𝕯𝖎𝖒𝖎𝖙𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖈𝖚 𝕸𝖆𝖎𝖉

𝔚𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔫 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔟𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔞𝔩𝔢 𝔞𝔡𝔳𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔰 𝔅𝔲𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔬𝔬𝔯 𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔰 𝔗𝔬 𝔤𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯 𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯 𝔟𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔶 𝔰𝔬𝔴𝔫 𝔖𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔰𝔬𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔪𝔞𝔶 𝔣𝔩𝔬𝔴

[sacrificialmaiid]

... if anyone FINDS IT  could they please return it to her bathroom... 

Milena Hofer. The canonically unnamed, diary-writing Dimitrescu ‘maid’ of Resident Evil Village and the RE Maiden demo. Independent and semi-selective. 18+ only. WIP.

𝕽𝖚𝖑𝖊𝖘  𝕬𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖁𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖊𝖘

[greelin]

if you see me bleeding out with a vampire on top of me MIND YOUR BUSINESS!!!!! i’m exactly where i want to be

[dimitresca]

i think what i like about milencina is that alcina sets up her whole world to buy what she likes. the ultimate power is supposed to be wealth, which she wields all of. and milena still just isn't someone who can be bought. she works to send money back for her family, but ultimately she's a (gentle) wild animal, and alcina is someone she slowly chooses because she likes the flashes of humanity she sees in her. alcina wants financial control and milena is someone who can be financially exploited (poor) but never controlled (forced). as a maid she was willing to die because she assumed no reform of alcina was possible. but alcina does change. ppl do change when they have gentle, good influences (over 80 years anyway. and while alcina is generous toward milena, she doesn't reform or change her tyrannical ways). i think milena's acceptance of alcina where she's at and constant curiosity to see her grow and change is part of why its posible for alcina to change. if she's forced into it, its traumatic and she digs her heels in, gets weirder and more savage and resentful. milena never demands anything, she only wants things. and alcina just would consume the world to give it.

[devotedecay]

❥      NON - SEXUAL   ACTS   OF   DOMINANCE . 

feel free to edit or elaborate as you please .   ( add  ‘ reverse ‘  to your message if you’d like to see how my muse would perform the action ) . otherwise , send in one of these for my muse’s reaction to   …

[ lit ]  your muse lighting a cigarette , spliff , etc. for mine . 

[ order ]  your muse ordering for mine at a restaurant or bar .

[ guide ]  your muse putting a hand on mine’s back to lead them .

[ pay ]  your muse paying for mine at a store , bar , restaurant , etc . ( you can specify where or for what . )

[ open ]  your muse opening a door for mine .

[ dry ]  your muse drying mine off with a towel after a shower , bath , swimming , etc . 

[ instruct ]  your muse giving mine instructions / telling them what to do . 

[ groom ]  your muse adjusting mine’s appearance , such as straightening a tie , fixing their hair , or buttoning their shirt for them , etc . 

[ direct ]  your muse taking mine by the chin and telling them to look yours in the eye .

[ disagree ]  your muse sternly telling mine  ‘ no ‘ .

[ rest ]  your muse resting their arm over mine’s shoulder / s .

[ clean ]  your muse cleaning a smudge of something off mine’s cheek , forehead , etc .   feel free to specify what and how . 

[ answer ]  your muse answering a question meant for mine . 

[ coat ]   your muse holds mine’s coat out for them while they put it on .

[ pilot ]  your muse taking mine by the arm , hand , shoulder , etc . to lead them . 

[ stare ]  your muse staring mine down . 

[ placement ]  your muse telling mine to sit down .

[ teach ]  your muse taking control of mine’s hand , arm , hips , etc . to make sure they do something correctly .  

[ patience ]  your muse telling mine to be patient .

[ tears ]  your muse wiping away mine’s tears .

[ swat ]  your muse swatting mine’s hand away from something they’re not supposed to touch .  

