Chapter Text
The bath had been the least graceful of Alcina’s life—perhaps the least graceful moment of her life, period.
When time came to report to Mother Miranda, she would certainly leave out the details. She had little desire to relive the experience of scrubbing vomit from her hair. Similarly, the less said about having to hold her sobbing youngest over the tub’s edge so she could heave into her wastebasket, the better. Suffice to say it was unpleasant.
At least the maids had worked quickly, disposing of the evidence and airing the room.
It was almost a shame. Alcina’s claws itched with an insistent need to lop incompetent heads.
Though she preferred her pretenses—silk and, increasingly in recent weeks, softness—there was a simmering in her blood that told her the anger was more than just the day’s frustration. It was a beast’s basal nature, sated only in blood. The Hall of Ablution would require its true purpose, and soon.
Unfortunately, like the cravings, her youngest was not so easily put to bed.
Alcina wrestled Elena through her bedtime preparations, weathering her declining mood with as much grace as she could muster. Her youngest cried the whole time, feverish and weak, yanking at her own hair and whining about a headache. She refused any water though, stubbornly turning her head away, gagging and spluttering when Alcina tried to force some on her.
The cadou sank its teeth deeper by the minute, her youngest worsening with it. She was hazy, not entirely there—responsive, yes, in the way a baby cries when set down, but not coherent. She was trapped in her discomfort. The only times she spoke beyond whines and whimpers were hoarse no’s and babbles of what may have been Mommy, but her words were too slurred to pick apart.
Alcina tried to settle her down, swaddling her freezing body in thick blankets to keep her from tossing them off. She sang softly, petting her hair, trying to soothe her enough to get some sleep.
“You’ll feel better after some rest, dragă,” she tried. “Just rest your eyes for a bit.”
But Elena had always been stubborn, and being sick unfortunately didn’t change that. An hour passed, then two—shadows creeping, then falling completely, all the while her little one fought to keep her eyes open. She’d close her eyes for a few moments, dozing, only to startle at the whistle of the wind outside and whine herself back awake.
Alcina had almost given up, resigning herself to a sleepless night, when her patience finally won out. Elena’s eyes slipped closed for a minute, two, and stayed that way. Alcina didn’t dare breathe. She just watched over her as the minutes crept by, waiting for the jolt awake. But eventually, the panting breaths evened out. The scrunch in her forehead smoothed. She was asleep, well and truly.
Alcina let out her breath, relieved—
The door slammed open, striking the wall with a thud. “Mother, is she dying?!”
Her youngest startled awake, crying out, and Alcina snarled.
“Daniela Dimitrescu!” Alcina thundered, frustration sharpening her teeth and her words. “How many times must we speak about knocking!”
“Bela said she’s sick, Mother—”
“Enough!”
Daniela’s wailing cut short with a choke, the sudden plunge of coldness in the room freezing the breath in her lungs. She stared, wide-eyed, half-huddled in the threshold. A hand—Cassandra’s—was wrapped white-knuckled at the collar of her dress, a warning hiss dying on her tongue as she went still, recognizing the danger. Bela, two steps behind, just stood frozen.
The sharp scent of fear filled the air, thick enough to taste; a faint chemical cocktail punching somewhere in the hindbrain. It rocketed her back to reality. To the claws that had halfway unsheathed, carving through the pillow she’d been holding—thankfully, far from her youngest. Hissing, Alcina threw the pillow to the floor in a flurry of feathers.
It took a moment for her to trust her own hands. They shook briefly as she ran them down her face, covering her burning eyes. Only when she felt herself settle, guilt taking her instead, did she reach for her youngest.
“No!” Elena croaked, squirming weakly. “No!”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Alcina tried, only when she was certain her voice wouldn’t rumble. She took Elena in her arms, blankets and all, the sharp scent of distress making her grimace. “It’s okay, don’t be frightened.”
Despite the thick layer of blankets, Alcina could feel Elena’s trembling, the hummingbird pace of her pulse.
