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@bela--dimitrescu
🌹The eldest daughter bears the burden 🌹
Roleplay blog for Bela Dimitrescu from Resident Evil Village. Mun is 25+ and OC/Crossover friendly.
About XXX Rules
Headcanon
Verses
Starter Call XXX Open Starter
(you can find her little sister here @dani-dimitrescu )
Melancholic Bela
Not quite from the mun meme you posted earlier, since I think none of them quite encapsulate what I wanna say. But Hi, hello! I see you and I love writing with you! I hope to keep doing so for a while! ^_^ Happy Belated Munday!
Thank you so much for your kind message. I was feeling a bit down today, so that really cheered me up :)
I love writing with you too!!
And I hope you're having a great week :3
Lone Survivors @redimeree
The house had likely been abandoned for years. Its roof leaked when it rained, and the windows had long since been boarded over. It was still better than the alternative.
Bela slept. Or rather, she drifted through a hollow, unconscious haze. The bed had been dragged close to the fireplace, but the fire and blankets offered little comfort against the chill that seemed to radiate from her own skin.
The journey away from the village had nearly cost her what little life she had left.
The ruin of her left arm ended just below the elbow, jagged crystal growths yielded to weakly buzzing flies that tried repairing the limb. Every attempt at regeneration was a slow agonizing process.
But worse were the wounds that no amount of recovery could reach. It had been days since the castle fell. Since the loss of her family. Bela rarely spoke of them, she rarely spoke at all. When awake, she spent hours staring into the void, her golden eyes unfocused, as if a vital piece of her mind had remained in the castle.
Suddenly, her eyes flew open. She drew in a sharp, rattling breath, her gaze darting across the room. Alisson was nowhere to be seen. The chair beside the bed stood empty.
A cold tightness coiled in Bela’s chest, close to panic. "Alisson...?" The blonde tried to heave herself up, but a fresh bolt of agony tore through her, forcing a stifled cry through her teeth and she slumped back.
Bela said nothing when Alisson claimed she was not tired. The lie was obvious. She could see it in the slight tremor of her hands and in the shadows beneath her eyes. But Bela lacked both the energy and the desire to argue.
Instead, she leaned slightly into the gentle touch against her head. It was a quiet, rare vulnerability, something she would normally pretend not to enjoy.
"…You do not need to worry about me leaving this bed," Bela murmured, her voice a rough, sleep-thickened rasp. A flicker of dry, self-deprecating humor touched her lips. "Even if I attempted it, I suspect I would make it halfway across the room before collapsing onto the floor."
It was an optimistic assessment at best. She glanced down at the mountain of blankets, at the phantom weight of her missing arm and the profound weakness she loathed and deliberately tore her gaze away before the bitterness could take root.
A few moments of comfortable silence settled between them. The fire crackled softly and the old house creaked around them. And the fog in her mind lifted enough that the ache of hunger finally became impossible to ignore. Bela reached for another piece of meat. Then another. At some point she stopped paying attention entirely. The plate gradually emptied itself. She blinked, coming to a sudden, dazed stop. The blonde hadn't realized how ravenous she had been until the last piece was gone.
The sound of Alisson’s cough broke the spell.
Bela’s head snapped up, her confusion instantly changing into concern. She watched the rejected piece of meat hit the floor and saw the visable discomfort in Alisson’s face. "Were you not hungry?" she asked. She looked from the floor to her own empty plate, then back to the woman beside her. "You should eat, Alisson. I don't want to take your food."
The dynamic weighed heavily on her: the hunter and the broken predator. The guilt of her own inactivity, the ease with which she had consumed the fruits of Alisson’s labor while she herself had done nothing but wither beneath the blankets, felt like an affront.
She lowered her voice, hesitating, the question laced with a quiet reluctance. "…Alisson?" She paused, her throat tight. "Did you… save any of the blood?"
She hated that she was forced to ask, to lean further into the role of a parasite, but the thought of the alternative - of what Alisson had implied earlier - was a line she refused to cross. Animal blood had to be enough for the moment, because the very idea of drinking the blood of the only person she had left was unacceptable.