[ jewelry  ]  your muse clasping a piece of jewelry for mine , such as a necklace , or earrings . 

[ enough ]  your muse commanding mine to stop talking . 

[ retrieve ]  your muse requesting or ordering mine to retrieve them something .

[ invite ]  your muse inviting mine to sit on their lap .

[ lean ]  your muse inviting mine to lean into their side while they’re sitting or laying together . 

[ calm ]   your muse telling mine to  ‘ just breathe ‘ .

[ scold ]  your muse scolding mine for something .

[ comfort ]  your muse pulling mine into a reassuring hug .

[ approval ]  your muse complimenting mine on a choice they’ve made .

[ beckon ]  your muse beckoning mine to them without speaking . 

[ laces ]  your muse lacing , tying , or zipping something for mine , such as shoes , a dress , or a jacket , etc .

[ stay ]  your muse telling mine to stay in the car . 

[ defend ]  your muse defending mine’s reputation , dignity , or safety for them . 

[ feed ]  your muse feeding mine something , feel free to specify what .

[ volume ]  your muse demanding mine speak louder .

[ read ]  your muse reading something to mine .

[ refill ]  your muse refilling mine’s glass for them . 

[ possessive ]  your muse resting their hand on mine’s leg or the small of their back while they’re sitting beside each other . 

[dimitresca]

"'Love is a mysterious thing, isn’t it?' The Duke asks her as he hands her back the statue of her late Lady. Milena is wordless at that. In response to what she trades away - gold from the locked coffers - he clicks his tongue and spares her a smile. 'Remember, Milena: nothing loved is ever truly wasted.'"

After the events of the game, the Village is destroyed. Only one person is left alive: Milena Hofer, the Lady Dimitrescu's favourite maid and lover.

But amongst the mournful silence, something from deep in the caves starts calling to her. By day, she labours for Mother Miranda, bitterly plotting revenge on the prophet who left her Mistress to die. By night, underground, she is visited by a vision of her Mistress who seems to be reliving her old memories.

story written by @dimitresca and @sacrificialmaiid

[pyrlspite]

due to personal reasons I will be cheating death

[dimitresca]

@sacrificialmaiid wanted a little royal au treat

No sooner had the exiled former Queen died, than the King had begun his search to replace her, his current Queen. Oh, no one had said it. Not directly. Not to her. But her raucously laughing self-serving friends had held her hand and been so very smiling toward her. She is a woman who makes no one smile, if she can help it - not really. Alcina can make them smirk, or brave the approximation of a smile. Lord Bartlett had been brave enough to clasp her hand and tell her that he has always thought she'd been an alright sort. She'd snapped her hand back like he'd burned her, and when she'd looked at him with an eye to diminish him into nothing but a whipping post, he'd spun away to the dance floor again, blinking into nothing in the golden candle-light. The first gasp afterwards was haughty, frosted with ire. The gaze she threw at the foot of the King was laden with accusation: aren't you going to do anything? But he was already speaking with his advisor, laughing about --- something. Apparently not.

This is how she finds herself, cinched, primped, and buried in her dress next to his next wife. She's oh so certain of it. How else would this little girl from a little house be sat beside her? It's a message. She's not stupid. The best cover for his little affair is her. Her ally, the Duke, had come to her with wine. When she'd asked him to confirm what he'd heard about her fate, he had asked her in turn if she lived with regret. This was as close as she'd allow him to stray into the realm of telling her bluntly that she is not long for the throne. The best person to train up his next wife is her. For him, she could summon everything except feeling. For most Kings, that would be enough. Her hand grips a fork and she digs the butt of it into her table, staring ahead of her. Her predecessor had lived out the rest of her life in a nunnery. Did she fancy the same? Her gaze turns to Milena, who is staring up at her with something like adoration. The girl is a fool, and one of the biggest fools she's ever met, at that. She speaks endlessly of things appearing to her by prayer, relentlessly of her family and their games. Most unforgivably, she prattles on about animals and her love of them, but with a drooling, saccharine whining. For long moments, they have enjoyed silence. Silence enough for her to think. To mull. To resent. Turning it over in her mind as she does, she can see no path forward but to ruin the girl. Befriend her. Corrupt her. Expose her.

