It is faintly entertaining to see those little fly beasts greet their mother. They swarm her, quite literally engulfing her in a cloud of flies. They haphazardly smack into her as though she is the only streetlamp on the roadside. Finally their frantic energy comes to a slow and they assemble themselves into their human guises.
Daniela throws her arms around Alcina first, enveloping her in a tight grip. He can see on her face that she is struggling to breathe and more so when Cassandra adds her own hug. “You guys are crushing her!” Bela scolds and they loosen their hold. Alcina exhales.
“Mother, you’re home!” Cassandra beams.
“Yes dear, for the night and then I have to leave again.”
Daniela’s grip tightens once more. “No, mother!”
“I’ll be back before you can miss me.”
“But we miss you right after the door closes, mother.” Bela pouts. Ethan’s stomach twists.
Alcina ruffles the girl’s hair. “Has the Duke been treating you well?”
“Oh yes, he brings us the best food.” Cassandra answers.
“And we get to…” Daniela nudges Bela before she can finish.
“Before you can what? What does he let you do?”
“Nothing mother!” Bela replies, earning herself an eye roll.
And Ethan’s stomach lolls again both with affection and sorrow. It is a delight to see Alcina smiling again–that soft, warm smile that she has reserved for her daughters alone. All the same it is growing harder and harder for him to imagine a future where he gets to hold his own daughter again. Harder for him to imagine a future where he will eventually get to scold her and ask her why she had been out so late or what petty teenage secrets she is keeping from him.
If worse comes to worst, he wonders if Alcina would let him have moments like this with her daughters. It is better than not having them at all.
God, he hopes that his Rose is still alive. Alive and still Rose and not something that this damnable village has warped her into…
“Manthing, come here!” Daniela shouts.
At least he knows that one of them would welcome him to the family if he had no other…
His tummy does another flip. He is thinking as if his daughter is already gone. He can’t afford to think that way. He tries instead to imagine a future where those fly beasts play with his daughter and give her their warped version of what teenhood and young adulthood is all about.
Bela, he notices, still has not let go of Alcina. He isn’t sure that she will.
.oOo.
“I should hate you, I should absolutely loathe you.” She pauses. “And make no mistake, I really do want to. I think about everything you’ve done to my daughters, how you’ve almost killed them, how you’ve hurt them. I think about what you’ve done to me.” She hovers her hand over the spot on her side. “I think about how terribly it still hurts.” He cringes but she continues, “oh, and it works, Winters, I want to flay you alive…”
He takes several steps back, somehow plenty assured that she would be able to find a way if she really wants to. “Then why don’t you?”
“I can’t.” She mumbles. “You’re…thrilling, Winters. I haven’t met a human that has impressed me in a very long time. They’re all the same, mostly.”
He very nearly points out her humanity but he curbs his tongue at the thought of getting flayed alive. “I don’t know, I’m kind of just a man myself.”
“Not quite.” She murmurs. “You have…ambition. You have goals and determination.”
He finds himself soaking the comments in like a sponge, absorbing them until they warm his soul and his cheeks. He doesn’t think that he should let him get used to them though. He imagines that he will say or do something that will earn him twice as many insults.
But the expression on her face remains rather soft. Kinder than he is used to. Truly he finds it hard to understand this woman. This woman who hates him one moment and then cherishes him then next. He wonders if she is like this with everyone she meets or if he makes her feel a special sort of conflict; habit and a comfort zone versus change and adaptation.
She seats herself at the head of the table. “Be a dear, Winters, fetch my daughters and I something to drink.”
Her daughters eye him with excitement.
“What’s the magic word?” He tries with a lopsided smile.
“Go.” She points towards the wine cellar. He supposes that he should be thankful that she is permitting him to enter her treasured cask at all. He stands up and she flashes him one of her smug, self-satisfied smiles.
.oOo.
