𝗥𝗲𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗘𝘃𝗶𝗹 𝗣𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀
𝟑) 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 / 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏
Pairings: Resident Evil Characters x Female! reader
Warning: (nothing, I hope so! maybe mention of blood)
tags l content: Resident Evil x reader • headcanons / scenario
𝑨𝑵: 𝑴𝒚 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔!! 𝑰’𝒗𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓! 𝑨𝒍𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉, 𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚, 𝒊𝒕’𝒔 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒇 𝒐𝒇 𝒊𝒕! 𝑰’𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝑰𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒂𝒏 𝒊𝒔 𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒃𝒚 𝒂 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓, 𝒔𝒐 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔! 𝑨𝒍𝒔𝒐, 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒆𝒙𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝑰 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒅𝒊𝒅𝒏’𝒕 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒆, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰’𝒍𝒍 𝒅𝒆𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒇𝒐𝒄𝒖𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒊𝒏 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔, 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝑰 𝒘𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒃𝒐𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑴𝒊𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒂—𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒈𝒖𝒚𝒔, 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 “𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆” 𝒃𝒚 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊 𝑿𝑪𝑿 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒅𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒆 :) 𝑹𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒖𝒚𝒔 𝒈𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒆 🖤
You didn't expect it to be so awful. It starts a little, as it usually does with her, with one wrong phrase or tone, and then everything swings. You mention leaving - just for a bit, something you need to do, and Alcina keeps silent in a way that immediately tells you this isn't going to end well.
"You will not leave this castle," she adds calmly as if the decision is already made and your choice is useless.
You try to explain, tell her it's not forever, that you'll return, and that it's nothing serious, but she doesn't hear anything because all she hears is that you're abandoning her, which she refuses to accept.
So she does what she usually does when she feels something she can't control: she becomes cruel. Her words become more cruel, as if she is purposefully building a barrier between you, as if she would rather harm you first than admit that she is the terrified one.
"Do not mistake my tolerance for affection, you're simply a small vampire that takes up space and is useful for nothing," she continues, "I gave you a home, so you'll stay here."
That's when something in you breaks.
You don't argue after that. Don't try to explain anymore. You nod quietly, hurt visible in your face even if you try to disguise it, and take a step back as if you have finally understood your position.
"Of course, Lady Dimitrescu," you reply. Your ego took a knock, but what hurt the most was your heart; you decided that even so, you wouldn't obey her order, you'd leave and never return.
You go to her daughters first. It feels terrible to go without seeing or informing them, and once you explain, the mood in the room shifts immediately. Daniela is the first to respond, obviously furious, her voice rising as she questions why, what happened, and why you want to leave.
Bela stays silent, but the discomfort in her posture is visible, her eyes piercing as she listens. Cassandra doesn't even bother to disguise her annoyance, mumbling something beneath her breath that is plainly rude.
And once they understand why, it isn't directed at you. It's directed at her.
"You're leaving because of our mother?" Daniela snaps, confusion quickly giving way to anger.
You don't answer. You don't need to. That's enough.
The tension snapped. Cassandra gives a harsh chuckle and shakes her head. "Of course she did," she murmurs, already turning to face the doorway. "She ruins everything." Bela doesn't say anything, but she walks first, followed by Daniela, who is still complaining loudly.
They don't give you time to stop them. Alcina isn't expecting them.
The mood changes as soon as they arrive. She hardly has time to respond before Daniela begins speaking, accusing her of pushing you away, being blind, and damaging the one thing that truly mattered.
"You finally get someone who isn't afraid of you, who actually stays, and you decide to chase her away?" she snarks.
Cassandra is less subtle. "You're acting like a fool, mother," she states openly.
Bela does not raise her voice, "She was kind to us."
"What are you talking about?" Alcina asks, her tone filled with annoyance.
Daniela doesn't hesitate. "She's leaving," she adds, her words hitting home more than anything else. "She's leaving the castle. Forever."
For a split second, Alcina remains still. Her demeanor remains unchanged, but something flickers behind her eyes. "No, I've said no," she says quietly, as if she refuses to accept it.
Cassandra gives a bitter laugh. "You told her she didn't mean anything. What were you expecting?"
Something in Alcina cracks. "No," she says again, harsher, almost chaotic. "She would not..."
Even as she says it, she knows. She immediately starts moving, not walking or composed, but running. She reacts quicker than she allows herself to, faster than she thinks. By the time she finds you, you've already reached the castle's edge. Already leaving. "Stop! Please, Stop!!" You freeze. Slowly turn.
And what you see is not the lady you know. She doesn't seem calm. She looks...shaken. Furious, yes, but not at you. At herself.
For a moment, neither of you speaks, the tension thick and heavy, your pain still lingering between you, but Alcina doesn't hesitate this time. She closes the distance quickly, like she's afraid you'll disappear if she doesn't reach you in time.
"What do you think you are doing?" she says.
"You said enough," you respond gently, and the silence stings more than anything you could have said. Alcina exhales hard, her jaw clenching and her hand lifting before stopping, as if she no longer had the right to touch you.
"I was wrong," she admits, " I spoke in anger. In fear."
Her eyes lock on yours, focused, searching, and almost desperate in a way she would never show anybody else.
"The thought of you leaving..." she begins, but her voice stumbles as her self-control slips. "Do you understand what that does to me?"
