not your average bitch

Even if you retreat to a corner of your cell and curl up into a ball, your eyes closed and nose pressed tight to your elbow, you can still hear everything. The tortured screams, the sound of your jailers’ giggles and laughs, the ceaseless wailing that haunts both your sleep and your every waking moment.

You know your turn will come. Day by day, you accept it. You won’t leave this place alive. Your life was forfeit the moment you came into this village, only to be captured by monsters and ‘gifted’ to horrors.

Some of the prisoners in the cells near yours talk, at times. They tell you of the Dimitrescus and what they do to people sent to them. They tell you if you’re as pretty as your voice makes you sound maybe you’ll be turned to wine instead of food or entertainment –and that is the best ending you can hope for yourself. No use in praying for anything else. Even God can’t hear you in this hell.

You learn what you can from them, until they are in no condition to speak to you anymore. Then, it is your turn to sing to them, to ease their suffering.

You will not leave this place. This castle you’re in is your exalted gravestone with the bloodied dungeon the coffin that keeps you in. You won’t ever leave.

But.

You are not concerned about your own fate anymore. All you think about is that of your family’s. Your loving parents and your baby sister, who have certainly figured you should have returned by now. Who must be worried sick about you.

Who cannot be allowed to come searching for you here.

The thought is unbearable.

You will die and that’s fine. But before you do, you have to make sure they live.

I need to figure out a way…

-

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So, you observe.

Lady Dimitrescu is said to have three daughters, but only two come down into the dungeon to ‘play’ with their food. Cassandra and Daniela, their names are. You can tell a bit about their personalities from how they behave. Neither of them will be of any help to you for what you need.

But they are helpful in what they say about the third.

You hear of Bela from their complains and how ‘unfun’ she is. How she always waits for dinner despite their unquenchable thirst –“How does she stand it?” Daniela huffs— because she, apparently, hates her ‘snacks’ crying and thrashing as she feeds.

And that, you can use.

Question is, how will I communicate with someone that never comes here?

The universe seems to show some measure of mercy when it answers your inquiry for you.

One day, you hear the sound of determined footsteps followed by a strange rustling, as if something is being harshly dragged across the stone floor. Then, comes a foreign voice;

“Tried to escape, did you, stupid man-thing?” she asks, coming to a stop near your cell.

Your eyes catch a fleeting glimpse of the man she was dragging along. You recognize him –he is one of the few that used to talk to you before he went silent. You thought he was dead. Now… he really will be.

“Fuck you, you crazy fiends!” he shouts, his breathing erratic. “You and your whore mothe-” He doesn’t have the chance to finish his sentence.

You see only a blur;

Then Bela has smashed his head into a gory pulp against the wall. You gasp, damn near falling backwards from the shock. Your stomach lurches wildly at the sickening crack. Your heart almost stops beating right there. A headless corpse drops at her feet.

This is the one I hoped for?! The one who’s better than her sisters? Because so far she seems worse. You cannot get over how callously she crushed a man’s head, without so much as batting an eyelash—

Bela shakes the blood from her glove as if it disgusts her and turns around to leave the way she came.

You’ve lost your words after that display… but your gut knows you can’t also lose your chance.

So, you swallow down the crippling fear and repulse and grab at the bars trapping you. “Lady Bela, wait!” you call. Your voice is hoarse from unuse and exhaustion. God, I sound awful.

Her back tenses. The slow way she turns reminds you of a roused predator… and that can’t be good. Her voice doesn’t sound the least bit amused when it comes out, low and ominous:

“What did you say…?” She approaches your cell in regal, even steps. One by one, her features come into view past the shadows of her hood.

Blonde hair frames high cheekbones and a pointed chin; Cold yellow eyes, with the slightest touch of green at the edges of her irises, peer through you. If it wasn’t for the fresh, deep crimson staining her mouth and lower jaw, perhaps she could even be considered a decent-looking devil.

“Y-you are Bela…right?” Her gaze narrows the slightest bit. “Your sisters talk about you.” you’re not sure what you’re saying, but it seems to work when the ice in her stance breaks for a moment.