Com-MUN-ication Meme
Send an emoji and I'll respond ooc.
🥰 I secretly admire you
🤓 I'm a bit shy, but I enjoy reading your threads
👋 I just came to break the ice and say "Hi!"
🙂 How are you, mun?
🤔 I want to write with you, but I don't know how our muses might interact
💡 I have a plot idea for our muses
🐺- Stalking your muse
(😝)
Bela noticed it almost immediately.
Not because Alisson was particularly loud - quite the opposite, really - but because humans were simply not built for stealth within Castle Dimitrescu.
The first sign had been the faint shift of movement behind one of the corridor arches while Bela reviewed inventory records in the dining hall. The second came later in the library, and by the third occurrence, she had to resist the urge to sigh aloud.
She had specifically given Alisson the day off. And somehow, the woman had chosen to spend it… stalking her.
Bela continued with her duties regardless, outwardly unbothered. She inspected wine stock with the servants, corrected Daniela’s carelessly abandoned clutter in one sitting room, and spent nearly twenty uninterrupted minutes reorganizing documents in her mother’s study, all while catching increasingly obvious glimpses of Alisson.
At one point, she even stopped abruptly in a corridor. Then…..a very unconvincing attempt at hiding behind a statue followed. Bela had nearly smiled. Nearly.
Instead, she simply continued walking as though she had noticed nothing at all. Truthfully, she found herself… curious how long Alisson intended to continue this.
So eventually, Bela adjusted course. Downward, into the lower levels of the castle. Surely this would discourage her.
It did not.
A few moments later, there it was again, the careful sound of footsteps trying very hard not to be heard. Unbelievable.
What sensible human willingly followed a Dimitrescu daughter into the dungeons?
And more importantly…..how had this particular silly human managed to worm her way so deeply into her heart? The thought alone felt absurd.
The eldest daughter paused beside one of the iron cell doors, gaze lowering briefly as she finally allowed herself the smallest exhale through her nose.
"…you are not nearly as subtle as you believe yourself to be," she said calmly into the darkness. "And this is a remarkably questionable way to spend your day off."
Bela watched as Alisson checked the jar a few times. A faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Yes, that one." There was no irritation in her tone, only quiet reassurance.
Golden eyes followed the maid as she crossed the room and settled beside her on the bed. The amount of concentration Alisson dedicated to what was, in Bela's opinion, a relatively minor injury remained endlessly amusing. To a human, perhaps it looked terrible. To Bela it was little more than an inconvenient scratch. But hardly worth the level of concern it was receiving. Still, she made no effort to stop her.
The careful way Alisson pulled aside the fabric did not go unnoticed. Nor did the way she focused entirely on the wound. At the very amusing offer another small laugh escaped her. "That form of punishment isn't really my style."
The blonde shifted slightly, watching Alisson dab carefully at the wound. "If you hurt me, I shall simply bite you." The statement was delivered with complete seriousness. Or at least the appearance of it.
A dangerous glint flickered briefly in her golden eyes. "I feel that's a far more practical arrangement." She smirked. "You hurt me and I bite you. Everybody suffers equally."
Bela tilted her head slightly. For a moment she simply watched Alisson fuss over a wound that would likely be mostly healed by morning. "...you are making an extraordinary amount of fuss over a scratch, micuța mea cartof." Bela said with unmistakable affection and a hint of humor.
Even if Bela herself would never admit just how much she enjoyed being cared for.
– 𝗠𝗢𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗔𝗙𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗥𝗣 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗦 ! ( an assortment of dialogue prompts for most dynamics in a morning after setting. )
𝗮𝘄𝗸𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗱 / 𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘀𝗲
"So... about last night."
"Do you remember anything, or should I start from the top?"
"We said it wouldn’t mean anything. Did that change?"
"You can sneak out, or we can talk like adults."
“Did we make a mistake?”
𝘀𝗼𝗳𝘁 / 𝗮𝗳𝗳𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗲
"I could get used to waking up next to you."
"You drooled on my arm, just FYI."