She moves closer, her presence overwhelming but never frightening to you.
"I can't stand it, the idea of you walking away, as if this - " her sudden, almost frantic hand gestures between you " ... meant nothing."
Her hand eventually reaches you, firmly holding your arm, as if she needs to make sure you're still there, not already gone.
"I have never felt like this, not for anyone. Not in a way that causes me to lose control of myself. Never."
"You are not replaceable," she continues, more confident but no less passionate. "You are everything to my daughters and me, and I won't let you walk away because I was too scared to say what I should have said a long time ago..."
The words come out low, almost gruff, yet they contain all she fought to suppress and reject.
"And I will not lose you," she continues, quieter but no less determined, "not to my own pride, please, I beg you, don't leave us...."
For a moment, you don't say anything. The words stick between you. You can still feel the pain of what she said before, cutting through you and making you walk away, but now she's there in front of you. For you.
Your gaze softens somewhat, and your hand hesitates before lifting to rest against hers, where she still holds you. Her hold tightens instinctively, as if she's terrified you'll pull away again.
"You hurt me," you reply gently. She refuses to look away.
"I know," she says quietly. You take a modest step forward. Deciding to stay. Choosing to stay. "I'm still here," you mutter.
That is all it takes. Her hand glides down your arm to your waist, like she's giving you the chance to stop her if you want to, but you don't. You stay where you are, your hand creeping steadily up to her shoulder.
She leans in carefully, her gaze flickering to your lips for a split second before returning to your eyes, as if she needs to be sure. When you don't pull away, she closes the distance...
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You should have realized something was wrong right when he began following you. It wasn't rare for people in the village to chat after the market closed. He stayed close, his footsteps never quite diminishing, and his presence lingering in a way that made your shoulders tense, no matter how much you tried to ignore it. Because of him, the late summer air felt thicker.
"You shouldn't be alone like this," he pointed out after a time, "Girls like you usually believe they don't need anyone, but then what? You wind up with nothing."
You didn't respond. You simply kept walking, hoping he'd become bored and stop. He didn't. "And that thing from the castle?" he asked, "People talk, you know. Say she follows you. Watching you, or maybe stalking you, is a better word for it. " He laughed lowly and bitterly. "Pathetic, really."
Your steps slowed, just slightly.
"And even if she does," he added, "that blond bitch is nothing compared to a real man."
That's when things changed. It wasn't loud. It wasn't noticeable. But the air transformed in a way you'd come to recognize. The laughter stopped. Silence followed, and when you turned, he was no longer standing. She did not appear as soft or distant as she normally did. This time, she stood there fully. Her stare focused on you, but it was darker, sharper, and more intense than before.
There was blood, obviously not hers. You should have been terrified. You knew that. Anyone else would've been. But you weren't.
And something inside her snapped again.
She moved without warning, faster than before, grabbing your wrist and pushing you back till your back touched the hard surface of a tree. Not enough to hurt, but enough to stop you and keep you there.
"You let him speak like that, about you, about me..." Her presence moved closer, not threatening or violent, making it impossible to look away. Her stare never left yours.
"I won't allow that," she said, "You are not something to be talked about like that. Not by him. Not by anyone."
Her hand moved gently away from your wrist, gradually and less harshly, as if she was aware and attempting to grasp onto you without pushing you away. "And you are not someone I will let anyone touch."
"You're mine to protect," she said quietly. You could feel her breath, see the thin smear of blood on the corner of her lips, and the tension in her posture, as if she was waiting for you to respond, reject it, or destroy whatever this was becoming.
Your hand lifted slowly and carefully, your fingers brushing across her jaw, firm despite everything, and Bela remained totally still at the touch because you chose her. Her fingers tightened around your waist to establish herself, and then she leaned closer.
The kiss wasn't rushed, wasn't violent, despite everything that had just happened. It was intense. When she pulled back, When she pulled back, it wasn't far, her forehead almost brushing yours, her gaze still fixed on you...
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You really thought you could just... keep living like nothing changed? After everything? After her?
Something is wrong. The castle feels unusually quiet, as if the walls are holding their breath, as if every step you take is being watched, even when you can't see anything. People don't come near you anymore, not out of fear, but because they've learnt something. Conversations stop when you pass.
You should leave. Maybe only for a few hours, to walk in the fresh air. That thought sits heavy in your chest as you move through the corridor.
You don't make it far, and before you can react, something slams into you, your back smacking the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of your lungs. A hand wraps around your throat, not tightly enough to strangle you, but just enough to hold you still and remind you how easily it could happen.
You look up, her face just inches from yours, her face twisted into something darker. There's blood on her. Fresh. It hasn't even dried yet.
"Lady Dimitrescu..." you start, but her hold tightens only slightly.
"Don't." The word cuts you off immediately. "Don't pretend you weren't about to leave."
Her head tilts slightly, her eyes sweeping over your face as if she's trying to understand something that does not seem to make sense to her.
"I've been so good to you," she murmurs almost softly, but there's something off about it, something that doesn't feel right. "I let you walk around. I let you talk to them. I let you think you still had a choice."
Her hand moves from your throat to your jaw, fingers pressing just enough to keep your face turned toward her.
"And this is what you do?" she says, "You try to leave me?"
Her grip tightens again, this time around your waist, drawing you closer as if distance itself is unwanted.
