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@vintneress
friendly reminder that i literally, actually cannot die, and id love to see any of you fuckers try to take me down

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lady alcina dimitrescu’s long, deft fingers curl around an ornately designed bottle of wine. a bouquet of silver flowers bloom from the bottle’s lip and sprawl artfully toward its base. gently tipping her wrist, she pours its contents, rich burgundy in hue and strangely viscous in texture, into the glass that sits on the table before her present company. ❝ for over four hundred years, house dimitrescu has produced this vintage in the cellar beneath this very castle. sanguis virginis, we call it. maiden’s blood. ❞ pride smolders within the molten gold pools of her eyes, and her carmine-coated lips peel back to reveal teeth that glint forebodingly under the candlelight. her smile is cloying, unnerving, predatory. ❝ please, indulge. ❞
𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 / 𝐌𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐒 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘
𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐈𝐍:
: ̗̀➛ ❛ OPEN STARTER ❜
“ having a larger capacity to feel and express emotion are one of the many qualities that make us superior to their kind. ”
❝ what a sublime relief to meet a like-minded individual! ❞ alcina exclaims, her voice a controlled, velvety contralto even in excitement. ❝ the women of today have resigned themselves to delusions of equality. pitiful. we are not their equals. ❞ she spits the word, their, like a lethal venom. ❝ manthings are senseless brutes, and they’ve earned a brutal demise. ❞
𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄:
rodrick felt out of step with his life as a vampire. the invitation to this little soirée had come at great personal risk, although he reckons half the risk was sitting in a small cabin full of living, breathing human beings for 23 hours; he’d arrived hungry, deeply unsettled and he stayed this way until his first drink. it goes down like the sweetest of teas. a bodied shiver starts from his throat immediately. heat blisters and then sinks into his mouth, like a kiss. ❝ that... what on earth did you do to this? ❞ roddy smacks his lips, tongue roaming beneath the soft flesh, chasing the cloying sweetness.
❝ i can feel it inside of me. ❞
like god. like life itself. a hand comes to his stomach. he drinks the dregs, too.
❝ this is stupendous! ❞
a menacingly satisfied smile works its way across the countess’ crimson-painted maw. the squirming little manthing’s nakedly desirous reactions are characteristic of a fledgling vampire —- though she is, technically, not a vampire herself, she has consorted enough with vampires of the literal variety to gauge him as such —- but her pride nonetheless swells at yet another fulfilled customer.
❝ i mustn’t reveal such carefully guarded trade secrets, ❞ replies the lady, eyes sparkling with wolfish mirth. ❝ but i’m sure you can determine which ingredient lends the vintage its... heady flavor. ❞
in a dignified flourish, lady dimitrescu cups the bowl of her own wine glass and tips the rim against her lips. she inhales, drawing deep of the savory draft passed down through generations of dimitrescu noblewomen and men, the annals of honeyed suffering spilling across her tongue. with a hiss and a long sigh, she swallows and coats her wanting throat in the exquisite nectar of execrable torment.
❝ perhaps i should consider expanding the market, ❞ she muses with a chuckle. ❝ sanguis virginis is quite exclusive to the eastern bloc. as an american, do you imagine your countrymen would appreciate the fruits of my labor as you do? ❞

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LADY ALCINA DIMITRESCU: 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐒
𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘: no one. 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆: you!
𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 𝟶𝟶𝟷: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄
EYE COLOR: yellow-green.
HAIR STYLE / COLOR: naturally wavy. black, falling just below the chin when curled.
HEIGHT: 9’6” in her usual hat and heels. 8’11” naturally.
CLOTHING STYLE: elegant, often drawing from 1930s fashion trends for inspiration. almost always wears a gown or at least a skirt. seldom without a sunhat, leather gloves, a pair of reinforced pumps, and dimitrescu crest-bearing jewelry.
BEST PHYSICAL FEATURE: many might point to her breasts, her ass, or her face, but alcina believes her best physical feature is her inhumanly great stature.
𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 𝟶𝟶𝟸: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄
FEARS: losing her daughters. losing her power. losing mother miranda’s favor. being poisoned. dying.
GUILTY PLEASURES: she’s not guilty about any of her pleasures.
BIGGEST PET PEEVES: people who lack manners.
FUTURE AMBITIONS: grow even more powerful. cure her daughters’ weakness to the cold. cure her own weakness to poison. become mother miranda’s favorite, preferably by finding eva’s perfect vessel.
𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 𝟶𝟶𝟹: 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒
FIRST THOUGHTS WAKING UP: what shall i wear today?
WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT MOST: her daughters and her duties to mother miranda.
WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT BEFORE BED: the day’s events, with a focus on mulling over the results of yet another day of unethical biological experimentation. looks forward to a good night’s beauty rest.
WHAT THEY THINK THEIR BEST QUALITY IS: her intelligence.
𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 𝟶𝟶𝟺: 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓’𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑?
SINGLE OR GROUP DATES: single.
TO BE LOVED OR RESPECTED: respected.
BEAUTY OR BRAINS: both, but with a slight preference for brains over beauty.
DOGS OR CATS: neither. she prefers human meat.
𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 𝟶𝟶𝟻: 𝐃𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘…
LIE: only when necessary.
BELIEVE IN THEMSELVES: yes.
BELIEVE IN LOVE: yes.
WANT SOMEONE: no.
𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 𝟶𝟶𝟼: 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑…
BEEN ON STAGE: all the time. she’s a trained opera singer, pianist, violinist, and cellist. even now, she’ll take any opportunity to entertain in her personal opera hall.
CHANGED WHO THEY WERE TO FIT IN: only as a child.
𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 𝟶𝟶𝟽: 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒
FAVORITE COLOR: burgundy.
FAVORITE ANIMAL: she dislikes all animals.
FAVORITE BOOK: mrs. dalloway by virginia woolf.
FAVORITE GAME: ferbli, which she used to play with her mother and now plays with her daughters.
𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 𝟶𝟶𝟾: 𝐀𝐆𝐄
DATE OF THEIR NEXT BIRTHDAY: april 13th.
HOW OLD THEY WILL TURN: she died at 141, but in any verse where she survives the events of resident evil village, she’ll be turning 143 in 2023.
𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 𝟶𝟶𝟿: 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄
I LOVE: my daughters.
I FEEL: powerful. beautiful.
I HIDE: my weaknesses.
I MISS: attending parties.
I WISH: mother miranda would acknowledge my superiority.
𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐀:
@vintneress said: ❝ how long has it been since you’ve eaten? ❞ for cassandra.
It hadn’t been too long since she had sustenance in her, but her mother should have known how hunger came fast to them. They could have had a grand banquet the night before & it wouldn’t last a day. But as vocal as she was when it came to inconveniences, she never expressed them openly towards her mother. In fact, she kept it to herself most of the time, knowing how much the older woman didn’t tolerate discourtesy. Only when asked did she answer, & even then she made sure not to come off too impudent.
“ I fed myself this morning, Mother, ” she answered promptly. “ After breakfast, I did have another bite… but that’s all I had. ” It was wise to be honest in front of her, as she was aware of the consequences that came with lying.
“ I will manage, Mother, so please don’t worry about me. ”
with a tut, lady dimitrescu sets her hand on her sinuous hip and casts disapproving eyes upon her middle daughter. darling cassandra, difficult cassandra —- of her three beloved daughters, cassandra has proven the greatest challenge to raise. unlike fastidiously devoted bela and even flighty, fanciful daniela, cassandra is volatile, impulsive, and impertinent when her audaciousness blinds her to her daughterly obligations. but a mother’s love will never waver, can never waver; and besides, cassandra’s loyalty is unerring and her ferocity legendary, both invaluable qualities that have warmed alcina’s blackened heart and defended this noble house, this precious family, from all manner of harm.
❝ to worry is a mother’s burden, my love, ❞ she lulls. her lush voice fills the opera hall with its richness, equal parts commanding and fond. ❝ you were born with an insatiable appetite. breakfast alone will never do. ❞ a melodic chuckle draws a curve across her ruby lips. memories rush forward unbidden, the earliest of cassandra’s second life: stumbling upon the ravenous girl sprawled out on the kitchen floor as she sucked the marrow from the bones of incompetent maids, discovering her in the heart of the dungeons, drenched in stale blood as she subsisted on discarded fingernails and strands of hair between meals. alcina has trained some decorum into her since, but cassandra’s voracious hunger has never abated.
the countess extends her hand, palm out and fingers spread. an offer. ❝ come, daughter. let’s find you something to devour. ❞
beautiful women covered in blood. you agree. reblog.
lady alcina dimitrescu’s long, deft fingers curl around an ornately designed bottle of wine. a bouquet of silver flowers bloom from the bottle’s lip and sprawl artfully toward its base. gently tipping her wrist, she pours its contents, rich burgundy in hue and strangely viscous in texture, into the glass that sits on the table before her present company. ❝ for over four hundred years, house dimitrescu has produced this vintage in the cellar beneath this very castle. sanguis virginis, we call it. maiden’s blood. ❞ pride smolders within the molten gold pools of her eyes, and her carmine-coated lips peel back to reveal teeth that glint forebodingly under the candlelight. her smile is cloying, unnerving, predatory. ❝ please, indulge. ❞
𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 / 𝐌𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐒 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘
shall i drink your blood fresh, or slice your neck and let it spill out first? / #𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒. an independent, private, and selective lady alcina dimitrescu from resident evil village.