"I made coffee. Thought you’d want to talk before the world comes back in."
"Let’s stay like this a little longer."
"Your hair’s a mess. It’s cute."
𝗳𝘂𝗻𝗻𝘆 / 𝗲𝗺𝗯𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗱
"Okay, whose sock is this?"
"I thought that was a dream. It wasn’t, was it?"
"Is this the part where I apologize or make breakfast?"
"I swear I’ve never done that before."
"Please tell me I didn’t cry over pizza last night."
𝗿𝗲𝗴𝗿𝗲𝘁𝗳𝘂𝗹 / 𝗲𝗺𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗹
"We shouldn't have done that."
"I still love them. I'm sorry."
"I wish it could be more than just this."
"You deserve better than a night I can't remember."
"I don’t know what happens next."
𝘀𝗹𝗲𝗲𝗽𝘆 / 𝗰𝗮𝘀𝘂𝗮𝗹
"Mmmph... Five more minutes."
"You’re hogging the blanket again."
"Coffee or cuddles first?"
"Your alarm’s been going off for ten minutes."
"Don’t talk yet. Just exist."
Caroline hopes her blood meets the ladies standards,it really hurt to fill that cup, left her whoozy, poor maid.
For a moment, Bela genuinely thought this maid was joking. Her gaze dropped to the cup and Bela's expression hardened. "What exactly possessed you to do this?" There was no amusement in her voice, only irritation.
She rose from her chair and crossed the room in a few long strides. "Have you completely lost your senses?" The cup was taken from Caroline's hands and immediately set aside. Untouched. "You cut yourself open, bled into a cup, and somehow decided presenting it to me was a good idea?" Her jaw tightened. "I'm not Cassandra!" The words came sharper than intended. "Nor am I some starving animal waiting for servants to bleed themselves dry."
Bela turned away briefly, visibly collecting herself. The sight of the blood bothered her more than she cared to admit. Not because it disgusted her because it reminded her of exactly what she spent so much effort pretending she wasn't: a bloodthirsty monster.
When the blonde spoke again, her voice was quieter, though no less stern. "If I require sustenance, I will obtain it through proper means." And for Bela that meant drinking their blood wine. And by doing so, she could convince herself she's enjoying a family tradition rather than satisfying a biological need.
Bela looked back at Caroline. "Go to your quarters and rest." It was not a request. "You're one poor decision away from collapsing." Her golden eyes narrowed. "And next time, if you intend to present something to a Dimitrescu, at least have the decency to put it in a proper glass."
The eldest Dimitrescu exhaled sharply through her nose before folding her arms across her chest, attempting to reclaim some measure of dignity from the rapidly deteriorating situation.
"You're entirely missing the point." She gestured vaguely toward the bathtub. "The issue is not that you're a unclothed man." Though admittedly that had certainly contributed. "The issue is that I entered my mother's private chambers expecting to find precisely nothing unusual. Instead I discovered you occupying her bath." The words still sounded absurd when spoken aloud. "I was prepared for many things today. This was not among them."
Golden eyes widened slightly, genuine surprise momentarily overriding her embarrassment and her hand immediately dropped from her face. "You read my thoughts….?" Bela visibly regretted asking the question. Of course he had. "That's not what I meant." The defense came almost immediately. Perhaps a little too quickly and Bela hated that.
"For the record," she added, trying desperately to regain control of the conversation, "when I thought about ordering the bath cleaned, I was referring to basic hygiene procedures." The explanation sounded weak even to her own ears. Bela immediately wished she had chosen different wording.
A second later she groaned softly and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Please stop reading my thoughts."
marchandmodeste
"The door was closed," he huffs, tying the robe closed. "Did your mother not teach you to knock before entering a room?" A hypocritical statement coming from the Duke, but true in an objective sense. He sighs heavily. "I try not to make a habit of doing it," he says, very carefully. "My apologies." He looks to where his clothes are, neatly folded on one of the marble counters. He has half a mind to start getting dressed again now, but then Bela might have a fit. "Would you mind, terribly?" He motions towards the door like he's trying to shoo out a cat.