"No," she responds, calmly and definitively. "That's not how this works."
"L-lady Dimitrescu, it's not what you think - I just wanted to step outside for a moment to breathe fresh air."
"You see it now, don't you?" she murmurs, "There's nowhere for you to go."
Her thumb slowly slides across your cheek, "I made sure of that. You belong here," she says, her breath brushing against your lips, her presence so overwhelming that you can't think clearly.
She drew out her sickle, cut a small piece of skin from your palm, and tasted your wonderful blood; then she slowly moved toward your lips and kissed you, her mouth full of blood.
The kiss is strong, almost consuming you and more claiming than anything else, as if she's trying to prove something, or sealing it into you so you can't deny it.
And when she eventually draws back, all she does is gaze at you again. Until she held her scythe to her throat and murmured, "Mine forever," and then everything went dark...
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Daniela pauses in the doorway for a while, as if debating whether to enter or exit, her typical passion missing. There was no turbulent entry, no instant giggles, and nothing fell off shelves because she touched them without thinking. She's... calm and completely clean.
There is no blood, mess, or anything out of place. Her hair is set, and her outfit is quite elegant and clean. It doesn't fit the version of her you're used to.
"I hate this already," she says under her breath, but she walks in anyway, the door silently closing behind her. Her hands hold something. A folded sheet of paper with slightly crumpled edges.
She walks closer, then stops and takes another step as if she is forcing herself forward.
"I wrote something," she adds quickly, "And you have to read it before I say anything else because I can't. I tried, it didn't work, it sounded stupid, so just- take it."
The letter is thrown into your hands before you can answer. She doesn't move after that.
The letter isn't perfect. It's sloppy in a way that feels entirely her own, words crossed out, phrases rewritten, ideas mixed together as if she couldn't keep them straight. But it is honest. Every line of it. She writes about you as if you've always been present in her mind, as if each conversation lasted longer than it should have, as if she remembers things you didn't even realize you said.
It feels real. She's still standing there, tense in a way that doesn't fit her at all, like she's waiting for something worse than rejection, like she's waiting for nothing.
"So," she adds after a second, "That's - what I meant."
A short pause. Then she straightens slightly, as if she is remembering something important that she practiced.
"I wasn't just going to give you that," she says, pushing herself to continue. "I mean, I thought about it, but that would be stupid because then I'd just leave and not know what you think, and I don't like not knowing things."
Her fingers twitch softly at her sides. You've never seen her this nervous.
"And I cleaned up," she says hastily, as if she wants you to notice it. "And I picked this dress because I thought you might like it, and I can try to behave normally for a few hours, probably, no promises, but I'll try."
"Go out with me. Properly," she says, her stare fixed on you and not moving away. "It's like a date. Not only staying here and talking, which of course I enjoy, but also something more."
You just stood there smiling at her, but didn't say a word, which Daniela thought was a sign of rejection or pity, and started to apologize.
"I'm sorry, I know it was a bad idea." Her flies began flying around her. "My mother made me stand here and confess my love to you, and now all this... oh God, I'm sorry if you feel uncomfortable."
"Oh, you're so cute and so wrong. Yes. I would love to."
The word leaves your lips so easily, but it strikes her harder than anything else could. She blinks. "Yes?" she asks, as if she needs to hear it again. You nod.
Her shoulders relax, and she takes a breath as if she had been holding it all along. She lets out a low laugh, then a bit louder, feeling more like herself.
"Wow," she responds rashly, "Okay, good. That is good."
Then she suddenly disappears into a swarm of flies and returns with a bouquet of beautiful flowers, offering them to you.
You grab them and look them over. "They're gorgeous, Dani."
"Like you," Daniela said. "Aunt Donna grew them in her garden, and when I saw them, I immediately thought of you."
"That's so sweet of you," you say, blushing.
"Everything for you, frumuseţe." With that, she kisses the palm of your hand and disappears with a little giggle. (My beauty)
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Living near Donna made silence feel comfortable. Your house was near enough to hers that visiting no longer seemed like a choice and became a habit, quiet walks through the fog, nights spent in her gloomy rooms, the air filled with the subtle aroma of herbs and something warm on the stove.
She didn't speak much, but she didn't have to. You quickly filled the gap, chatting about little things, silly topics, anything to put her loneliness away. And she allowed you. Always allow you.
She started cooking for you without explaining why. Simple at first, then more well-prepared meals, always set in front of you as if nothing had happened, as if she had not taken the time to think about what you would want. Italian dishes were warm and comforting, and she appeared to know how to create them without trying.
Of course, Angie never stayed silent about it, always pointing out the obvious, taunting, and whispering things Donna refused to speak out. You'd laugh it off, Donna's eyes would drop, and the moment would pass.
Then the letters followed...
At first, you assumed it was a mistake. Why would someone write a love letter to a lord? Folded paper left where it could be found, phrases written in delicate, almost shaky handwriting, poetic in a way that felt too intimate to be ignored.
They spoke about you as if someone had been watching you closely, paying attention to things you hadn't noticed about yourself, the way you walked, the way the wind altered around you as if it was listening. It was not disturbing.
Not really. It's just... confusing. Because nobody ever admitted to it. No villagers, no lords, no one. And still, the letters kept coming, each one a little more honest, a little more difficult to throw out, filled with something that felt dangerously close to love.
