Chapter Text
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Sitting up, you push the hair back from your face with a sigh. You know what awaits you being in here. The Dimitrescu and their eccentricities are well-known, and well-feared, in the village. You would be made into wine purely because you had never allowed a man to sully your virtue. It is said that a virgin’s blood is sweet and that Lady Dimitrescu uses it for her specialty wine; Maiden’s Blood.
You aren’t entirely sure if you believe it, but- well, you’re here now.
You suppose you will find out soon enough.
---
While you sat and thought about your life up until this defining moment of events, you’d noticed something out of the corner of your eye. In the cell beside yours, perfectly within reach if you were to crawl across the, quite frankly disgusting, floor and thrust your arm through the bars, is a key. You wonder how stupid the Dimitrescus think you are, you wonder how stupid the victims before you had been that the women of the castle would offer such an obvious trap.
You could take it, unlock your cell, and then what? Escape? You might be a little stronger and a lot quicker than everyone else in the village, but you’re also smarter than most of them. The chances of you being strong enough or fast enough to escape from your current predicament without being caught and summarily tortured for your trouble are slim to none.
Your fate was sealed the moment you were brought here.
False hope never saved anybody.
Ignoring the key, you close your eyes and rest your head back against the cold, stone wall.
It's stupid, but tempting all the same.
---
“What is this?”
“We don’t know, mother.”
“The key remains?”
“Yes.”
“Has it tried to talk at all?”
“No.”
“Well…"
Facing the wall, you squeeze your eyes shut and press a hand firmly over your ear in an attempt to drown out the voices. Almost a week with no food, water or entertainment of any kind, all you have left is sleep, and you’d been having quite a time of it until they decided to interrupt.
Why couldn’t they have left you to die in peace?
“You.” There’s a combination of clicks and then a loud, grating screech as the door to your cell is opened. “Get up.”
You breathe in deeply through your nose before you roll onto your back. You’re hungry, thirsty and tired, not to mention still weak from the blood you lost during your capture. “Apologies, Lady Dimitrescu,” you say, “but I fear that may be a bit beyond me at the moment.”
She looms over you, so far beyond tall that it would almost boggle the mind had you not glimpsed her many times throughout your years. She bends down and wraps her hand around your throat, lifting you up as if you weigh nothing at all.
You struggle to breathe and begin to thrash in her grip, left with no other choice but to fight.
“When I tell you to do something,” she snarls, “I expect you to do it.”
Her other hand grabs you by the hip and you stop kicking as the pressure on your throat eases. Your anger flares, but you take in another breath and relax your jaw before speaking. “Humans,” you croak, “if you recall, require food and water.” You swallow against the dryness of your mouth. “Apologies again, but I cannot force my body to do something it doesn’t have the strength to do.”
Her grip on you tightens for a moment before releasing altogether. You hit the floor with a thud, and barely resist the urge to cry out at the sudden pain in your knees. It hurts, more than you would have expected had you also expected to be dropped, but in your line of work you’ve been through worse than this.
“Perhaps if you had bothered to try and escape-”
Your sudden, hollow laughter cuts her off. “I would be dead, or in the process of being tortured, or drained of my blood.” You raise your head to look up at her. “I am well aware of who you are,” you say, “and I don’t know who the morons were that you captured from the village in the past, and it may not seem like it considering I am now talking back to you, but I have a brain that I actually use.”
Her eyes flash with something too quick for you to grasp before she’s bending down again, her face mere inches from yours as a sneer curls her upper lip. “And what did you hope to accomplish by remaining and wasting away in here, hmm?”
You force yourself to hold her gaze, gritting your teeth as you roll your answer over in your mind. After accepting the situation you found yourself in, you had only had hope enough for one thing.
“An end.”
And had she not come down here, had you not talked back and practically ensured you would be tortured beforehand, perhaps you’d have gotten your wish.
She, however, does not confirm what you already know. She straightens, giving you one last look before she turns on her heel and exits the cell.