Bela’s eyes narrowed, the insult to her etiquette instant. "Excuse me?" Her voice snapped, sharper than she’d intended. Had she stepped inside expecting her mother, she would have knocked. But she certainly hadn’t expected to find him here. "Has no one ever taught you not to trespass in a lady’s private rooms?"
The answer was, quite clearly, no. Still, his apology regarding the invasion of her thoughts seemed genuine enough. "Apology accepted. But do not make a habit of it."
Then came his gesture, the casual, dismissive wave toward the door and Bela just stared. The audacity. For a heartbeat, she was genuinely speechless. The Duke was attempting to shoo her from her own mother’s chambers. It was an impressive display of confidence, or perhaps complete insanity. Possibly both.
Her gaze drifted toward the neatly folded clothes resting nearby. She looked away instantly. No. Absolutely not. She had endured enough psychological trauma for one evening.
The eldest daughter took a measured step toward the doorway. "I'm leaving entirely because it is in my best interest," she informed him, struggling to maintain a shred of dignity. "Not because you instructed me to." The blonde paused a moment. "…And Duke? If I ever find you in here again, I will inform Mother."
The threat delivered, Bela slipped through the door and pulled it shut behind her, retreating before fate could present her with any further surprises.
🐺- Stalking your muse
(😝)
Bela noticed it almost immediately.
Not because Alisson was particularly loud - quite the opposite, really - but because humans were simply not built for stealth within Castle Dimitrescu.
The first sign had been the faint shift of movement behind one of the corridor arches while Bela reviewed inventory records in the dining hall. The second came later in the library, and by the third occurrence, she had to resist the urge to sigh aloud.
She had specifically given Alisson the day off. And somehow, the woman had chosen to spend it… stalking her.
Bela continued with her duties regardless, outwardly unbothered. She inspected wine stock with the servants, corrected Daniela’s carelessly abandoned clutter in one sitting room, and spent nearly twenty uninterrupted minutes reorganizing documents in her mother’s study, all while catching increasingly obvious glimpses of Alisson.
At one point, she even stopped abruptly in a corridor. Then…..a very unconvincing attempt at hiding behind a statue followed. Bela had nearly smiled. Nearly.
Instead, she simply continued walking as though she had noticed nothing at all. Truthfully, she found herself… curious how long Alisson intended to continue this.
So eventually, Bela adjusted course. Downward, into the lower levels of the castle. Surely this would discourage her.
It did not.
A few moments later, there it was again, the careful sound of footsteps trying very hard not to be heard. Unbelievable.
What sensible human willingly followed a Dimitrescu daughter into the dungeons?
And more importantly…..how had this particular silly human managed to worm her way so deeply into her heart? The thought alone felt absurd.
The eldest daughter paused beside one of the iron cell doors, gaze lowering briefly as she finally allowed herself the smallest exhale through her nose.
"…you are not nearly as subtle as you believe yourself to be," she said calmly into the darkness. "And this is a remarkably questionable way to spend your day off."
redimeree
Being dragged through the castle was not something Alisson had expected on a day like today. She had expected many things: perhaps taking care of Bela, feeding her, serving her, or even teasing her a little when they were alone. However, unexpected as it was, the fact that Bela had grabbed her by the collar of her uniform and started hauling her toward the bedroom was far better than being left alone in the kitchen with the Lady of the Castle. Alisson had no trouble faking the fear reflected on her face, as Alcina's presence alone was enough to make her want to run to the bathroom. ────── ❛ Yes, my Lady- I'll help you- ❜ — she said, even while being dragged out of the kitchen. The sensation was not pleasant, but Alisson wasn't exactly being strangled, either. Bela was definitely being careful, she thought. Once she was free again, Alisson stopped writhing like a fish out of water. She made an offended sound as she dusted off her clothes. Without a doubt, she was still copying some of the blonde's mannerisms. ────── ❛ I have to admit, I wasn't expecting that, but I had a lot of fun being a sack of potatoes. ❜ — The girl replied, as though she hadn't just coughed quietly a moment ago from the brief lack of air.