You asked about them once, and Donna went still. Angie laughed. And that was the end of that conversation.
But the feeling didn't go. If anything, it became stronger, settling deep in your chest every time you opened another letter or read words that were too personal to be from anonymous. You began hunting for clues, little things, anything that might reveal who it was, but nothing ever did.
Until Angie grew impatient. "Oh, this is ridiculous," she said one evening, her voice breaking the silence as Donna tensed alongside her. "Are you going to keep writing forever without saying anything? She is right there."
Donna shook her head sharply, her fists tightening in her lap. No. No, she couldn't. No one would ever want anything to do with her; that's how it's always been and always will be. So, revealing the truth is out of the question for her.
She'll lose you. And she can't lose you. So instead, she writes. Carefully. Slowly. Late at night, when the house is quiet, and Angie isn't speaking, her thoughts flow onto writing in ways they never could out loud. It starts tiny, as it always does, with simple lines that she rewrites over and over until they seem right.
However, this time she keeps going.
The words keep pouring, softer and more honest with each line, her flawless handwriting moving slightly as she allows herself to speak things she hadn't spoken before, not even to herself. She describes the first time you sat with her without fear, how you didn't gaze at her as the others did, and how you stayed.
She talks about how chatting to you makes silence less weighty and makes it easier to find the right words, even when she stumbles. She talks about the food she prepares, how she pays attention to what you enjoy, and how she remembers every tiny reaction and silent grin.
She describes how you changed something in her.
How you softened the loneliness. How did you make her feel seen? Then, after a lengthy moment with her fingers lingering over the page, she writes the part she had been avoiding.
She loves you so much. nor in fancy terms, nor disguised by anything. She says that she doesn't ask for anything in return, that she is aware that she is difficult to love, and that she understands if you don't feel the same way. She claims that you saved her in a way that no one else had, simply by staying in her life without turning away.
She writes about nights that no longer seem empty, about how her thoughts always seem to return to you, no matter how hard she tries to focus on anything else. About how, sometimes, when she sleeps, you're there as well.
She doesn't say it explicitly, but it's there in the way she writes, the way the words linger, and her confession that you don't leave her even in her dreams.
Her hand is trembling more now. But she keeps going. Because this letter wasn't meant to be read. Thoughts calmer now that they're out, even if no one will ever notice. Her fingers paused for a time.
She then signs it. This letter will never leave the Beneviento residence. That was the plan. Until Angie said no.
"So this is the one, huh?" Angie's voice breaks the silence as she grabs the letter from Donna's grasp before she is able to respond.
"Angie - no! Angie, per favore smettila, cazzo!!" But she's already moving.
"Oh, I'm absolutely giving this to her," Angie says, laughing, her voice echoing too loudly in the silent room. "You can't just keep writing things like this and expect nothing to happen."
Donna gets up too soon, fear striking all at once, intense and overwhelming as she reaches out for Angie, but Angie slips away effortlessly, always faster and just out of reach.
"Give it back," Donna begs, her voice weak now, the words cracking as she tries to catch her and stop this before it gets too far. "Per favore!"
Angie just laughs again. "No."
The door to your house doesn't open; instead, it explodes, wood crashing against the wall as she kicks it with much more power than is required, her laughter overflowing into the room before you can respond.
"Wake up, idiot!" she cries, her voice harsh and happy, careless about the devastation she has just caused. The wind reacts before you.
It twists automatically, twisting through the room, pushing against her, not hard enough to harm, but enough to make her fall back slightly, indicating she isn't intended to be there.
"What-?" your voice cuts through, confused; your hand raising slightly as the air settles around you, controlled once more, "What is wrong with you?"
"Here," she replies, ignoring your question, bringing her arm back for a second before throwing the folded paper at you. "Catch it, asshole!"
The wind catches it in mid-air before it reaches you, slowing it just enough for you to grab it, your fingers naturally closing around the paper.
By the time you glance down, she's already running.
"Don't lose it!" she exclaims over her shoulder, her voice ringing as she vanishes as suddenly as she appeared. Just like that, she's gone.
The door was still slightly open behind you, and the air seemed disturbed in an odd way. Your attention moves to the paper in your palm.
Every sentence draws you in deeper, every word heavier than the previous. It's honest in a way that seems too intimate to be casual. She writes about you as if you were something unreal, necessary, and something she noticed in ways no one else has.
Small stuff. Keep everything quiet. You sit with her, you talk with her, and you never leave when others might.
You continue reading. About the food she prepares for you. Regarding the peace, it does not appear empty when you are present. Regarding how you helped her feel less alone. You take on the part she didn't want anybody to see.
The insecurity in her words shows up there, with the ink pressed somewhat deeper into the page, as if her fingers trembled while writing them. She writes about the late hours, about how her thoughts constantly return to you, no matter how hard she tries to stop them, and about how, even in her dreams.
You simply continue reading. Until the end. Until the final lines. Where she stops trying to hide it at all. She confesses it simply and calmly, asking nothing in return. That she loves you. Your gaze lingers there for a second longer. Then, drop slightly and saw the name. Signed. "Con affetto, Donna Beneviento"
Everything seems to fall into place too quickly. The handwriting. The pauses in her voice when you asked about the letters. She always seemed to know what you liked without asking. The dinners, talks, the way she stayed around just a little longer than necessary, as if she didn't want you to leave but didn't know how to ask you to stay with her.
