It was odd how flustered she got. She was not innocent to the ways of lovemaking. However, her position had never allowed her to court. Her parents simply arranged a wedding to the regent. And she was not to think of it as anything but her duty to bear an heir.
And tried to fulfill that duty she did - miserably. No amount of medicine or magic in her world could cure her. She tormented herself in attempts to find a cure.
None would be found. She had transformed into a beast once to keep someone safe and it ruined her body. It ruined her ability to perform her duty. And soon her bed was left cold, while her husband looked elsewhere. It left her bitter and frightened. The aftermath left her kingdom in ruin. She wondered if she was a woman at all. Or simply a witch.
Andrea had nearly seen through her without her saying a word. Maybe he saw it as a challenge. He made her promise to only trust in the show tonight. Love shouldn’t be so sterile.
As she watched, what made her flustered was the intimacy the performers shared. There needn’t be a duty for there to be pleasure. There was trust. There was freedom in being seen as an individual.
Hilda was well adept at reading the stony expressions and masks of royalty. Little escaped her calm calculating gaze. She knew there was someone beneath the layers he kept. A warm depth he reserved for those he likely trusted. If he had been to her world, Vincent would have done well in her courts.
She also knew he stayed here not to merely watch over her, but to watch her be teased. It amused her, but she wouldn’t let it go playfully unpunished. It was in her nature to retaliate. She simply returned his expression with a knowing smirk and warmth in her gaze. It seemed his acting talents would surprise her tonight.
Hilda slows the music to a haunting, ethereal whisper. She closes her eyes, appearing lost in the sound, though her words are sharp and directed.
"You’re right, of course. Shadows do linger. You have a sophisticated gloom about you.” She then hummed thoughtfully. Her music danced like the gentle wind of night. “I am mistaken. Not a gloom. More like the evening gloam that is handsome and soft spoken as he casts his gaze.” It was hard to tell if she was waxing poetics or if she was being honest. “These oafs? They’re just... grey. They do not deserve my light."
She plays a trill that sounds remarkably like a mocking bird.
"Vultures have a decency to wait until their meat is cold. If any of these 'vultures' touch my stage, don't bother being a shadow. Be the harbinger of the underworld itself..."
She resumes a low, vibrating bass line that seems to make the floorboards—and the specters beneath them—shiver. Her magic is bound to a few of her notes. Sharp blinding sparks of her holy magic exploded upon the specters as they neared. They gave off a terrible shriek before slipping back to the world unseen. The lights cast Vincent’s shadows at irregular angles.
One of Corneo’s thugs, a massive brute with a spiked bat, stepped onto the stage, his boots thudding against the wood. "Enough with the tunes, lady," the thug growled, his shadow stretching long under Andrea’s harsh floor lights. "Don Corneo wants you at the Mansion. Now."
Hilda didn’t flinch. Instead, she let out a low, musical chuckle that seemed to vibrate through the very floorboards. "If they want to replace you, Shadow, they’ll have to learn how to bleed silently. Do you think they’ve practiced that part of the audition?"
With a violent snap of her wrist, Hilda struck a dissonant, powerful chord. It wasn't just sound—it was a pulse of energy that rippled outward. The remaining specters she had lured from the floorboards suddenly lunged, their transparent forms swirling around the thug like a freezing mist. She proved ever the mystical shield for Vincent, despite her role.
"Or should we give them a live demonstration?"
The lead thug swung his bat, but his arm was caught in the spectral grip of a long-dead dancer.
More of the thugs began to climb onto the stage, almost like they were in a trance. They saw the dame on the streets earlier and they followed waiting to catch her alone. It would have been easier if they could have bought her, but the Corneo’s men weren’t above using force. They lunged for her.
Hilda began a frantic, driving rhythm, her fingers flying across the strings in a staccato war-dance. She kept an eye on the fight, sure to match Vincent’s own natural tempo. She watched the fight unfold, manipulating the specters to dance to give him openings.
"See?", a wild, regal grin on her face. "They have no sense of timing! They fall far too early."
Ah. But it seemed she didn’t account for their modern weapons. Her aria interrupted midway, despite the Shadow’s valiant efforts.
One of Corneo’s thugs wasn't just a brute—he brought to the game an orb of gravity. Something often used to pin down those not as adept at fighting. As Hilda struck a high, commanding note, a dark sphere of compressed space detonated at the base of her instrument.
The explosion didn't just break the wood; it sent a jagged shockwave through the air. Hilda was thrown, her back hitting the velvet curtains. Upon looking up, she found the harp shattered.
Dazed, she hardly had time to recuperate. The impact snapped the delicate silk stays of her bodice and tore the fine lace of her sleeves, leaving the sheer, shimmering fabric of her undergarments exposed to the harsh stage lights.
There was a near ecstatic cheer in the crowd at the sight. Hilda felt herself burn under the light.
Hilda gasped, her breath hitching as she tried to find her footing. One hand clutched at the remnants of her dress, her fingers digging into the pale skin of her shoulder where the fabric had been ripped away. Her hair, usually pinned in a perfect, regal crown, spilled down in chaotic, golden waves.
"Lord Cerberus..." her voice losing its edge and dropping into a raw, breathless rasp.
The thugs saw their opening. Three of them lunged,, their eyes wide with a different kind of hunger now that the "Maestra" looked breakable.
Too stunned to think of a spell, she rushed to stand behind Vincent, her form pressed against his back. Her chest heaving against the cool leather of his harness. She was shivering—not from fear, but from the sudden rush of adrenaline and the biting chill of the air on her bare skin.
It was then a trap door opened from under her. She let out a shocking gasp as the floor gave way beneath her. She reached out to Vincent before the trap snapped shut once more. The punishment for her not playing.
Corneo’s men looked frustrated at this development and turned on Vincent, as if noticing him for the first time.
Hilda found she had fallen on something soft to break her fall. She looked up at the trap door, but around her were mirrors reflecting a forest. It seemed she would have to find her way out of this mirror maze.
She calmed her nerves and studied the mirrors. The clues were clear. She noticed some mirrors showed the dim glow of the candle through a beautifully arced doorway. She followed it to a luxurious room of deep purples and crushed velvet reds. Her pale complexion made her seem nearly fairy-like in this dark room.
“My lady.” She heard a voice and it was clear two female Honey Bee Inn attendants revealed themselves from the room. “We apologize for the rough crowd. Let us make amends by providing comfort and fitting attire. On the house tonight.” They moved to motivate her to the decadent bath to the other side.
@phantomyre