Alisson approached Bela and carefully sat her down on the bed. She shook her head. ────── ❛ Don't worry. I'm not lying when I say I enjoyed it. You should do it more often. ❜ — She murmured, moving to the side to search for bandages and supplies to tend to the wound.
A soft laugh escaped Bela before she could stop it. "You're definition of fun is…interesting, Alisson," she murmured. "But I have to say that you're by far the cutest sack of potatoes I've ever handled." The blonde smirked as she allowed Alisson to guide her toward the bed without protest.
The moment she was seated, her hands moved to the fastenings of her dress with practiced efficiency. "Now my little sack of potatoes can play nurse as she wished." Carefully, she loosened the fabric and allowed it to slide from her shoulders enough to expose the wound in her side. Dark blood still stained pale skin, but the flesh was already knitting together, just slowly.
"The cabinet," she said, nodding toward the heavy oak piece against the wall. "Second shelf. The green paste....not the blueish. Unless you’re looking to melt my skin off, which would be incredibly counterproductive."
She watched Alisson search with a relaxed gaze. When the comment came 'You should do it more often' Bela’s eyebrow rose. "Really?" she asked, her voice dropping into a low, amused hum. "You just got hauled off like a misbehaving cat, and now you’re asking for me to do it again?" The eldest daughter shook her head, a genuine, soft smile finally breaking through her usual composure. "Most people would be complaining, you know. But you? You’re practically asking me to shove you around more."
Her gaze lingered on Alisson, affectionate. "I never thought I’d be hearing a grown woman beg to be manhandled, but…" She let out a quiet, laugh. "I suppose there are worse ways to spend our time."
Bela Dimitrescu
— josé olivarez // natalie diaz
resident-of-evil
"How quick you are to reduce yourself to a mere test subject. Very presumptuous of you Miss Bela." He bows his head, the goggles on his head covering the look in his eye as he smiles. Victor brings a rolling stool closer to him and takes a seat in an attempt to make the young woman more comfortable. "I meant no offence. My visit to your village was ill-timed and I was unable to fully grasp your family dynamics." Despite her genetic profile being far from human, her fear responses seemed the same. Intriguing. Unless she was fawning. Time would tell. The cocktail of drugs he currently had her on would prevent her from becoming too difficult at the price of tainting her blood. "I will take your so eagerly offered cooperation though. It isn't often I come across someone as interesting as you, dear. I imagine the terms of our arrangement will become apparent in due time. Some things cannot be rushed." "I understand." He croons. "This is an adjustment for you. You need time to acclimate. It'll be good for us both, I think. Allowing you time to consider the ways in which you may think to assist me." His forked tongue scents the air, disappearing as quickly as it came into vision.
The faintest flicker of irritation crossed her features. Bela’s gaze lingered on him as he sat, composed, controlled as though as though this was some sort of normal patient and doctor conversation. "Wasn’t it you…" she began, "…who reduced me to a test subject by taking my blood…without asking?"
At the mention of her family, something in her expression cooled, not grief, at least not openly. Just absence. "…Family dynamics are not important anymore," Bela added flatly, dismissive, as if the topic itself held no further relevance. 'Who even was she without them?' She quickly shook that thought off.
His words lingered. …an adjustment for you…. time to acclimate…..good for us both….
For a moment, Bela said nothing. The phrases echoed strangely in her mind, catching somewhere deeper than they should have and leaving space for something far more dangerous. Doubt. The words felt like something she had heard before - at least twice in her life. And for a fleeting moment, something in her mind tried to accept it. That this was the Black God’s will or his cruel sense of humor. That this…this place, this man, was meant. Maybe time would tell. "…Perhaps," Bela said quietly, "you're right." This admission tasted bitter.