The letters weren't random. They weren't from someone watching from afar. They were from her. Your Donna.
This time, the door pushes forward harder, not kicked open like Angie did, but also not carefully. It hits the wall with a dull clanking sound, and Donna enters quickly, without her veil, her movements shaky.
She only takes two hurried steps forward, as if she forced herself here before she could change her mind and rush back to pretend nothing happened.
"Did she- " her voice cracks before she finishes, "Did she give you anything?"
The letter is still in your hands. Open, and she sees it. Her entire being comes to an end. It was as if someone had taken all of her breath away at once. Her shoulders tense, her fists clenched at her sides, her entire body tightens up as her gaze fixates on the open letter.
"No, Cazzo! Cazzo!" The word comes out weak, almost insane, as if she's trying to change it just by speaking it. "No, she wasn't supposed to - "
Her thoughts are running way too fast. "Quella è una bambola del cazzo! I told her not to. She wasn't supposed to touch it, she wasn't supposed to!" (That's a fucking doll)
Her hands raised slightly before dropping back down, as if she had no idea what to do with them. "This wasn't for you," she adds abruptly, and her face twists as if she immediately regrets her words. "I mean - not like that, I didn't - I wasn't going to..."
She cut herself off. Because nothing she says sounds right, and for her, everything is already ruined.
"I'm sorry," she says, her words coming out awkwardly, "I shouldn't have written it, I shouldn't have kept them, I shouldn't have ehm, cazzo..."
Her chest rises quickly, her breathing is short and bordering on a gasp, "I didn't mean for you to see that, I didn't want to make things worse, really, you have to believe me, please-e."
She pauses again. Because she can't finish that sentence. Because the idea of you knowing, of seeing her this way, seeing everything she feels spoken out so openly, it's too much for her.
Her shoulders tremble slightly now, her control gone. "Per favore," she starts to speak, but it slips apart halfway through, her voice shaking too much to keep together.
"Forget it. per favore, amore mio..." You move before she can take another step back. Your hand reaches hers first.
The contact is enough to stop everything for a second, causing her to slow down rather than pull away. "Donna, hey...calm down." She doesn't look up.
"It's okay," you say calmly. She shook her head quickly.
"It's not," she gasps, her voice cracking again. "You were not meant to know. Dio, tu sei tutto per me e io ho rovinato tutto, I didn't want to lose this." (God, you are everything to me, and I've ruined it all)
That is the truth, and it lingers between you. You don't let go of her hand. Instead, you step closer. Your other hand rises, resting lightly on her arm. "You didn't," you reply gently. Her gaze slowly and hesitantly rises. There are tears now.
"You didn't lose me," you say, "I read it, all of it. And I'm still here."
She stares at you as if she doesn't understand how that's possible, as if she's waiting for anything to change, for you to back away, for this to disappear as everything else has.
Her eyes widen slightly as she searches your face for confirmation that you are not simply saying it to calm her down. You don't rush it.
Your hand slowly lifts up, guiding hers slightly, and delicately brushes your lips across her knuckles.
She is still under your touch. Completely. When you lift your head again, you don't let go. Instead, you ask her.
"Can I kiss you?" A small nod.
You slowly reduce the distance, allowing her time and space to move away if she wants. She doesn't. Her eyes close just before your lips meet, and the kiss is everything you ever wished for. There's no rush or pressure - only warmth...
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Mother Miranda: (You were kidnapped even before Chris killed "Mia" at Ethan's house, also the timeline in-game will not be here :) )
You wake up cold, not from the weather, but from something worse that settles into your bones before your brain can even react. The ground beneath you is hard, your head throbbing just enough to make everything seem away for a split second, and when you finally open your eyes, the world takes a while to make sense. Stone walls. Metal bars. Dim lighting that hardly reaches the corners.
Then you hear it. Breathing.
Your body tenses right away, pulling yourself up quickly; your eyesight blurs slightly as your palm presses against the floor to support yourself; and your thoughts click into place all at once. This isn't right. None of this is real. Your gaze drifts fast, examining the area until it lands on a figure standing just outside your cell.
The name escapes your lips before you can stop it.
The name comes out naturally. She looks like her. The same face, the same posture, but something is off. The clothes don't match what you remember, not what she was wearing before, not what makes sense for where she should be. And the way she looks at you, as if she's watching you rather than reacting.
Your fingers slowly curled around the bars. "Mia, is that you?" You ask, sharper now, your question spilling out. She does not respond instantly. Just watching you.
That's when something clicks. Not everything at once, but enough. The way she carries herself. The way she doesn't react to your voice, the way she should.
"You're not Mia. Who are you??? Where are we???"
"You are more observant than I expected." The voice is still hers. But now you're hearing things differently.
Something moves in front of you, slowly at first, like something peeling away layer by layer, the illusion releasing just enough to reveal what's behind. A woman with blonde hair, wearing a strange robe with wings, appeared before your eyes, definitely not Mia.
You take a step back, your grasp on the bars relaxing as the air around you feels heavier and thicker, as if it belongs to her.
"Where is she? Who are you?" you ask again,
Her gaze rests on you briefly before turning slightly to the side.