Elena’s eyes were glazed, hazy, like she wasn’t really seeing her. Alcina vividly remembered her own—much more direct—introduction to the cadou, how she’d spent days unable to tell reality from fever dream. Though Elena’s dose was barely a taste, she wondered just what her little one was seeing.
Alcina rose from the bed, tucking her youngest’s face into the curve of her neck. It was Elena’s favorite hiding place, where Alcina’s scent ran the strongest. Humming softly, she rubbed little circles on her back. “You’re okay, darling,” Alcina whispered, shoulders easing as she felt Elena slowly slump into her—forgiven, she hoped. “You’re safe.”
The room held its breath for a few minutes as she cooed at her. It took lots of reassurance, gentle praise and soothing hums, but eventually the shaking eased and tears stopped soaking the neckline of her nightdress. Only then did Alcina turn, a burning eye finding the sources of her displeasure.
“Now,” Alcina demanded, voice sharp despite her soft touches. “What was so urgent?”
Cassandra recovered the quickest. “You missed dinner.”
“And?”
“Bela let slip the little one wasn’t feeling well,” Cassandra continued quickly, shrinking slightly under her piercing look, sensing it wasn’t a time to play around. “Dani decided she was on her deathbed.”
Daniela whined, staring across the room at them with worried, pleading eyes.
“Your sister is fine, she’s just feeling under the weather.” Alcina glowered at them all. “She was finally getting some rest.”
“I’m sorry, Mother, I should have tried harder to stop it,” Bela hastened forward past her sisters, shoulders drawn wearily as she stepped inside. She was carrying a tray in her arms—playing maid again, so it seemed. “I thought you might need a drink. I brought something for the little one as well. May I?”
Alcina restrained a growl. At least her eldest thought to bring a bribe—her younger children could stand to learn from Bela’s example, but after decades she’d long lost hope for an ounce of propriety from them.
“I doubt she’ll sleep now,” Alcina huffed, eyeing each of her children with a potent warning; the sort of look that said the cellar was laying in wait for any transgressions. “Inside. Quietly. Before I change my mind.”
Cassandra needed no further invitation, slipping boldly inside and inviting herself into the vacated bed. She settled into the divot Elena had left behind, soaking in the lingering fever warmth. Daniela skulked in behind her, bee-lining towards Elena—until she received bared teeth, posturing, unforgiven for her intrusion. She made a crestfallen face, throwing herself into Cassandra’s lap with a pout, ignoring her annoyed hiss.
“Here, Mother,” Bela said, setting down the tray and uncorking a wine bottle, pouring Alcina a heavy-handed glass.
Alcina’s eyes fixated on the liquid in an instant, the scent of blood wine a tantalizing siren’s call. She shifted Elena into one arm, mumbling a quiet reassurance when she whined, then reached to take it. “Thank you, Bela.”
“You’re welcome,” Bela replied, head cocked, watching her take what could only be called a gulp with obvious concern. It was rare to see her lose her composure so visibly, they all knew it well. Tentatively, she spoke. “May I take her, Mother?”
Alcina paused, reflexively holding her youngest closer. “She’s fine, darling.”
“It’s been a long day,” Bela said, tone straddling between a plea and a demand. “You could use a break.”
“I’m not sure, darling. Your sister’s feeling rather small at the moment.” Proving the point, Elena squirmed closer, mashing her tear-stained cheek further into her mother’s neck, the sudden movement making Alcina’s glass slosh dangerously. “I doubt she’ll take kindly to relocating.”
“It’s alright, Mother. I can handle it,” Bela insisted. “It’s been a long day for you both—let me help.”
“Bela—”
“Just for a little while,” Bela insisted, cutting gently through the denial. “You need to take care of yourself, too. Please.”
It wasn't in Alcina’s nature to roll over for anyone, least of all her daughters. But there was wisdom in Bela’s words, a perspective that she knew was right. Even if it made all of her hackles rise at being so boldly called out, Alcina was forced to consider her words closer. To recognize the genuine worry—fear—beneath her daughter’s plea.