"…Am I confined to this room?" The blonde asked measured and careful. "…and would you consider," she continued more quietly, choosing her words with care, her attention drifting once more to the IV line. "…removing this… for a short while."
resident-of-evil
"Oh good. I was starting to worry dear." Victor's voice is soft and laced with something akin to fondness. She made quite the marvelous sight, dripping in blood. He certainly could find an appeal to her like this. "Did you have your fill? I can see you are distressed, but you needn't be. Go back inside and drink up. Then we will get you cleaned up." Sensing her hesitation he added. "I've been waiting to terminate her employment. She won't be missed. No family, and she knew too much to be simply let go. Better you have a use for her, my sweet girl."
Victor's response did not make her feel better. If anything, it only tightened the knot in her stomach. The nurse's death did not seem to bother him. There would be no punishment, no anger, just acceptance. Bela hated how much comfort she found in that.
For a moment, she stood frozen in the hallway, blood dripping steadily from her chin onto the sterile floor. Her gaze remained fixed on Victor, searching his face for revulsion and finding none. There was only approval.
Slowly, she lowered her eyes. "...I lost control," she murmured.
For years, she had taken pride in her restraint. Cassandra had always indulged her violent impulses, and Daniela had surrendered to her moods, but Bela had been different. Controlled. Disciplined. Not an animal.
Yet, when Victor instructed her to return to the room, she obeyed without argument. The realization of her own compliance barely registered until she was already moving. Days of confinement, weakness, examinations, and carefully measured kindness had worn down more of her resistance than she cared to admit. Fighting required strength, and she was just so very tired.
As Bela stepped back into the room, the metallic stench of blood hit her instantly. She lingered in the doorway, staring down at the dead nurse, specifically at her arm, or what remained of it. It was little more than shredded flesh and exposed bone now.
She didn't feel hungry anymore. In truth, she felt nothing at all, just a hollow emptiness. That numbness disturbed her more than anything else. What was wrong with her?
Slowly, the blonde sat on the edge of her bed. Her gaze never left the corpse as she began wiping her stained hands against the white fabric of her thighs. Dark red streaks smeared across the cloth, but the blood refused to come off completely. Eventually, her hands fell still in her lap, and she began to softly recite poetry to the quiet room:
"Legați pe veci de-o primăvară, îți caut umbra printre flori, De ce visez că sunt cu tine, și lângă mine vreau să zbori?"
She cut herself off the moment Victor entered, her eyes locked onto him. "I lost control," she repeated.
[Translation:]
Are you a princess?
@/mycophobic-fugitive
@mycophobic-fugitive
Bela paused at the question, the faintest hint of surprise crossing her expression. Children didn’t often address her so directly. There was something… disarming in it. Something innocent.
"A princess?" she repeated softly, a hint of amusement in her tone.
Her gaze lowered to meet the child’s, a slight tilt of her head following. "No… not quite. A princess would imply a kingdom," she replied, her lips curving just slightly. "I am the daughter of a countess."
mycophobic-fugitive
Evangeline lowered her head, a hint of timidity in her body language for the first time. Mama was very serious about stranger danger — though Evangeline supposed she'd already broken the rules by talking to a stranger at all. Besides, this stranger was nice, certainly nicer than the weird bird lady. "Evangeline," She kept her head down, her voice shy now. "What's yours?"
Bela noticed the shift immediately. The lowered head, the quieter voice and the sudden uncertainty that had not been present a moment ago.
She was not particularly fond of children. They tended to be loud, impulsive, and endlessly curious. Still, Bela possessed a great deal more patience than most people gave her credit for and there was something almost admirable about a child so eager to learn.
"Evangeline," she repeated softly. "A very pretty name." There was no teasing in the observation, merely a simple statement.
"My name is Bela Dimitrescu." A faint note of pride entered her voice. "I'm the eldest daughter of Countess Alcina Dimitrescu."
Her hands rested in her lap as she sat upon the low stone wall. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Evangeline." The child's gaze remained lowered and Bela considered that for a moment before speaking again. "You need not to look at the ground when speaking to me. I don't bite." she said, her tone gentler than before. "You have asked thoughtful questions so far."
Lone Survivors @redimeree
The house had likely been abandoned for years. Its roof leaked when it rained, and the windows had long since been boarded over. It was still better than the alternative.