You follow it. And that's when you notice someone lying on a bed in the next cell. Weaker and paler, her body bowed slightly as her eyes lifted toward you in recognition and fear.
"That's - " your voice falters, your chest tightens as everything comes together at once. "That's Mia."
And the anger comes quickly after, strong and overpowering as you move forward again, grabbing the bars hard enough to hurt. "You!!!" Your voice cracks. "You were her?!?"
"I needed to understand you, draga," she adds simply, moving closer now without hiding or faking. "It was easier this way."
The word seems off for you. "So you lied," you reply sharply, your grasp tightening again. "You watched me, talked to me every day as Mia, you acted so weirdly, like any of that meant anything, and I thought I was only seeing that wrong, but I was fucking right, you're sick, where's Ethan, and what do you want from my family?!"
"It did." She cuts you off neatly, her voice calm and assertive, and this makes things worse.
"Don't," you reply quickly, "Don't say that. Tell me where my family is!"
But she doesn't look away. Doesn't even flinch. Also, completely ignore your questions about family. "If it wasn't real," she adds gently, her golden-gray eyes fixed only on you, "I wouldn't have kept you."
"You interest me," she adds, as if that explains everything and excuses anything. "More than anyone has in a very long time. Honestly, if I'm being honest, you're a unique case for me."
"And that's supposed to comfort me? You locked me up in some cold cell with my sister-in-law, took my niece away from me, and then manipulated us? Who the fuck do you think you are?"
"And that is why you are here," she says, ignoring your anger.
Your chest tightens again, your mind focusing on something you don't want to understand. "You kidnapped me," you state bluntly.
"I brought you somewhere safe," she confirms without hesitation.
You almost chuckle, "From what?"
"From leaving." But suddenly, you felt terribly tired, collapsed to the ground, and lost track of time...
Time doesn't move the way it used to.
It stretches and folds into itself, losing meaning somewhere between the emptiness and the repetition of the same walls, icy floor, and dim light that never changes enough to tell you whether it's day or night. You eventually quit counting. The only thing that signals this period of time is how your body feels heavier, slower, and Mia's voice becomes more familiar.
She's talking more now. Not all the time, but enough to fill the void and keep both of you grounded in something physical. You discover things in small amounts, as if she is hesitant to tell too much all at once.
She then shares it with you. She had been locked up here for months.
The word doesn't sit right. Months. It sounds in your brain alarmingly, and for a time, you simply stare at her, hoping for her to correct it, say something else, or make it smaller.
She doesn't. Months. Which means - mostly everything you remember with her was not her. Each talk. Every glance. Every moment that seemed real, and as if something was developing between you, even tho you hated yourself for that. So all of that was Miranda.
The realization doesn't hit all at once. It creeps in slowly and awkwardly, resting deep in your chest where it can't be ignored. And you despised it. You hate that it felt real and authentic to you. You hate that it still does.
Because that implies you replied to her. That shows you didn't see through it. That means some part of you, without knowing, let her in.
It makes your stomach turn. Miranda doesn't return as much after that. Perhaps it simply feels that way. She never touches you. Even though she performed some tests or examinations on Mia, she never touched you, not a single time.
Not once. Not even when you are close enough for it. It's as if she's established a boundary that she won't cross. It seems like she wouldn't touch until you want her to.
On the other hand, you don't speak to her. What she had done to your family still weighed heavily on your mind; you were worried about your brother and your niece, so your only chance to find out anything was to provoke her by ignoring her.
You reply when you have to, your eyes wandering away from hers as quickly as possible, refusing to give her anything that resembles what you offered her previously. No softness. There's no curiosity. There was no reaction she could cling to.
And she allows you. She doesn't force it. Doesn't demand anything. She simply stays near you, watching you while she's writing something into her journal. Sometimes she speaks quietly. You ignore it. You really try to. But it gets harder. You should hate her.
The day it breaks doesn't feel different at first. Her peacefulness collapses all at once.
"I did not want this!" The words spill out of her before she can stop them, loud enough to bounce off the walls, her voice breaking in an unusual way for someone who usually appears to be in control. Her fists tighten at her sides, claws biting into her own palms, shoulders rising and falling quickly. "You were never supposed to become this... this thing I cannot remove!"
She takes a step closer to the bars, but comes to a stop as if some part of her still refuses to cross that line, as if she is terrified of what she may do if she approaches too closely.
"I told myself it was just observation," she says, her voice trembling and every word pushed out as if it were physically hurting her. "You were supposed to be nothing. Nothing more than a variable in the experiment."
Her jaw tightens, and her look turns desperate and furious all at once.
"But you haven't vanished. You're stuck in my thoughts like a plague I couldn't shake. You were there when I woke, when I slept, and in every silence! Do you realize how frustrating that is? I've lived centuries. I have buried everything that could weaken me. And then you - "
She comes to a sudden pause, breathing hard. Her hands tremble now, fingers twitching as if she doesn't know what to do with them, as if she's physically clawing the emotion out of herself.
"I should have ended it," she says louder, "I should've killed you the moment I realized that something was wrong. It might have been better. Easier."
She lets forth a wobbly, bitter chuckle. "But I couldn't. I could not. And now everything is ruined."
Her chest rises and falls quickly, tears gathering despite her attempts to blink them away, "Rose is not enough. The vessel failed. Eva is still gone. Everything I fought for, every sacrifice, every step! And through all of that, I still..."
