The town lights stretched farther than Bela had expected; they reflected in puddles left behind by an evening rain. Cars passed occasionally, their headlights briefly illuminating empty streets before vanishing again. Somewhere in the distance, music drifted from a place she couldn't identify. It was strange. Too many lights, too many sounds, and too many people. Not that many remained awake at this hour, but even this late at night, the town felt more alive than the village ever had.
Bela walked quietly beside Alisson. Her pace was slower than it used to be. Two months had improved her condition, though not nearly enough. The jagged remains of her left arm were hidden beneath the sleeve of her coat. It had healed some, but not much. The crystal growth had receded, but progress came painfully and frustratingly slowly. At least she no longer slept through entire days. That was something.
The blonde also no longer stood over everyone. Necessity had forced adaptation. At first by accident and then through trial and error, Bela had learned to compress her swarm. It was uncomfortable, like being squeezed into clothing several sizes too small, but it worked. Gone was the imposing two-meter figure that had once wandered the halls of Castle Dimitrescu...for now.
Instead, she appeared merely unusually tall, standing just around 180 cm. Enough to draw glances, perhaps, but not enough to get too much attention.
Her golden eyes wandered upward, studying the buildings around them: apartments, shops, street lamps, and normal people. They paid her no mind. No frightened whispers, no prayers to Mother Miranda. No servants bowing their heads. No castle...
The thought came and went like a knife. Bela said nothing. She had become very good at that—very good at carefully avoiding thoughts she could not bear, and very good at not speaking names. Mother, Cassandra, Daniela. The words remained locked away somewhere deep inside her. Instead, she focused on practical things, like shelter and food. As if she had not spent decades with the same three people. As if they had never existed. The lie worked...most days.
Her gaze wandered down the street until it settled on the illuminated sign of a hotel further ahead, then toward Alisson, who was looking rather tired. "Iubirea mea... should we get a room for a few nights?" The question came softly. Not because she doubted they could find an abandoned house somewhere; they had done that for two months, but perhaps they no longer had to. At least for now. Her fingers briefly adjusted the strap of her leather bag. The same bag she had carried from the village. Inside rested her sketchbook, spare clothes, and a rather considerable amount of money that had somehow found its way into her possession with the assistance of several inconspicuous flies and the carelessness of strangers.
"We have the money. And I admit, I have become somewhat tired of sleeping in ruins." And after everything Alisson had done for her, she deserved some proper housing for once. "There are beds... and a bath." The last part was spoken with enough seriousness to suggest that, after two months of sleeping in abandoned houses and washing in streams, the prospect of warm water bordered on luxury. "...What do you think?" she asked quietly, waiting for Alisson to decide with her.