Bela slept. Or rather, she drifted through a hollow, unconscious haze. The bed had been dragged close to the fireplace, but the fire and blankets offered little comfort against the chill that seemed to radiate from her own skin.
The journey away from the village had nearly cost her what little life she had left.
The ruin of her left arm ended just below the elbow, jagged crystal growths yielded to weakly buzzing flies that tried repairing the limb. Every attempt at regeneration was a slow agonizing process.
But worse were the wounds that no amount of recovery could reach. It had been days since the castle fell. Since the loss of her family. Bela rarely spoke of them, she rarely spoke at all. When awake, she spent hours staring into the void, her golden eyes unfocused, as if a vital piece of her mind had remained in the castle.
Suddenly, her eyes flew open. She drew in a sharp, rattling breath, her gaze darting across the room. Alisson was nowhere to be seen. The chair beside the bed stood empty.
A cold tightness coiled in Bela’s chest, close to panic. "Alisson...?" The blonde tried to heave herself up, but a fresh bolt of agony tore through her, forcing a stifled cry through her teeth and she slumped back.
Bela froze breathless, her vision blurry, as she sat beneath the heavy mountain of blankets. Her remaining hand pressed against her side, fingers digging into her own skin as she fought to anchor herself.
She forced herself to separate the phantom screams of the castle from the reality of the drafty room. Only then did the sound of Alisson’s voice penetrate her awareness. Are you okay?
Bela shifted her golden eyes toward the other woman, her movements sluggish and disjointed. The eldest Dimitrescu offered the smallest, most fragile nod. "Yes." The answer was automatic and perhaps the most pathetic lie she had ever told. Nothing about her was okay. Not the jagged ruin of her body and not the fractured state of her mind. But she lacked the strength to voice it. Explaining her own destruction felt like a task for another lifetime.
Her gaze drifted, then snapped back as she noticed what Alisson held. A plate of food. The blonde stared, her mind struggling to process the visual information. The meat hovered near her face like an ritual offering. She blinked, her focus cycling between the offering and the woman providing it. "…What are you doing?"
The realization followed a heartbeat later: Alisson was trying to feed her. Humiliation passed over Bela’s features. Under any other circumstances, she would have lashed out, her pride demanding she sustain herself. But that version of Bela felt like a ghost. Now, the simple act of lifting her remaining arm felt like moving a mountain.
Her stomach cramped, a traitorous reminder of her own hunger. She despised the sensation, she despised the vulnerability it forced upon her. Slowly and reluctantly she leaned forward and accepted the meat. This minor exertion almost exhausted her again. But she fought it with a stubborn, dying flicker of will. She wasn't ready to succumb to the darkness yet.
Her gaze remained locked on Alisson, searching the weary lines of her face. "..You should be sleeping." The words were a barely audible rasp, yet they carried a weight of genuine concern. Even in her broken state, even with her world reduced to a damp bed and a leaking roof, she worried about Alisson, about the woman she loved.
Bela’s remaining hand moved away from the safety of the blanket. It felt as heavy as lead, each muscle protesting the movement. She reached out, her fingers trembling slightly as they drifted upward to graze Alisson’s face. She moved them slowly across her cheek, smiling weakly at the other woman.
Then her hand drifted down to reach the plate and with agonizing deliberation, she took another piece of the meat. She paused a moment, her gaze softening, looking at Alisson again with quiet gratitude.
The blonde brought the food to her lips, the effort leaving her visibly winded, but she didn't look away from Alisson. She swallowed, the sustenance doing little to fix her broken spirit, but it was enough to keep the darkness at bay for a few moments longer.
"Thank you…for still being here," Bela whispered. "I don't….deserve you…"
Donna….tell your doll to get off of me…! [hi :)]
“HEY! I have a NAME you know. Maybe use it??? Stupid flying freak!!!”
Angie, who had been clinging to Bela’s arm, gently hit the taller girl with a closed, wooden fist. It didn’t do much besides sting a little. Even as she spat and complained, Angie still clung on tight, and Donna had to murmur something in Italian to get the doll to let go.