She hesitates, "I still thought of you."
"I hate it," Miranda says, her eyes burning and tears finally flowing freely. "I hate that you are the single thing I can't command. I hate that I need you when I shouldn't. I hate that I - "
Out of nowhere, Mia spoke up and started screaming. "Don't listen to her, she just wants to manipulate you an-n" Before she could finish, Miranda waved her hand in Mia's direction, sending her crashing into the wall, and Mia fainted for a moment.
"I love you." The confession doesn't come out soft. It comes out broken, angry, and afraid, as if it costs her something important to admit.
"And it means nothing," she says, her voice barely above a whisper, "Because it is not returned. And even if I locked you away for eternity, even if I forced you to stay until the world rots... it would not change that."
Her shoulders slump, and everything flows out of her at once. "I don't know how to exist with this," she says quietly, eyes red, voice breaking. "And I do not know how to exist without you, but living with the feeling that I'm hurting you is the worst thing for me."
She doesn't look at you after that. She just stands there, unraveling in front of you; she has no control at all. The silence doesn't last, the sound cutting through everything. A telephone. Ringing too loudly in the silence.
Miranda doesn't react immediately. Then it rings again, drawing her attention back to the telephone. She walked slowly over to the wall where an old telephone was mounted. She looks at it for a half-second before responding, her attitude already changing.
"...Yes." You cannot hear the other side.
Her gaze sharpens, her posture straightens, and something dark settles back into place behind her eyes as she processes what she has heard.
"I see." The call stops as quickly as it started. When she looks at you again, she is not the same. The tears are still visible. However, everything else is different. Like, her whole personality changed.
As if she'd already made a decision. She reaches into her coat, metal flashes in the dim light, and then she throws. The keys hit the floor inside your cell with a sharp sound, sliding just slightly before stopping near your feet.
Your sight slowly returns to her. She's already turned away. But not completely. She pauses briefly to look back over her shoulder, her face mystical.
"La revedere," she adds softly. (Goodbye,)
"Dragostea mea." (My love.)
Before you say anything, she's gone. Her body transforms into a swarm of black crows, their feathers spreading into the air, filling the room for a fleeting moment before fading as soon as they appeared.
The keys lie where they dropped for a time, as if neither of you completely thinks they are real. Then your hand wraps around them before you can think twice, the metal chilly in your palm as you push yourself toward the door. The lock opens easier than expected, the sound harsh in the silence as the door opens.
"She let us go?" Mia slowly woke up and saw you standing there with the keys.
Her door opens just as simply, and once she's free, there's no turning back or questioning it. You two leave. Fastly. You don't say much as you go, simply small, necessary words, your mind bent on getting out and finding a way through before something happens.
Something always does. That's your curse. When you eventually get outside, the village air feels colder. You are out. You made it out. Why does it seem wrong?
Mia is muttering something, her voice fading for a moment before rising again when she notices something happening ahead. People. Armed.
Relief flickers as he comes closer, his face sharp and focused, already examining both of you for injuries. "You're alive," he adds, speaking to himself rather than you.
Mia goes first, walking toward him and chatting fast, explaining things you hardly notice since your focus is already sliding, your mind drawing you someplace else, back to her.
You should not think about it. You are aware of this. You just escaped. You should be focusing on Mia, getting out, helping your brother, and doing everything to escape this hell. But instead, you're thinking about going back.
"Jesus, Ethan..." Chris mutters suddenly, drawing your attention back.
You glance up at him. "What?" Mia asks immediately."He's heading straight for her," he continues, "He's going to try and take Miranda down himself."
The words strike before you can stop them. Before you can even think, your body moves.
"What!! Hey?!" Chris starts screaming, but you're already running, reaching for the nearest vehicle without hesitating and clutching the door before anybody can stop you.
"Wait! Y/N!!" Mia calls, "What the fuck are you doing!??" You completely ignored her and kept going.
The engine starts gruffly, and your hands clench on the wheel as you speed away before Chris can reach you, before anybody can stop you from doing something you don't completely understand.
The road blurs under you, the village coming back into view. You should not be doing this. Fuck Y/N. When you arrive at the center of the chaos, you don't even fully stop the car before stepping out; your feet are already faster.
The battle is so loud and chaotic. Ethan and Miranda were trapped in the middle of it, everything around them already cracked. You sprint right at it. You don't think when you step between them with a gun, you found in Chris's car.
Your body smashing into the gap between them before any of them can finish what they started, arms slightly out, as if that alone could stop all that is about to happen.
Your voice cuts through the chaos like nothing else in the moment. Everything freezes. Mother Miranda is the first to react. No, not violently. She simply... stops. Completely. Something inside her refuses to move when she sees you standing between her and the guy she was going to kill.
"Move," she says, "You shouldn't be here."
You don't move. Not even an inch.
Behind you, you can hear Ethan move, his breathing rapid, his grasp tightening around the pistol, and Rose, who was holding him close.
"She's lying to you," Ethan says, "She's the reason for all of this, she's not who you think she is! Come here, sis!!"
"I know who she is," you interrupted him, without looking around, your gaze still fixed on Miranda.
"She kidnapped you," Ethan says louder now, "She used you, used Mia, used everyone - and you're standing in front of her like - "
"Like I chose this?" you say, your voice cutting through his.