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winedrunklovers:
sometimes it physically pains me to hold back my sarcastic comments
𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙍𝘼𝘾𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝙎𝙏𝙐𝘿𝙔 —- 𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙧𝙤𝙧 𝙖𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙨.
bold: always applies. italic: sometimes applies.
𝙂𝙊𝙏𝙃𝙄𝘾. gaslights. corsets. ballrooms. candlelight. mist. starless nights. full moons. cobbled streets. horse-drawn carriages. mysterious strangers. bogs. moors. forests. mountains. castles. velvet. silver. brass. gold. jewels. domino masks. the opera. dangerous romances. tragic romances. violins. roses. lilies. empty graves. crosses. cemeteries. snow. ice. the gallows. crows. milk-white skin. ambiguous illness. fangs. pointed nails. something howling in the night. capes. gloves. top hats. straight razors. lightning. pipe organs. underground caverns. bats. mice. rats. ravens. cats. pearls. attics. talismans. axes. wood. isolated in a room full of people. vampires. werewolves. ghosts. coffins. western europe. eastern europe. bones. churches. catacombs. mausoleums.spiders. books.
𝘾𝙇𝘼𝙎𝙎𝙄𝘾. black and white. powder puffs. red lipstick. winged eyeliner. white kitten heels. black lace lingerie. icy blue eyes. rain. abandoned cars. skeletons. acid. poison. voyeurism. switchblades. strangling. overcoats. looking over your shoulder. transatlantic accents. private detectives. dinner parties. haunted mansions. alcohol in glass decanters. cobwebs. perfect blonde curls. kitchen knives. shock. cellars. dust. dark alleys. empty streets. driving at night. horn-rimmed glasses. radiation. zombies. serial murder. paranoia. the city. witches. the devil. cannibalism. conspiracies. amulets. abject terror. the american south. the american northeast. england. analog cameras.
𝙎𝙇𝘼𝙎𝙃𝙀𝙍. bloodbaths. massacres. wanton nudity. newspapers. leather jackets. letterman jackets. converse sneakers. obscured faces. social unrest. bonfires. lakes. babysitters. suburbia. high school. lockers. dead leaves in the fall. jack o’ lanterns. outdated television sets. nightmares. psychiatrists. hospitals. unstoppable forces. gunfire. police. landline telephones. household objects turned into improvised weapons. halloween. secrets. revelations. character masks. scrunchies. queerness. wild curls. jeering children. parties. fire. swearing. revulsion. california. the american midwest. ambulances.
𝙋𝘼𝙍𝘼𝙉𝙊𝙍𝙈𝘼𝙇. malevolent spirits. seances. spells. missing bodies. hidden graves. white noise. static. flickering lights. rings of salt. demons. poltergeists. dark histories. old buildings. cold air. mausoleums. wells. urban exploration. a dog barking at something you can’t see. black ooze. old photographs. faces you can swear you’ve seen before but can’t for the life of you figure out where. dark bodies of water. crucifixes. priests. possession. exorcisms. dolls.
𝘾𝙍𝙔𝙋𝙏𝙄𝘿. aliens. blinding light. dark woods. driving at night. claw marks. bite marks. men in black. memory loss. dismembered bodies. sewers. flashlights. cell phones. video cameras. cars with tinted windows. abandoned houses. unlabelled cassette tapes. bugs. big cities. urban crimes. clowns. something rustling outside your window. glowing light. unsolved mysteries. suburbia. mirrors. the american pacific northwest. the american midwest. hiking / backpacking.
𝙏𝙃𝙍𝙄𝙇𝙇𝙀𝙍. daylight. fluorescent lighting. morgues. asylums. unwavering eye contact. tension. lit rooms with no one inside them. a dog digging in the newly-planted flower bed. steely gazes. paperwork. anagrams. codes. convicted killers. missing persons. law enforcement. federal agents. small towns. suspicion. paranoia. subdued terror. dimly-lit parking lots.
𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙜𝙚𝙙 𝙗𝙮: no one. 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙜: @cryptales, @vampresa, @reclusived, @wiitchtime, @greenherb, @villageoflords, @yngai, @blitzkriegers, and you!
𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋’𝐒 𝟏𝟔 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐓
warmth: 18% ( cold, selfish. ) intellect: 86% ( cerebral, analytical. ) emotional stability: 43% ( irritable, moody. ) aggressiveness: 90% ( controlling, tough. ) liveliness: 44% ( fun-loving, restrained. ) dutifulness: 52% ( conforming, traditional. ) social assertiveness: 78% ( uninhibited, bold. ) sensitivity: 46% ( coarse, tough. ) paranoia: 72% ( wary, suspicious. ) abstractness: 50% ( practical, strange. ) introversion: 47% ( private, friendly. ) anxiety: 38% ( confident, self-assured. ) open-mindedness: 74% ( curious, exploratory. ) independence: 54% ( social, craves solitude. ) perfectionism: 90% ( orderly, thorough. ) tension: 58% ( stressed, unsatisfied. )
𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘: @vampresa. 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆: you!

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𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐀:
patience may be a virtue, prized by the highborn society she has worn like an ill-fitting gown upon her corpse, but it has never taken root the way it did with bela or even cassandra. both her older sisters are paragons compared to her, always scratching the itch the moment it sprung forth. her mother’s hand engulfs her own and she moves closer, her eyes growing wider, if possible, than before. enraptured by the story of her former self, of course, but more so in the way her mother spins the tale. like a master seamstress, her needle dips and pulls, colorful strands of string become a mosaic.
the names are familiar only to her in the form of words on yellowed pages in the books. the great lost princess was beloved above any other monarch and one of daniela’s first memories was of a nation in mourning. she is unsure if miranda’s grip was looser or if she too was caught up in it, but the news had trickled in like the river that weaves its way through their isolated village. the most sensitive wore mourning gowns, as if the people’s daughter were dead. married off to an oaf-of-a-man was just as much a death sentence as any other.
but it is the failure to conjure the image of her mother appearing as any other mortal woman that pulls her brows together in childlike confusion. she has seen the portraits, of course, all over castle dimitrescu. gifts from men that sought her the illustrious alcina dimitrescu over the decades, but nearly all her life, her mother has been a force of nature. something as overwhelming as she is stunning. a divine body, the full harvest moon, hanging low in the sky over the lush fields. taking up space, blocking out the paler, fairer stars.
no matter how hard daniela tries to image what it would be like to stand eye to eye with her mother, it fails to come to fruition. her mover is all-encompassing and she would not have it any other way.
“ i was a musician! ” delight washes through her form and she brings up her other hand to wrap around her mother’s, the impressive span of her thin fingers barely enough to lock her grip around her mother’s palm. “ i knew it– oh, the moment you allowed me to pick up the instruments i knew. all the times, bits of songs, oh mother… did i compose my own work back then too? do you have any of my old pieces? ”
her excitement is overflowing and she hugs her mother’s hand to her chest. if she had a heart, it would thud against her mother’s knuckles, but in place of it, the buzzing of a frenzied hive.
remorse rolls over the lady dimitrescu’s bewitching features in a sudden crest. keeping records of her daughters’ mortal lives had never flickered for even a moment across her mind, so worthless to her were the mundane activities of humans. she hoards countless treasures from her own mortal days, heirlooms and acquisitions alike, but she had considered no such charity for the transient women who would someday become her daughters. should she collect files for all of her test subjects, alcina now ponders? should she preserve their pasts as she has so meticulously her own with even the slimmest possibility that they, too, would be rendered everlasting by the cadou parasite’s hallowed touch and become her own family? the newfound compassion with which bela, cassandra, and daniela have bestowed her overwhelms, even frightens her within the shadowy depths of her soul. the great and fearsome lady alcina dimitrescu, crippled by a feeling as fraily human as empathy!
❝ i..., ❞ she begins with uncanny hesitance, though she never succumbs to her all-too-vulnerable impulse to avert her eyes from her daughter’s, ❝ i never imagined at the time that your works might someday possess any significance to me. i should have inquired when i knew you. ❞ she frowns, truly frowns. ❝ if you had compositions of your own, you never played them for me. but your talent certainly indicated that you might compose something singularly beautiful, and i’m overjoyed that it never abandoned you when you crossed the threshold into this new existence. it’s a treasure, dearest. ❞
the frenetic fluttering beneath the palm of her hand calls a smile back to her lips. the faint droning of daniela’s swarm could still her dead heart, as could any of her daughters’. alcina could never have predicted that life would carry her here —- a mother to three hive minds masquerading as the pilfered corpses of women. she might laugh if the emotions her daughters brought with them weren’t so real, near tangible in the buzzing air whenever they were in her company. with affection, mother splays her long fingers across daniela’s breast and traces gentle circles with her sharp nails.
