hands clutching the edges of his own garments.
"Thank you," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Thank you for helping them."
Kyia glanced at him, fighting another tear that wanted to escape her eye. "I am so sorry, Renilvo."
She felt Vattia's gaze on her, a hint of concern and question festering underneath her friend's otherwise calm exterior. As the burial neared its end, she took a slow, deliberate breath, preparing herself for what she knew had to come next.
Once the final handful of dirt was placed over the graves, Kyia took a step back, watching as Renilvo quietly inserted the branches into the ground to mark where his men would take their final rest. But when she turned to Vattia, she saw the tension in the woman's eyes and knew that she could not stall any longer.
The blonde was a smart fawn, keen to the emotions of others. She had likely already read Kyia's face from the beginning, which had set forth such an immense wave of unease. Unease that was rightfully earned, as Kyia's next plan would undoubtably be cause for conflict.
"I offered for Renilvo to stay with us," Kyia confessed. "I believe it is only right."
Vattia's eyes widened in alarm. "Kyia, no! A poil in our camp? You know as well as I do what that could mean."
Kyia tried to remain calm, though a flash of frustration passed through her gaze. "And what does it mean, Vattia?" she replied quietly, hoping that Renilvo would not pick up on their exchange. "He told me the truth. I saw his fear. He knows that we can hurt him, but he still came to us for help. Who am I to leave him to suffer and die?"
Vattia's jaw tightened, her face etched with worry. "It isn't about him, Kyia. The dangers that come with a poil in our midst... you know as well as I do the risks. You have a child to protect. All it takes is one, Kyia."
Kyia's gaze hardened. "And you think I don't know that?" she shot back, her voice tinged with anger. "I know what it means to bring a poil here. I know the dangers. I'm not stupid. But I have already caused enough harm by lacking compassion. If I had gone to them sooner, perhaps... She trailed off, her words heavy with guilt.
Vattia reached out, placing a hand on Kyia's shoulder. "You cannot carry that burden. We cannot bring back the dead."
Kyia took a deep breath. "The dead? If we turn him away, then what makes us any different from those who would harm us? It is a death sentence to have him go alone. If he dies, then that means I killed him."
Vattia looked down, glancing briefly at Renilvo a few seconds later. She knew that Kyia could not teleport to the nearest poil settlement just like that, nor would she trust that the men there would not try to attack her. Renilvo may have been a man of kindness, but that was an answer that she would not get right now. It all came down to faith. After a moment, she gave a reluctant nod.
"Very well," Vattia said, her voice reluctant but resigned. "But understand that I do not trust this man."
"Neither do I," Kyia replied, rolling her lips as she tilted her head toward him. Renilvo was still grieving over the loss of those that he cared for. There was not a single sign of a threat to be had. "But I am a fawn. A mother. What kind of world do I want Kalennia to live in? Where does that world start?"
NOTES:
Welcome back! Hope you guys enjoyed the earlier release! I had everything finished up sooner than expected and figured there was no reason to wait.
A little more fawn-centered on this one, but Daniela's redemption and progress correspond with what happens with both Kyia and Narratha. Daniela's mental illness is highlighted some more in this chapter. The man she sees isn't a past boyfriend, but just an amalgam of what she expects a loving man to be, based on her books. She does have a past (as we all know by now) that will be revealed later in this story. But her sudden change of heart with Delia is a peek that not all is lost. We're getting there.
Moving onto Narratha, Heisenberg has introduced her to his soldats, kind of. Trust takes time, but can these two trust each other? I do plan to have them come around in the later acts (not much of a spoiler), so consider that some foreshadowing.
Narratha meeting Marco has its share of similarities to what we saw in Chapter 37 of Fragmented Flies, where she met Balia. While being in this new world has caused a minor adjustment to her responses, she is still a villain. Still, this is a story about villains. I think you will all enjoy and hate what is to follow.
Now, regarding Kyia, she is actively making her moves. We all know that note in the attic will realistically tell her nothing, but maybe there might be something more that we have yet to see. Her flashback is also a little advancement to that side story, as we're about to see more of her past, which I think tells a very sad story, even by the standards of this series.
Some of you have been wondering when Ethan and Chris will come in. So, this story does take place three weeks before the events of the game, but while I'm aiming for sixty chapters, half of this story will take place during that final day. This is not a spoiler, but with Miranda being gone and whatnot for around a week (I guess?), everything and everyone needs to be together. We're going to be jumping some time (hehe) and getting right to the action very soon.
Expect some more sister drama in the next chapter, as well as some kitchen drama between a stubborn fawn and a loyal maid. A scene or two with a lord or a beloved character. And of course... an innocent boy getting on the nerves of a cannibalistic magical serial killer.
I know its been a slow start, but we're about to kick things into high gear. I'm so excited for where this story is about to take us. I have some scenes in my head that I can't wait to get out there. You won't be expecting what ends up transpiring, I promise.
Expect the next chapter to come out on the 16th, but if not, then the 23rd for sure! Some weekends get busy for me, so I cannot get everything done. Thank you so much for everything!
I hope that you all have a great weekend, and I'll see you soon!