You take a step towards Miranda, and she still doesn't stop you.
"You don't get to decide that for me,"
Ethan breathes out forcefully behind you, frustrated and eager. "She's going to kill us!"
"No," you reply right away.
Just a second, you're not sure if you're telling him that. Or yourself. Miranda's eyes have not left you. Not once. "You came back," she says, barely above a whisper, as if she doesn't believe it and is still trying to figure out how you're standing here at all.
"Don't do this," you say instead, and more aimed at her, your chest clenching at how near you are to her, "Please."
"Well, first tell that useless brother of yours, he came here thinking he could kill me. What a fool," she continues, "Everything depends on him."
"And everything already fell apart," you say quietly. Her gaze falls slightly, as if she knows it's true and has already said it herself. And then, a pistol clicks behind you. Your turn this time. Ethan has it raised again. Aimed directly at her. He was barely standing.
"Move," he shouts, his voice trembling now. "I'm ending this."
Your body moves before he pulls the trigger.
You rush into him, your hand catching his wrist hard enough to pull it down, your breathing rough as you push him back just enough to knock out his aim.
"What are you doing?!" he snaps, trying to back away. Getting his gun aimed back at Miranda, "No!" you reply more forcefully. You don't let go. He struggles for a second, the gun shifts in your grip.
You don't hesitate. You lift it at him.
Ethan freezes and looks at you, confused.
"Are you serious right now?" He breathes out, disbelief piercing through his tone, and stares at you as if he no longer recognizes you. "Are you pointing a gun at me? On your own brother???"
"Leave! Take Rose with you, and go back to Chris. Mia is already waiting for you. And never ever come back here. Do you hear me??" The word cuts him off completely.
"That's insane," he said after a while, shaking his head, his fury growing again. "She will murder you. You know she will. She's not capable of anything else."
He stands there with Rose in his arms, and you can't take your gaze away from him. But your voice doesn't change.
"And you just believe that?!" he snaps. "After everything she did to you?!"
"Yes." Ethan glances at you
"She's using you," he continues, "She is manipulating you. That is what she does."
That is what confuses him the most. "But I'm still choosing this."
His shoulders sag slightly, as if the conflict has drained him just enough for him to recognize he will not win this argument. Not with you. "Jesus..." he mutters under his breath, shaking his head and tightening his grasp on Rose for a moment before freeing himself again.
He stares at you one final time. Then past you. At her. "I'm not coming back for you," he admits in the end.
You nod, "I know." And he left...
You turn back to her, and she looks at you like she doesn't know what to do. You move closer. "You're hurt," you comment gently. She doesn't respond to you, but only gazes at you.
"You came back..." Her fingers hover near your face for a second, shaking slightly, before eventually making contact and brushing across your cheek.
Then her hand tightens slightly on your cheek, and her other moves to your waist, bringing you closer in a single swift motion, as if the gap between you had suddenly become unbearable, and she was tired of pretending she could keep herself back.
"You should not have done that," she says, but there is no warning, no rejection, just something almost desperate. "Do you understand what you've done to me?"
You don't get to reply. She doesn't give you a chance.
Her lips crash into yours, the kiss embracing you in an expression that seems like everything she's been holding back has finally found its way out. There is nothing careful about it. It's mostly overwhelming.
Her hand slips to the back of your neck, holding you there and keeping you close. When she pulls back, it's only for a breath...
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"Grace, you're breathing too fast."
"I'm not," she says quickly over comms, which would be more convincing if she weren't very obviously breathing too fast. You sit down under cover, shifting your grip slightly, your eyes searching the corridor as her voice fills your ear.
"You just said 'I'm not' in one breath," you explain gently. "That's kind of proving my point."
"I'm fine," she says quietly now. "Just focus, okay? Two hostiles ahead, one going left and one remaining at the door. Timing is important."
You grin to yourself. God, she's adorable.
"Copy that," you murmur softly this time, and you follow her instructions without hesitation, moving exactly when she tells you to, believing her completely, as you always do. That part isn't new.
What's New is how distracted you are. Because she is in your ear. Because you've been thinking about it for far too long.
You take the shot neatly, the first target falling quickly and the second a second later, before they know what's going on. "Good," Grace exhales, and you can hear the relief. "That was - good."
You lean back gently and let your shoulders rest. "Hey, Grace?"
"You wanna go out with me?"
You nearly laugh. "You heard me."
"I—no, I didn't - I mean I did, but - why are you asking me that right now?" She struggles over the sentences, her voice rising slightly in pitch and losing its calm.
"Timing matters," you say casually.
"That's not what I meant, and you know it!" She stops herself short, and you can just hear her anxiety as she tries to restore control and fails miserably. "We're literally in the middle of a mission!"
"And you can't just, just ask something like that like it's normal!" she shouts, "You're supposed to say things like that... I don't know, after, or somewhere normal, not while I'm trying to keep you alive!"
You grin. "So is that a yes?"
"But you didn't say no either."
"I-I," she pauses again, "This is not fair."
"Because you're doing this while I can't even look at you, you're just - talking like it's nothing and I'm..."
She cut herself off again.
"When this is finished," you continue, "I will ask you again. Properly."
"Don't die before that," she says hastily, "Because I swear I will be so mad at you."
You giggle behind your breath. "Noted, Ma'am"
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