She's heretofore been cold to the girl. For weeks now, Milena has been by her side (and thus, by his) and yapping for attention like an excited little pup who has only been fed sausages from the dining table, and never whipped. The reason for their delightful silence now is that she has all but filled the conversation with lead, weighing it down to sink into nothing. Just then, the harp music stops. The princess - her daughter - stands from behind it, and the hall applauds. She drops the fork she'd gripped so tightly that it may have been a murdered man, were it a man, and applauds. After long seconds of applause, she stands. It is only good to remind the King that she is a loving mother. She's a mother. She can't be sent away. But, the last Queen was a mother also. "Wonderful, darling," the words tumble out like gold coins when Daniela comes to her, aching for kind words. His Majesty the King stands as well, and steals Daniela from her into a hug. Carefully, her expression stays steady. Oh, she resents him. That big gold chain on his pig's neck calls to her: choke him. When he lets Daniela go, the girl is right back into her arms, and she's whispering in the language they share that the King doesn't that girls must sleep earlier than adults. When the girl is gone, the King glances at her, sidelong. She can tell in that moment she's displeased him - outdone him. When the Queen sits, again she faces that question. Her wine is bitter, and she drinks heavily. How does she approach the question of Milena? When Alcina decides to look at the girl, she sees she's already being stared at. For one blinding moment, they make direct eye-contact. Milena is small and pretty in every way a girl should be: her eyes are wide and far apart, like a doe. Perfectly prey in nature. Her lips are soft, her hair the colour of sun-roasted wheat. It's a startling sight. She's a yew tree, her pink dress is but a fruit hanging. The Queen goes still. She's taller - her eyes screw down into the girl, before she breaks and smiles one large, false smile. "That's a surprisingly pretty dress." It's weak and pithy as they come, in terms of openings. Never content, she continues. Her fingers reach out, and she brushes a strand of hair aside. As she does so, she sees a disfigured ear poking through. Her eyes avert. She traces the gold lacing that outlines this flat-chested child's decolletage. "I imagine you don't rear your pups in pretty things like these?" Hadn't the girl said something about breeding pups? She isn't to know - the babble is incessant (by Alcina's standards) and she has rebelled against this awful future that Milena represents by ignoring her, and treating her harshly. But she'll be damned if she lets this pining little nothing take her from her children.

[sacrificialmaiid]

Milena is a girl who has wanted for very little her entire life. Though relatively easy to please, she has never known longing great enough to be anything otherwise. Since birth she has been a happy, bright girl, showered in pearls and silver where she would always have much rather be showered in the summer sun.

She knows that it is an honour to be considered for invitation to these banquets, even if she is little more than a representation for her family and another pretty face to fill the hall for the King -- and the King certainly does seem happy to see her, inviting her to walks around the rose gardens and asking her countless, inane questions that she's quite certain she has already answered on different occasions. His eyes on her are peculiar and vaguely unsettling, but it's a small price to pay so that she might indulge in the company of his lovely wife.

The Queen, as it happens, is the most beautiful woman that Milena has ever seen in her short life. Since their first meeting, Milena had tried (and failed) not to stare. She is tall, pale, and regal with hair the colour of pitch and eyes like a hawk's. Milena had been instantly enamoured, of course, and from that point had been rather glad for the King's attention, actually, because near to the King so often meant being near to the Queen.

Case in point, she is happy to have been sat directly next to the Queen for the duration of their meal this evening, her besotted gaze only interrupted when a round of applause sounds for the young Princess' music recital. She startles as though rousing from slumber and her lashes flutter as she blinks herself out of a near doze, quickly beginning to applaud along with the rest of the crowd.