---
Two days pass.
You have been fed four times since and the jug of water beside the uncomfortable, dirtied mattress you sleep on has been replaced twice. The night before you had been given wine with your dinner, and the maid who brought it to you had even assured you that it contained neither blood nor poison.
The latter disappointed you more than you cared for the former.
You don’t know why Lady Dimitrescu hasn’t tortured or drained you yet. Perhaps almost starving to death does something to the blood that you aren’t aware of, or perhaps she is hoping to somehow improve it with the rich selection of food you’ve been receiving.
Whatever the reason, you eat, you drink and you sleep.
On the eve of the third day, you’re pacing the short length of your cell. With the lack of sustenance combined with the lack of movement, your legs had grown weak and started to cramp up whenever you sat still for too long.
When you hear footsteps descending the stairs to the cellar, you face the door of your cell and still. Usually those steps are what herald the maid’s arrival, but the maids don’t wear heels and the steps had been too loud to belong to Lady Dimitrescu.
As the blonde comes into view, you relax marginally. You are all out of fear, but of the three daughters, you know that Lady Bela is the least cruel- or, at least, the one you think most likely to bring you a swift end instead of drawing it out.
“Come,” she says as she opens the door. “Mother says you are to be bathed before I take you to her.”
You nod with a resigned sigh and move forward. “This is it, then?”
She frowns. “What are you talking about?”
You stare at her, your gaze as blank as your voice. “I am to be killed, am I not?”
“That is not for me to decide.”
Turning, she beckons you over a shoulder and you follow. She leads you up the stairs and through many different halls before you reach the foyer and are led up another flight of stairs, and through many more halls. It takes minutes, five or maybe even ten of them, before you stand in front of a rather ornate door.
Opening it, she gestures you through and when you step into the room, she points to the door on your right. “The bath is through there,” she says, “the maid tasked to fill it should be waiting for you. She will remain to assist you, unless you would prefer she not, in which case you may dismiss her.”
Continuing, she points to what must be a large closet along the left wall. “Clothes. Choose whatever you like, but if mother has in store for you what I think she does, I would advise against dresses.”
You wouldn’t have even considered them since you aren’t a fan of dresses, but you’re curious. Clearing your throat of any potential, embarrassing sounds, you ask, “Why?”
“Because they are often cumbersome, difficult to remove and easily torn.” Turning back to the door, she pauses with her hand on the knob. “I will return in three quarters of an hour.”
Do not hide, do not attempt to escape, do not-
The door closes and you’re left to stare at the solid wood, confused.
After a minute, you shake your head.
Perhaps Lady Dimitrescu, along with her daughters, had taken you at your word and decided not to treat you like an idiot. Why waste one’s breath on the obvious?
You move towards the bathing chamber and open the door. You’re immediately greeted by a faint smile and an almost too soft voice. “You must be the Lady’s guest.”
Guest.
You stifle your snort and look around the room for a moment before returning to the baby blue gaze of the maid. “I am,” you reply, “and I appreciate you waiting, but I… I do not require assistance.”
She continues to smile at you as she bows slightly at the waist. “If you do require anything, I have been told to remain in the hall,” she informs you. “You merely need to poke your head out and ask.”
You nod. “I doubt I will, but thank you.”
“Of course.”
She leaves then, and you breathe a sigh of relief.
You have scars that glare and ache when wet; three jagged lines across your abdomen that are almost mirrored on your back if not for those ones being much larger. Your mother is the only person alive to have seen them, and the only one you have ever allowed to help you when you needed it.
The maid would have made bathing easier, but it won’t be impossible without her.
Stripping yourself of the clothes you only now just notice are covered in blood and all manner of grime, you wrinkle your nose and climb into the bath. The pain is almost immediate, but with a few deep breaths, you set about cleaning yourself up.
---
Bela returns, as she’d said she would and, you assume, exactly when she said she would. You had chosen a loose pair of black trousers and a classic white button-down shirt. She gives you a once over when you emerge from the closet, and her mouth quirks. You wonder why before she gestures to a pair of black boots beside the door that definitely hadn’t been there when you first arrived.