“All good things, I assume.” she half-rolls her eyes, the sarcasm in her voice hard to miss. “What’s it to you, human?”

You set your jaw, hold her gaze… and speak up. “I need a favor from you.”

Bela blinks. Then she chuckles, as if you’ve gone so crazy it’s funny to witness. “Well. Never heard that one, before.”

“I need to write a letter to my family.” you talk faster, now, growing desperate. “Please. From what I’ve heard, you’re the one most likely to listen. Let me have this and I’ll be in your debt. I’ll give you anything you want.”

In a sudden movement, Bela grabs at the iron bars right above your hands, rattling them with her inhuman strength. You are shocked to silence, yet you refuse to retreat.

“I can already take everything I want.” she states, matter-of-factly. “What could you possibly offer me in return for that favor?”

“I heard you don’t like the people you drink from to scream and thrash as you do. I’m sure the thirst gets bad at times…” you trail off. You can already see how tight her throat gets at the mention.

It’s a questionable move at best to tempt the wolf while she’s starving, but it’s also your only opportunity.

“And I’ve been told I taste quite good.” you lie.

Bela studies you from head to toe. Her expression doesn’t shift, but she seems to consider it. “A letter. That’s all you want.”

“Yes.” you reply. “After that, you can do whatever. I don’t care. Just one letter.” You plead with your eyes.

“…Alright. But I get to see what you write. And if there’s any hidden messages for help or information about my family, you die. On the spot.” Unlike her sisters, this one is definitely not messing around.

“Deal.” you nod.

-

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You didn’t think Bela would take you out of the dungeons.

But she unlocks your cell, commands you to follow and leads you through luxurious, red-carpeted corridors, all the way to a quaint study. Judging from the ancient history and science books on the shelves, as well as the the neatly arranged office, you think it may be her own.

Bela motions for you to sit on the chair with a cock of her chin and places a sheet of paper and a pen in front of you.

“Get to it.” she orders –and hard as she tries not to show it, you can tell her impatience stems from her hunger.

It's easier said than done when your fingers start shaking as soon as you address your mother. Tears well up at the corners of your eyes, stinging hot, like ashes from a flame caught within your lids. You are endlessly thankful your fringe hides your vulnerability from her. You do not want her to see you cry. Yet the cracks in you are spreading, you’re breaking—

“Are you going to write anything or…?” she prods after a while of you being so emotionally choked you cannot will forth a single word.

“How am I supposed to write anything with you looming over me like that?” you ask, a tad snappy, then wonder if this is the end for you.

Bela, however, just tsks and pushes off the desk, giving you space. That… was unexpected.

Woman up. You inwardly chastise. It won’t be convincing for your story if your letter ends up with tear stains all over it. You aren’t doing this for you. You remind yourself. It’s for them. It’s all for them.

You need to break your family’s heart to make sure it keeps beating, when yours stops.

Keeping that in mind, there is no sentimentality in your words as you write them. You are cold, cold as the winters in Romania.

You tell your parents about how they stifled your dreams of leaving your small hometown to pursue your passion. That you finally left to make your life through your music, out in the grand world. You write that you’ll think of them and love them forever, but you are never coming back. At the end, you apologize to your younger sister for leaving her and wish her the best in life.

I’m sorry, Anna. I’m so sorry. Your vision blurs at that part and you couldn’t write more if you tried. But, you suppose, this is enough for them to despise you.

Wordlessly, you push the letter towards Bela when she comes back.

“Your handwriting is very… loopy.” she comments, upon the first glance.

“Thank…you…?”

When you look up at her, you realize something is different. Her hood is down and she has cleaned herself of the blood that made her look like a fiend. And she’s—

…surprisingly good-looking. You don’t want to think the word gorgeous. She’s just fairly… pretty.

Pretty stunning.

Her brow furrows more the further down she reads. There’s a small line on her forehead, right where the strange, rose-like tattoo the daughters share ends. The expression would almost be cute, if she were any normal girl.