A little cluelessly, she blinks at the Queen as she embraces her daughter and coos something to her in a strange tongue, staring as though this too is part of the performance.

The Princess retreats to bed, Milena assumes, and her chin finds its way to her hand, elbow resting on the table while she resumes her adoring stare. She's been chattering happily to the Queen for the greater part of the evening, and the older woman has seemed content to ignore her for the most part -- but that's alright! Milena has often been told that she has a mouth that could run itself dry. Not everyone is quite as sociable, she supposes... Until -- !

The sudden attention actually surprises her and she blinks rather stupidly for a moment. "I -- oh, thank -- thank you -- !"

She splutters and flinches when the Queen's nimble fingertips find the hair by her ear. She is embarrassed, overtly self-conscious by her disfigurement. Fortunately, she's saved from having to address the issue when the other woman continues, her touch now finding the golden embroidery on the girl's chest. Milena imagines she can likely feel her heart pounding away beneath her pretty dress.

"Oh, no, Your Majesty," she says earnestly. "No, my -- my Mother would never let me. Especially not the pups, they're so clumsy..."

Quickly, she realises who she's talking to and shuts up, but continues to sit and stare expectantly at the Queen, practically basking in her attention.

[dimitresca]

Milena is so kind. It's deeply irritating. "I said be quiet," Alcina hisses into her good ear, fingers threading through her pretty blonde hair. She tugs a little, like one would with a kitten's nape. With that sweet pain of penetration, her eyebrows are pinched together, her eyes shut tight, and her bottom lip bitten so tightly that it disappears, her teeth raking over the dark red lipstick.

Of course she wants to do something nice for her little lover. The last few days had been awful to watch: Milena couldn't even summon a silly girlish giggle at the thought of any of her regulars (climbing trees, touching Alcina's breasts, or farm animals.) Nora Hofer had so much to answer for - not least of which is her terribly decorated apartment. There's poor, and then there's style-less. At least the others seemed to forgive her when she brandished her favourite facts: she's rich and they need money. Only Fillip had seemed unsure still. And Mattei, of course, who whispered only that he was going to kill himself. She's always had an abiding fondness for Mattei, because of his abiding fondness for her. She patted his cheek and told him not to, and he'd gone red and nodded solemnly.

Regardless. It's perhaps, possibly, maybe a little bit accurate to say she feels a certain guilt. She's not to blame, of course. For once. But it seems more prudent than ever to treat Milena to the high-points of love. One of which is access to a body like hers, with her pretty face, heavy chest, and full thighs. And if she can be pleasured at the same time as cheering up Milena, so much the better. If there is any factor here that is purely for Milena's enjoyment and not at all hers, its the keeping on of her clothes, with which she is usually meticulously careful and clean. But she thinks the illusion of impulsivity will do something for Milena's heart that antibiotics would do for a sick pet. She lets out a whine, tight little pants coming out of her in time with the heave of her chest. All she's done thus far is slide down, feeling the head of the strap piercing into her. It isn't painless. The thing slides inside of her and she lowers her mouth to Milena's neck, biting down for comfort. Her back arches way from Milena. Oh, to be a young woman. Oh, to be as slick as oil non-stop. "I'm not as young as I was," she pants, her hand flicking aside her white dress fabric, and searching for the strap. She angles it, and tries rocking upon Milena's lap twice. Her left eye twinges. "M- Milena-aah- ha... ! I'm getting up. " She hisses, before exhaling sharply. She shakes her head. "You're just so big. That's the problem," she knows men like hearing that. Strap etiquette surely can't be so different. Her knees straighten, and she begins to half-stand. "Help me up," she snaps in her voice, the sultry tone now completely gone. Her hand pats Milena's face twice. "Ho-ahhh." She exclaims, smoothing down her dress when she stands, hands on her hips. She stands, a hand on her lower belly, the other on her hip. Milena could look disappointed or worried - that's all secondary. She kicks the pillow over from earlier with a flick of her high-heel. It lands between the heels of Milena Hofer, presumably too afraid to land imperfectly. Alcina smiles, a finger gesturing to the pillow, her eyes alight. There's something so fun about being with Milena. No pressure. No fear. Just a gentle girl, being fucked until she can't tell daylight from moonlight. "Aren't you going to invite me down?"