“Apologies. Did your mother send you for something? I’m aware that you haven’t visited in a long while, Bela,” Donna murmured, voice flat and yet still holding a bit of reproach. It was playful offense, of course, and had the veil not obscured her face, Donna would be smiling just in the slightest.
damaged-dollmaker
“No, tesoro— you are alright. It is not your fault.” Donna’s voice steadied, and she finished fixing whatever it had been and moved to step forwards and gently take Bela’s hands into her own. The soft smile she attempted to wear could be heard in her voice. “Come. I will make you something to eat, so you may warm up. It may be thawing, but I am sure you are still cold.” Donna let go of the taller woman’s hands, beckoning her to follow as Angie squirmed and dropped to the floor in a crumpled mess. It took the doll a few moments to regain herself, smoothing out her tattered white dress, righting her limbs, and giggling ever so slightly up at Bela before scurrying around her. “Ooo, if you’re a little curious, Belladonna, IIIIIIIIIII could tell you what happened! I was THERE for the whole thing, you know!!! Eyewitness account!!!” Clinging to Bela’s skirt, she twisted and twirled around the tattered, bloodstained fabric and hummed idly as she watched Donna drift off into the kitchen. The soft sound of dishes being moved and pots being set upon the stove suddenly filled the awkwardly still house with some semblance of life. Unfortunately, it was usually silent, and the tense atmosphere was not helped by the dolls that seemed to be strewn everywhere, eyes glassy and focused on something far, far into the distance.
Bela hesitated when Donna took her hands. The guilt didn't vanish immediately. Even as Donna reassured her, part of Bela remained convinced she had stepped somewhere she should not have. It was an uncomfortable feeling, knowing she had caused distress, however unintentionally.
Still…Donna had taken her hands and the tension in Bela's shoulders eased, if only slightly. "Thank you," she said quietly.
The blonde stayed in place for the briefest moment after Donna let go before she followed, the familiar sounds of movement in the kitchen drawing her attention. The house felt different when Donna was cooking. Warmer.
For a moment, Bela found herself remembering old visits. Sitting at a table while Donna moved quietly about the kitchen. Daniela inevitably stealing ingredients. Cassandra complaining about waiting. The smell of food carrying through the house. Normal and rare moments.
And ones Bela had missed more than she cared to admit. When had they all started to drift apart?
Her gaze followed Donna for a moment before Angie's voice dragged her attention back downward. The doll was practically vibrating with excitement. Bela could not help the small smile that appeared. "I'm curious," she admitted. Honesty cost little here. "But if Donna doesn't wish to speak about it, then that's her decision." Her gaze shifted briefly toward the kitchen. "I have no intention of forcing the matter."
The eldest daughter looked back down at Angie. "Besides," Bela added, a little softer, "some things are difficult to discuss. And if Donna wishes me to know, she will tell me." A faint smile touches her lips. "And if not, I find myself sufficiently distracted by the promise of food." She paused briefly. "Which, I should note, is entirely her fault."
The last part was directed toward the kitchen, carrying just enough warmth that Donna would likely hear it.
Caroline the maid bows her head. "Your bath and drink is ready." She rubs the bandage on her freshly cut wrist.
Bela gave a small, dismissive wave of her hand. Her attention had already shifted elsewhere when something caught her eye. The bandage.
Then, without further comment, the eldest Dimitrescu crossed the room toward one of the cabinets lining the wall. The doors opened to reveal neatly arranged jars, dried herbs, and bottles of various tinctures. After a moment of searching, she selected a small glass jar containing a pale green paste.
Returning to the maid, Bela held it out. "For your wrist." Her tone remained as matter-of-fact as ever. "Apply it twice daily and change the bandage often." Golden eyes lingered briefly on the injury before lifting to Caroline's face. "It should prevent infection and reduce scarring. Try not to cut yourself again." The remark carried no real reprimand, merely mild irritation.
Satisfied that the matter had been addressed, Bela turned her attention back toward the document she had been reading earlier as though the entire exchange had been perfectly ordinary.