In a rare moment, Alcina relented.
“Very well. Just for a moment.”
Bela lit up as Elena was shifted gently into her arms, ignoring the jealous stares on her back.
Her sister had already begun to fuss, unhappy in being removed from her mother—who, in a testament to the day’s events, had barely sat down before her first glass was drained. Bela paid her sister’s whimpering no mind. It was clear Elena was sick, her skin ice-cold and unnaturally pale, breaths congested.
It was also clear that Elena was deep down, somewhere where words were hard and thoughts jumbled. She slurred a few no’s and nonsensical babbles as she was handed over, trying to squirm her arms free to reach for her mother. But mostly, she just made upset little noises—not like her usual whining, but something smaller, more raw.
“Hey, little one,” she whispered, leaning down to press their foreheads together; despite her shivering, Elena’s forehead burned, sweat-damp and scrunched unhappily. “Feeling bad, huh?”
Elena blinked at her blearily, unfocused, her cheeks flushed and raw from all the tears. Fresh ones threatened at her waterlines, her lower lip trembling, but she didn’t cry—not yet.
“I’m sorry,” Bela said kindly, meaning it more than Elena knew. “You’ll feel better soon, I promise.”
It was a gentler introduction to the cadou than any of them had, Bela reminded herself, steadying her anxieties. Though it may not be pretty, it was expected.
All the months of Mother’s late nights—bent over microscopes, playing god with mycelial strains and stolen blood samples—had been for this. All the refining, testing, fine-tuning. The dose would take. Perhaps not in the way Mother Miranda expected, but in the way that made Elena irrevocably theirs. A little sickness and squirming was a small price to pay.
Elena made another whimpering sound, pulling Bela out of her thoughts. She mumbled something that may have included Bela’s name, but her voice was hoarse, croaking horribly. The sound made Bela remember just why she’d come in the first place.
“Are you thirsty, little one?”
Her sister didn’t answer beyond squirming in her hold, trying and failing to free her arms from the blanket swaddle—freshly tightened by her mother as she’d handed Elena over, draping her like a princess in Bela’s outstretched arms.
“Mother,” Bela glanced meaningfully at the waiting bottle. “May I?”
“You’re welcome to try,” Alcina spoke, voice fatigued but steadier than it had been in hours. Her eyes glowed around the pupil, faint, but no longer the abyssal dark of near catastrophe. “She couldn’t keep down even a sip of water earlier.”
Still sprawled on the bed, Cassandra snickered, half-buried in Daniela’s hair.
Bela shot her a warning look. She regretted telling her sisters of Elena’s unfortunate accident, Mother would surely never live it down. Thankfully, Cassandra only rolled her eyes, but wisely held her tongue.
With a bit of awkward wrangling, Bela snagged the bottle and carted her sister over to the bed. Daniela perked up, vibrating with interest as Bela settled herself down with their younger sister. Thankfully, Cassandra had some sense, grumbling and rolling them both over so she could drape herself heavily over Daniela’s back, pinning her lazily in a halfway hug, yawning in theatrical disinterest—ignoring Daniela’s whining.
“Here, little one,” Bela murmured, gently coaxing her dry lips with the bottle. “It’s just some apple juice. It’ll help you feel better, I promise.”
Elena jerked her head away, burrowing her face into Bela’s sternum, making huffy little noises into her skin. Clearly, sick or not, she still found some energy to argue. Bela would have smiled if she weren’t the one on the receiving end, trying her best to pry the grumpy dead weight away from her collarbone.
The hint of a smile dropped immediately when she successfully unglued her, only for Elena to immediately start crying—incoherent, exhausted, full-force sobbing.
Cassandra groaned, cringing away from the squalling. “Ugh, you couldn’t just leave her?”
“She needs to drink something,” Bela snapped back, trying uselessly to quell the crying—the confidence she’d had drained immediately, hyper-aware of her mother’s eyes on them both, watching her try and fail to calm her sister. “Shh, it’s alright. Just try a little bit, you’ll like it—”
Elena shook her head, still bawling.