❝ treasure enough, indeed, that i sought you out at the evening’s conclusion. we spoke at length about our fondest passions, and even then, i sensed something exceptional about you. we were the very same —- two ambitious women who walked in a world repulsed by our greatness. i offered to whisk you away from that world and into the one you now know, and you agreed. you were to cast off your old life, pledge your body and soul to mother miranda’s cause, and become the leader of my private string quartet.
❝ you remained in that position for a year, and to my eyes you were happy. i hope that is of some comfort to you, beloved. ❞ again, she captures daniela’s hand in her own. ❝ it was then that mother miranda and i discussed your biological potential, and i delivered you to her for testing. that testing suggested that cadou implantation may yield promising results, and thus you were returned to me alongside the women who became your sisters. the rest, of course, i needn’t reiterate. ❞ she squeezes daniela’s hand. ❝ i know no more than this: you were a member of spain’s lower nobility, born and raised in madrid. your musical inclination brought you vast acclaim, and the princess was not the first royal for whom you played. you were twenty-one and in remarkable health when i bound you with the cadou. ❞ a sigh drifts from her, not entirely of her own volition, and her eyes swirl with love, curiosity, and resignation. ❝ i lament my ignorance, daniela. i should have known leyre better. ❞
𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐀:
was the girl [ and no longer just ANY GIRL with no records, no power, but cassandra dimitrescu now ] famished for her newfound family’s spotlight or, as every child witnessing the world’s many wonders, for the castle’s opulence? the leather gloves handed to her, colossal in comparison to the petite hand rotating the fabric, were admired with widened eyes.
the image itself was a humorous one. the gloves twice, no, thrice the size of cassandra’s hands looked comical on her hands whereas they had emphasized her mother’s eloquence. she appeared no more than a fascinated toddler, dazzled by everything new. the gloves of her mother, the talon soon enveloping hers and squeezing it in reassurance.
cassandra dimitrescu wanted more. more of the opulence, the spotlight. but most of all, food to quench her roaring hunger.
❛❛ might we hunt please? ❜❜ out of the three girls, she had the natural inclination for… SPORTS. bela and daniela excelled in their own sadistic ways, but cassandra was a force unable to be tamed: savoring the running, the dread of her victims as they were freed only to be captured seconds later by the sickle slicing through their joints and dragging them into the cellars.
the first hunt had been sloppy for each of them, but she had mastered the manhunt within the blink of an eye. a rapid moment of pondering and debating. the childish gleam in cassandra’s eyes quickly vanished to be supplanted by a maniacal cackle, her agitated body hopping up in down in eagerness.
❝ of course we might. ❞ uncharacteristically sweet, alcina’s sumptuous contralto rumbles soothingly in her throat, a sound she hopes will someday come to mean only comfort and reassurance for her daughters. she lifts cassandra’s hand to her lips and rests a tender kiss on the deathly pale, buzzing facsimile of flesh there. cassandra’s wild cackling shatters the serene quietude between them, but rather than a scolding, that tittering, grating noise summons deep laughter from mother’s lips in turn.
lady dimitrescu casts a glance toward a nearby window and, with a disappointed tut, spies fledgling flakes of fresh snowfall drifting into the courtyard. she’d hoped that the final vestiges of this year’s singularly brutal winter would have ebbed by now, but alas, it’s not yet so. ❝ soon, i will bring you outside and we’ll have a proper manhunt, my rose, ❞ she promises with great conviction. ❝ but for now, i hope the game in the dungeons will once again suffice. ❞
her grip around cassandra’s hand tightens as she leads her middle child through the dining room threshold and into the much more spacious main hall. a fire crackles in the hearth, and the bejeweled chandelier above their heads casts its golden light throughout the space with a gentle flickering as it faintly sways. the girls are still getting acquainted with the castle’s opulence, the sheer abundance of eye-catching stimuli residing all around them. already, numerous incidents have occurred —- daniela shattering priceless pottery to see what lies within, cassandra slicing delicate lace to shreds to relish its fragility, even obeisant bela moving miscellaneous items from their proper place to examine their details with new eyes —- and though they induce headaches, alcina cannot fault her daughters their meddling. it is as she’s said; they are like newborns, and their yearning to learn and explore is appropriately insatiable. she hopes her firm but not uncomfortable grasp around cassandra’s small hand can restrain her indomitable curiosity for now.
❝ all the livestock is recently fed. they’ll be fat with nourishment for you. ❞ a grin adorns the countess’ wicked maw. ❝ do you have a particular craving, daughter mine? ❞