Her wine doesn’t taste the same and it makes her sick in every way that it can–physically first and then emotionally, realizing that she can no longer stomach such an extraordinary, delectable taste. She supposes that she can still have herself a good blood bath every now and then, the texture is still pleasant, perhaps just not on her tongue. She rifles through her dresser for the most comfortable nightgown she owns. She might as well enjoy it while she has it. When she finds it she carries it to the bathroom. She supposes that she can fill it with the wine that she can no longer drink…
“You used to sing!” Ethan declares from across the adjoining bedroom. Alcina’s face flushes, the man wasn’t supposed to have found that again, he wasn’t supposed to remember it.
“Can you still sing?”
“I haven’t done so in a very long time.”
“You should give it a try.” He grins.
“Absolutely not.”
“Come on mother!” Daniela perks up. “Sing something for us!” She isn’t sure when the girls had come to join them. She sighs, having a feeling that her bath will have to wait a little longer. Probably becomes a definitely when The Duke find his way into her room.
“You haven’t sang to us in a long time.” Bela agrees.
“Girls…” She mutters through gritted teeth.
“Just one song, mother?” Cassandra requests.
“Now look what you’ve done.” She glowers at Ethan. But the man looks plenty pleased with himself. “I’ll sing if you can get The Duke to play the piano.” She folds her arms stubbornly across her chest.
“Gladly, m’lady.” The Duke replies. He strolls his way over to the grand piano and shifts in his chair several times until he finds himself a position that he finds to be both comfortable and optimal for reaching the keys. He plays a few test notes. “What are we singing, Miss D?”
Alcina crinkles her noise. “That’s Lady Dimitrescu, to you Duke.”
The man gives a hearty chortle.
She tries to think of a short song, one that she hasn’t forgotten over time. “I will sing Vai Mindruto. You know the cords, yes?”
“Most assuredly, m’lady.” He strikes the first few notes and Alcina inhales deeply. It has been so terribly long since she has sung even a note. Much less since she has sung before a crowd, nevermind that her audience is small and familiar.
.oOo.
What she no longer has in size, Lady Dimitrescu makes up for in presence, demeanor, and volume. With a voice like that she might as well be ten feet tall. Her vocals are smooth and her diction is flawless and powerful.
He had been expecting an uppity jazz number and she has graced them with an operatic ballad. He thinks that this might just be better than what he’d expected. She has a voice that transcends eras. A voice akin to sipping opulent champagne with his free hand clutching the gold filigree railing of a balcony. Her voice has likeness to the warm glow of a diamond chandelier throwing prisms around an otherwise dark and empty ballroom.
It is haunting and elegant and haunting in its elegance.
He observes her daughters as they look upon their mother. Bela is falling asleep on Cassandra’s shoulder as she leans forward to have a better listen. And Daniela buzzes about in a slow, languid sway, dancing with a partner who isn’t there at all.
Alcina herself stands with her eyes closed and her head tilted up, perhaps imagining herself at another place and in another time entirely. For the first time in a while she looks to be at peace. And just when he thinks that the song is reaching its peak, it reaches its end. He resents that it had been so short. The air is still charged with energy several minutes after the last ghost of a note tapers off down the hallway. Still charming even now that the room is fully silent.
Her hands fall back to her sides and she opens her eyes. Daniela gives several absurdly loud claps and Bela bolts upright with a disgruntled grumble. The Duke stands up and stretches, “it’s always a pleasure to do a number with you, Lady Dimitrescu.” He clicks his tongue. “A lovely voice for a lovely lady.”
She clears her throat, “thank you Duke.”
“Why did you stop singing?” Ethan asks.
She furrows her brows. “Mother Miranda says that it is a waste of time.”
The more he hears of that woman, the more he resents her. “Do you enjoy singing?”
Alcina hums as she ponders the question, that in itself is answer enough. Finally she nods, “well enough, yes.”
“Then it isn’t a waste of time.” Ethan flashes her a smile. “It makes your girls happy too.”
It makes him happy.