Daniela, unable to be restrained any longer, swarmed out from under Cassandra. She reformed on her knees by Bela’s side, gently cupping Elena’s cheeks, rubbing circles on her temples. She cooed, voice high-pitched and playful as she wiped the tears away. “Hey, baby sister. Is Bela being mean?”
Bela hissed a warning sound, but was summarily ignored as Daniela continued to speak softly to Elena, her voice childish and sweet in the way only Daniela could pull off. The touch and the tone was enough to draw Elena’s attention to her, momentarily giving pause to the tears.
“Daniela—”
Daniela continued to ignore Bela’s protests and her mother’s narrow eyes, instead dancing the bottle she’d just stolen in front of Elena’s face, letting her see the golden juice inside. “Why are you crying, baby sister? It’s just juice.”
Elena stared up at her with dazed eyes, sniffling quietly.
Without a single thought to her pride, Daniela stuck the bottle in her own mouth and gave it an experimental taste, ignoring Bela’s sputtering. She hummed in delight, thumbing an overzealous drop from the corner of her mouth. Then, boldly, she rubbed it over Elena’s bottom lip. “See? It’s good! Nice and cool. And sweet, just like you.”
Reflexively, Elena licked her dry lips, mouth brushing Daniela’s thumb.
Daniela leaned away to steal another sip—or a suckle, really—and made another exaggerated happy sigh. “Would you share it with me, little one?”
This time Elena squirmed in her blankets, making a disgruntled little noise. Her voice cracked as she spoke, like a broken record. “No!”
“No?” Daniela pouted. “But it’s so good!”
Elena opened her mouth, whether to sob or to say no, nobody would know—because the minute she did, Daniela made a wounded face and nudged the rubber of the bottle between her lips, quieting her. “Fine, but just because you’re cute!”
The rest of the room held its breath, Bela included, waiting to see if Elena would begin another meltdown. Expecting one, really.
Instead, Elena fell suddenly silent, all the fight draining out of her the moment the juice hit her tongue. Even watered down, her sweet tooth prevailed—or, her body just desperately needed liquid after all the vomiting. Only after a few mouthfuls did the room relax. Daniela’s satisfied grin continued undaunted, even as Bela possessively took over holding the bottle.
“Well done, darling,” Mother said, grudgingly impressed, relieved.
Daniela preened visibly—and Bela’s shoulders drew up, dismayed at being outshone.
Still, she couldn’t hold a grudge. Instead, Bela relished just holding her sister in her arms; safe, calm, small.
With the benefit of distance, Alcina was grateful for her daughters.
She trusted them, yes. Adored them, undoubtedly. But they had a penchant for pushing boundaries, inserting themselves where they weren’t needed and raising hell while there—pests by nature, quite simply. But they were hers. And, between bouts of frustration, occasionally they showed that she was theirs as well.
In testament to their thoughtfulness, Alcina had been coaxed—after much insistence—into taking a moment to herself. Cassandra had eagerly seen to the filling of the Hall of Ablution for her, the scented candles and the soft spin of vinyl in the corner an unexpectedly sweet touch. Meanwhile, her sisters remained with Elena, who’d finally succumbed into a fitful sleep in her bedchambers.
She caught Cassandra before she fled the room, shaking her head at the burn around her pupil that told her she'd more than sampled the bath water. Still, she dropped an affectionate kiss on her brow, nuzzling her cheek slightly. It was an affection Cassandra rarely tolerated openly, but in the quiet of just them, she leaned into like a touch-starved kitten.
“Thank you, darling. I won’t forget this.”
Cassandra, in a rare show of her pleasure, shivered and almost fell apart—each flick of insect wings on Alcina’s cheek was like a kiss in return. She made a flustered noise. “You’re welcome, Mother,” Cassandra muttered when she regained herself, eyes averted, holding her cheek.
Alcina smiled, pecking her head and giving her a gentle nudge toward the door. “Go, join your sisters—I’d feel better with you protecting them in my absence.”