[sacrificialmaiid]

Milena watches Alcina move atop her as though God Himself had placed her there, as though she's something holy and Milena is worshipping at an alter for her. Of course, neither of these images could be further from the truth. If anything, Alcina Dimitrescu had been placed on this earth directly by Satan to carry out his will -- specifically targeting Milena, most of the time, it seems.

Alcina hisses at her to be quiet, and she shuts her little rosebud mouth immediately. She knows all too well that her lover has no qualms whatsoever about cutting an interaction short if she so much as puts a foot wrong -- it wouldn't be the first time, after all. Milena had learned fast due to necessity as well as her innate desire to please.

Her fingers go searching for stability in the slippery silk of Alcina's skirts, her breath hitching and catching with excitement. It's not as if she can feel it when Alcina lowers herself -- not exactly. But it isn't about that. It's everything that she can feel that matters: the weight of Alcina slowly easing into her lap, the warmth of her plush thighs bracketing Milena's own, the huff of air that leaves her as she steadies herself, the way the movement rocks the flat of the strap against Milena's most tender, sensitive parts...

She glances up just in time to see Alcina's face tense with the pain of it and (she can't help herself) she parts her lips to try to say something again, before the other woman is quick to lower herself towards Milena's neck and take a firm bite and all that Milena manages to produce is a strangled whimper.

It's rather funny, considering the position that she's in, she wonders if she ought to feel more powerful than she does. 'Powerful' never really comes into it when it comes to having sex with Alcina, regardless of the position she takes. She knows her lover well, she knows that penetration is not always straight forward for her. That allows no room for Milena to be authoritative in any way, and that suits her perfectly well. She is more than happy for Alcina to set the pace -- she enjoys it, in fact, knowing that this is only happening because Alcina has decided that she is lucky enough to be privy to it. Penetrating Alcina always feels like she is some small, sad male spider risking their luck engaging with a black widow: oh how fun it is at the time -- fun enough that they mustn't care about being the main course to follow.

Even when Alcina comments on how 'big' she is, she doesn't feel particularly powerful, though the lewdness of the comment draws a flush out of her.

She feels an awful, shameful pleasure in it. The sight of Alcina under duress and moaning on top of her is... well... it's mesmerising. It has her lower stomach feeling wound tight, something inside of her about to snap like a rubber band. In hindsight, she will reflect on this moment and try to understand what it is that's so exciting about all of this, about Alcina's complaints that she's older and the way that she huffs and grunts her way through it. It's almost certainly something psychologically broken inside of her, but at the moment her mind is too scrambled to even begin to care.

Alcina announces that she's getting up and, dazed, Milena's hands go to try to help her -- for all the good they really do, weak as her muscles feel from pure arousal. She swears she feels a little light-headed as she watches the other, the movements of her hands drawing Milena's attention to her waist and hips.

"Y-You don't have to --" she begins to murmur, but Alcina seems barely to hear her, cutting her off again. She already has a brand new plan and she's standing there expectantly, a cushion ready for her sore knees already sitting between Milena's feet.

Milena looks at the cushion as though she's never seen one before, and then back up at her lover as though she's never seen her before either. She swallows, hard, and tries to tame her racing thoughts. "O-Oh..." she stammers. "Um, I -- uh -- Are you going to...?"

Her voice trails off weakly, but her body seems to already know exactly what Alcina is planning on doing, her thighs twitching apart to make room between them automatically and her hips inching forwards on the couch where she's firmly planted. She can hardly believe it -- the idea of Alcina doing something that seems so, well, degrading just doesn't seem feasible. And yet here she is. Having just situated a pillow between Milena's feet.

