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. ❞
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