Cassandra’s eyes lit up, self-confident and quietly proud. Alcina almost let her fond smile slip. For all her faults and flippancy, Cassandra was protective to a fault. She would kill—had killed—to keep her sisters safe. Though Daniela and Bela were just as fierce, Cassandra’s protective instinct ran almost as deep as Alcina’s own.
“I will,” Cassandra promised, smiling viciously and earnestly up at her, not a trace of sarcasm or sullenness to be found. “I'll rip out the eyes of anybody who dares set foot inside.”
“I know you will,” Alcina chuckled softly, giving her another nudge. “Go.”
The last thing she heard was Cassandra's cackle amongst the buzzing as her daughter swarmed away, off to stand sentinel over her sisters. The idea warmed Alcina, soothing over the instincts that cried at her to return to her bedchambers and stand guard herself. The same instincts, overlapping, that demanded she dive head-first into the bloodbath and drink her way up. Unseemly, vile things that they were. Much more calmly than the beast inside demanded, Alcina slipped off her nightdress and prepared for her second, much more necessary, bath of the evening.
The scent of iron was thick with promise in the air, easing the faint stiffness in her muscles. Alcina’s regeneration rate usually prevented such aches, so their return told her it had been far longer than she’d realized since her last true indulgence. Her wine usually regulated the beast inside, but it was a knife-edge balance, one she’d foolishly let slip a fraction too far.
The blood rippled sluggishly as she slipped inside, thicker than water, rising slowly to her collar. Alcina sighed contentedly. Though the reserves of blood kept in the cellar’s depths would undoubtedly take months to replenish, it was a necessary evil. Though much less direct than simply ingesting her body weight in blood, something about the slow soak satiated her for longer, the beast inside languishing in it like a dragon amongst its hoard.
Time had little meaning as she dared to allow herself to relax, letting the blood satisfy her by osmosis. Her daughters would retrieve her if needed, she reassured herself. In the meantime, she was content to marinade to the sound of gentle jazz. To finally allow herself some time alone, unburdened by work and wayward daughters.
Eventually, the record scratched—then, reset, forcing her eyes open.
“Donna,” she greeted, unsurprised.
Her sibling showed no concern about letting herself into the room uninvited, nor any aversion to the gruesome affair. She was, quite annoyingly, a commensurate member of the family—penchant for popping up uninvited included. Thankfully, Alcina was in a much calmer mood, the blood doing its job to quell her more violent impulses. She only eyed her with minor distaste, her pupil burning incandescent in the candle light.
Donna’s eyes were only her face, dark and heavy. “Is she alright?”
“Nauseous, feverish, weak—but stubborn about it, as always,” Alcina answered, softening a fraction as she spoke of her youngest. “Faring well, all things considered. The girls are with her.”
Donna’s face shifted, almost imperceptible if one didn’t know where to look; an easing around the corners of her real eye. “Good.”
From the outside looking in, it may have been strange to see Donna so invested in Elena—they’d barely been introduced, had shared a few meals and fewer words. But Alcina knew her well enough to understand. When Donna’s cadou was freshly implanted, her illusions had spilled around her without consent. In between the shades of grief and the dead’s faces, she’d seen a raw truth: Donna mourned for, craved nothing more than family.
At first, the title of sibling had been a resentful thing forced upon them all. Mother Miranda was the only thread that bound her Lords together. But in Donna, Alcina had found an actual sibling; a quiet but steadfast aunt for her children. One who cared—a thing she wouldn't soon forget.
Alcina looked at her, studying the lines of her face, the faint pull around the edges where the illusion gave way to reality; all of it bare-faced, quiet but unguarded, a worry that made her protective instincts ease. “Would you care to see her?”
Donna paused, limb-locked in thought. Then slowly, softly. “…Yes.”
“Be my guest,” Alcina invited, then hastened to add. “Do leave Angie behind. It took a monumental effort to settle her down, I'd like her to stay that way.”