[sacrificialmaiid]

“You should show me that trick of yours again.” She touches a gloved finger to her lips.

Milena had been utterly delighted to learn that, for all her worldly ways, the Lady Dimitrescu had never been introduced to kissing on the mouth -- ! She had told her favourite little maid as much, with widened eyes and a quirked brow that Milena could only take to mean utter surprise and bewilderment that such a concept existed.

It feels fair, she thinks. After all, the Lady herself had been the first to originate the concept that two women could show affection in the way that a man and a woman ought -- the way that they had been taught to in the village to ensure the survival of healthy families. Of course, the Lady and her maid have no such goal here in the dark, heated confines of the Countess' private chambers, and that suits Milena perfectly. It seems fair, she thinks, that Milena should have some shred of secret knowledge to exchange in turn.

"Yes, my Lady," she titters, instantly brightening and half-skipping her way over to her mistress' lap like a little bird hopping onto its perch.

Her thin little arms loop securely around the Lady's neck, and its clear from the expression on her face that she thinks herself ever-so-clever, with the upper hand that this special trick has given her.

Like a hummingbird dipping into a flower, she drops the sweetest kiss upon her Lady's mouth, her lips as delicate as butterfly wings. Her long hair slides down over her shoulder to tickle the Lady's chest and she giggles, looking perfectly smug.

"I can't believe you hadn't heard of it, Mistress. Perhaps it's something only village girls know about."

[sacrificialmaiid]

ATTENTION ALL. Milena Hofer actually taught the Lady Dimitrescu how to kiss… on the mouth!! She did not know how to do that before. Fortunately, Milena overheard the other village girls talking about it when she was younger so she was able to introduce this absolutely revolutionary move to her mistress. Thank god for Milena Hofer, I say.

[sacrificialmaiid]

Merry Christmas Happy Glory Day everyone! Let’s all remember the real reason for the season: giving thanks to the black god, praising Mother Miranda, and slaughtering all the village’s fattest geese! ♡

[residentevilrpc]

like  and  reblog  this  post  if  you  are  a  resident evil  independent  roleplay  blog  to  be  added  to  a  masterlist.  if  you  are  a  multimuse  specify  which  muses  you  roleplay.  please include this format in the tags:

character  name / game they appear in  /  single  or  multi  /  canon  or  oc

[adrienne-larussa]

Psychout for Murder (1969) dir. Rossano Brazzi

[sacrificialmaiid]

It may be Alcina's birthday... But everyday is Milena's birthday when she's eye level with this. @dimitresca

[sacrificialmaiid]

It should go without saying, but Milena has very little money. Her wages go directly to her family's home, the sum of each month's work sent to the Hofer household in a neat little envelope. She keeps none for herself, relying on hand-me-downs and shared resources amongst the maids to keep her going. If her clothes develop holes, she simply darns them herself. If her soles begin to peel away from her shoes, she mends them with a thick needle and yarn, careful not to prick herself, her hands numb from cold. There are no luxuries for her -- there are rarely even needs which are fulfilled.

Her first two years at the Castle slink by. She is summoned by the lady each evening for blood letting and other carnal pleasures. Somehow, things move slowly into a new direction as they begin to spend more time together, the lady teaching her to read and to play cards so as to be a more stimulating companion.

It is on her third year that Milena learns that the Countess' birthday falls upon the 21st day of December. She has begun sleeping curled either upon the plush armchair in the corner of the lady's chambers or - when both fate and the Lady Dimitrescu smile upon her simultaneously - she is invited to share the Countess' bed.

On the day that she sees the Lady preparing herself carefully, dressed in her finest, only to discover that she is going to enjoy a birthday dinner with her daughters, she is mortified. She wasn't to know, of course, but she still feels like she doesn't measure up at all with absolutely nothing to offer to mark the occasion. Even when the lady returns to her rooms, merry on wine and the company of her children, Milena is rather reserved.