“Are you sure this is what you want sent to your family?” she asks when she lowers the paper, staring at you.

“I’m sure.” you say. “This is for the best. I just need to know that the letter will reach them.”

“It will. I’ll take it to your door myself, when I’m able.” You shouldn’t trust a single word any of them says, yet there’s something about her that feels… reliable.

“I suppose that settles it, then.” you nod. “Where do you want me?” you’re too tired, physically and mentally, to consider all the implications of your words as you say them.

It could be a trick of the moonlight, but you think Bela’s eyes widen for a moment. “On… the couch.” she replies, perhaps a fraction less authoritatively than before.

As gracefully as you can manage in your state of malnutrition, you rise from the chair to take a seat at the cushions, with your back turned to her. You reach up to guide your hair away from the left side of your neck, baring it for her like a tribute.

The couch dips when she sits behind you. Her body feels cold in comparison to your warmed skin. Your heart is pounding like a war drum. You are terribly anxious, yet you swallow the fear down. It doesn’t matter if you die here or five days from now. You’ve come to terms with the notion you won’t last.

Bela will keep her word –you trust that she will— so you keep yours. You stay perfectly still as you feel the predator lean closer, her chest pressed lightly against your shoulders.

She could be faster about the whole process, you muse. Because the way her hands trail up your arms to curl around your biceps and the way her lips barely graze your neck are almost insufferably intimate; and your body is starting to react to the sensation of an attractive girl’s mouth hovering over your skin.

Even if she’s a blood-drinking, unfeeling killer. That part doesn’t seem to turn you off enough right now.

“It’s going to hurt. Don’t. Move.” There’s a little warning growl adrift in her voice.

“My word is gold.” you promise.

You can almost feel Bela’s smirk on the spot right above your pulse and you valiantly resist to urge to shiver.

“Good girl.” she speaks and why on God’s green earth did she have to say that—

Luckily, you don’t have time to grow any further confused. The aching warmth you felt is sharply replaced by searing pain. Her canines feel longer –too long— as they pierce through your flesh like it’s no more resistant than butter. You tense but you bite on your tongue not to make a sound.

Bela exhales a sigh of pure relief, which soon turns into a moan. Despite your predicament, that does things to you. You wonder how the hell you can even be aroused when it feels like someone is shoving icy nails deep into your neck and draining your blood through them.

You can’t tell how long it lasts, but it surely feels like a fraction of eternity even though it can’t be more than a few minutes. You are lightheaded by the time Bela pulls back and presses a soft white napkin to the punctures.

You dare unlock your muscles enough to turn around and look at her. She’s licking her lips like a satisfied cat, looking much more relaxed than the entire hour you’ve known her.

“Apply pressure for a while. You did so good, by the way.” Her little smile seems almost uncharacteristic. You guess there’s some sort of vampire high following blood consumption.

You, on the other hand, feel like death. You do wonder, though, what’s the deal with her specific drinking tastes. …Oh shit. Did I say that out loud?

“Do you like your food to wiggle and yell as you eat it?” she asks, simply.

Well. That… makes sense, if you think about it.

“You look ready to pass out. Also, your blood sugar is low.” Bela continues. “I could take you back to the dungeons to wait until you’re made into wine… But. I think it’s best for both of us if I kept you around here.”

“Wait. You mean…?” you slur. Words are getting harder to voice.

“You’ll work as a maid in the castle. There are rules to follow and a strict work schedule, but you’ll have your own chambers, good food and some free time. Preferable to wasting away in a moldy cell, in my opinion.”

Wasting away in finery then, hm? You want to ask. You’re sure your eyes betray your thoughts, but right now a bed does sound wonderful. “You make it sound so generous, being your go-to snack.” you huff.

Bela gives you a smirk and tilts your chin towards her with a gloved finger underneath it. “Better than being dead, wouldn’t you agree, little songbird?”

You do not really have a choice. Both of you are aware you don’t, but the fact you are at least presented with the illusion of one must count for something. So, you nod. You accept.

“…I agree.”

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