They match your outfit perfectly and look comfortable enough that you slip them on with a mumbled thanks. You then follow her out of the room, feeling significantly better than you had when she’d fetched you from your cell. Your scars still ache and will for a while yet, but your muscles are becoming accustomed to being used again and aren’t complaining quite as much as they were an hour earlier.
Again, you're led through innumerable halls before you’re brought before another door, this one even more ornate than the last. You would have recognized it as the door to the Lady’s chambers, given it’s impressive size.
Bela knocks before she flashes you a smile and vanishes.
The door opens while you stare at the spot where she’d stood, your mind a jumbled mess of thoughts regarding the hows and whys of women turning into swarms of flies. Could they all do it? How did they do it? Why did they do it? Why would they even want to? So many questions.
“Ah, pet.”
Your attention snaps back to the door and you look up, and up, and up. Too much of this and you know that your scars won’t be the only things aching before long.
“Lady Dimitrescu,” you greet. “You wished to speak to me?”
“I did- do, yes.” She steps aside and gestures into the room. “Won’t you come in?”
Part of you longs to tell her you’d really rather not, but the non stupid part of you pulls your head forward and engages your legs, walking you deep into the room. The door closes and the Lady indicates a chair in which she’d like you to sit.
You do.
“When my daughter first brought you here, my intentions were to turn you into wine,” she admits before pausing. She looks at you, almost as if she’s waiting for something, but when all you do is continue to watch her pour herself a glass of said wine, she smirks. “I had wondered if your claim to being aware of me was genuine.”
You assume she wants a response when she says nothing more, so you offer one. “I was born and raised in the village,” you reply. “Whether the stories regarding you and your family are true or not, I have heard them all.”
She hums. “And hearing is believing, is it?”
“No,” you concede. To believe what one hears would be asinine considering how often people lie. “However, there is some truth to every story and I would rather believe them all and be proven wrong, than believe nothing and regret it.”
“Hmm.” Appearing as though she is floating, Lady Dimitrescu moves to the large chair that sits across from you and takes a seat. “It has been brought to my attention by one of the village elders that there is a severe lack of hunters in the village, and that you are, in fact, the most skilled of the only remaining two.”
You clench your jaw to stop yourself from declaring otherwise. It’s true, you are the most skilled, but there is no second hunter. You have taken it upon yourself to train another, but at only ten years old, it will be years before he’s ready to provide for the village as a whole without your guidance.
“You disagree?”
You look away as you respond. “Only in that there is no other hunter, my Lady.”
“I was informed that your brother-”
“Is a child,” you interrupt with a snarl, snapping your attention back to her.
She rises swiftly and is before you, lifting you once more into the air by your throat before your heart can complete its first beat. “Continue to disrespect me, and I will ensure that neither you nor your brother ever need trouble yourselves with what my village requires ever again.”
The anger that grips you only worsens with the threat. “I respect you as much as I would respect anyone who abducts me, starves me, and then demands it of me as though they have any right,” you hiss.
Scowling, she throws you back into the chair. “Your claim to being smarter than the rest is becoming more laughable the longer I allow you breath.”
“Being smart does not equate to being a coward,” you retort with a scowl of your own.
She laughs, her tone mocking. “You think this foolishness is brave?”
You grit your teeth, knowing you need to, but struggling to calm down before you get both yourself and your brother killed. You loathe the idea of respecting this woman, of treating her any better than she’s treated you, but you also hate the idea that your mother and brother might suffer because you, once again, couldn’t control your temper.
Closing your eyes against the glare pinning you to your seat, you quietly take a few breaths before opening them again. You aren’t entirely calm, but your reply is calmer than what it would have been otherwise. “To think that,” you say, “I would first need to think it foolish to stand up for myself, to ask- nay demand to be treated as a person and not some object to be abused merely because you can.”