This year, she is prepared. She has started her project several weeks in advance -- a handkerchief embroidered with the Dimitrescu family crest and surrounded by roses. This, she has rolled into a little cylinder and wrapped with brown paper and string, two crocus flowers tucked in against the wrapping. She had even swiped a piece of fine stationary from the lady's writing desk to write in lieu of a card.

She waits until the Countess takes her mid-morning cigarette pause before she finally makes her move, approaching her in one of the smaller drawing rooms, pulling her little gift and note from the pocket in the front of her apron and sidling up to her mistress bashfully.

"Um -- My Lady... I have something for you."

@dimitresca asked for a birthday starter!

[greelin]

like in all seriousness your fangs look beautiful in this lighting. But we have to focus

[embodies]

its home is but a hovel in the mire of the reservoir, cavernous and echoing with the howls of its experiments and the mournful cries of itself. the wails of whales are not unlike its own. the sludge of its enzymes covers the walls in a thick and pulsating goo, some dripping from the ceilings into slimy stalactites. one would have to hold some sort of death wish to come here voluntarily. a screw loose. mad as a hatter. nutty as a fruitcake. it likes fruitcake. but the thought of guests nonetheless titillates moreau, so when the woman presents herself unannounced and thoroughly out of place in such a pitiful residence, it works double time to ensure her needs are met. not quite swanning around the tunnels but rather trudging at a hurried pace, the sounds of its feets like wet jelly slapping upon the rocky floor. ❛ c-can i interest you in tea ? ❜ it waves an amphibian paw over a steaming vessel, more vat than teapot, the brew inside pungent and bubbling. those weak of stomach, do not look too closely. perhaps recognising its beverage's inadequacy before it can be pointed out, beady eyes search frantically for a more suitable alternative. spotting its bedside television remnants of cheese, it deviates.

❛ or . . . or is le fromage more your taste ? ❜ it has the urge to say mademoiselle, recalling a past life trying to court beautiful women with arrays of gifts and delicacies. the memories pile thick in its throat and it guffaws, unsavourily depositing a phlegmy pile at its feet. it clasps its own hands in shame, head habitually lowered so as not to meet her gaze.

@sacrificialmaiid. ♡

[sacrificialmaiid]

The village children used to tell stories of a monster that lived in the reservoir. At seven, she had believed them. At seventeen, she had laughed and tossed her hair over one shoulder and then swam in that very water with the eldest of her cousins.

Milena thinks now of her tender, sun-kissed legs having floated tantalisingly just above those dark depths where she is now certain that this creature had surely lurked all the while. The thought alone causes a light, clammy sweat to bead upon her forehead as Lord Moreau staggers through his creaking, water-logged territory. Were he capable of anything more than a lumber, he may almost have looked busy with how he frets over the amenities.

Funny, Milena thinks. She had never been treated as anyone who might deserve any degree of respect or dignity in so very long. In the village, there had been shreds of community and family. In the castle, there are none -- her blood is too lowly for the Countess, and yet her tastes now run too queer for the other staff. She is isolated -- painfully so, and yet that is not quite enough to outweigh her creeping fear of the creature before her.

Lord Moreau offers her putrid tea and sweating cheese and then vomits right at his own feet. Her stomach flips, but if there is one thing that she has grown competent in, it's maintaining a calm demeanour.

"Thank you, my Lord," she says softly, nodding her head forwards in a short, respectful bow for whatever he might look like, he is still a Lord.

"It's very kind of you to offer, but my Lady does not permit me to indulge, I'm afraid. She prefers that I eat according to a set diet."

It's embarrassing to admit, but ultimately less painful than eating anything that Lord Moreau offers her. The imprint of her Mistress' jaw throbs beneath the bandage on the juncture between her neck and shoulder.