✧𝐘𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚'𝐚𝐦... ✧||Lady Dimitrescu x Fem! reader (wlw fluff/smut fanfic)

{𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞}

❦

The cold nibbled at my nose, small flecks on snow drifting down and resting on the old wooden window frame. It was the middle of the winter, another wave of the flu causing many residents of the village to stay at home. The chickens outside cooed and clucked as they ate the bits of grain sprinkled moments before in the snow. I turn from my seat and shut the window, the wind howling in protest. The chicken's clucks and squawks silenced to mumbles behind the wooden window blind.

I could hear my father grumbling from his bed, the stubborn old man bedridden from sickness. I stood up, my dress skirt brushing against the sandy stone floor of the small house we called home. My heeled boots clicked softly on the ground as I strode towards his bedside, my nimble hands reaching over to throw another blanket onto him. "How are you feeling, father?" I asked while tucking him in. His face was illuminated by the few candles that proved as a source of light and the fireplace that gave us warmth. We were poor simple folk, we couldn't afford electricity or heating, unlike the Lords that served Mother Miranda.
"I want some soup.." My father groaned, the wrinkles on his face becoming more defined as he scowled. I sighed, I knew that he would rather be at work than stuck in bed. I am glad that he is as corruptive as this, I thought as I nodded and went into the other room. A bubbling pot of pork stew sat on the stove, ready at any moment to feed my father. He had a stomach of a wolf these days. I grabbed a bowl from the cupboard and filled it halfway with the stew with a wooden spoon which was distorted from many years of use.
I readjusted my dull green shawl on my shoulders before heading back into the living room, my father sitting up from his nest of blankets and pillows. A grey beard aligned his chin and jaw, his brown eyes soft and kind despite his sharp facial structure. He had dark and bushy eyebrows with flecks of grey, his hair matching with more grey than brown. His face was flushed with fever, his eyes sunken from old age and exhaustion. These last couple of days it seems like his age has been catching up with him. I sat at the edge of his bed, handing him the bowl and a metal spoon. He nodded and placed the bowl in his lap as steam raised from the stew before placing a spoonful into his mouth. His voice was raspy and deep when he spoke, his eyebrows furrowed. "You should be out working and finding a husband, not taking care of me."
"I know Father," I replied, my (e/c) eyes glancing to my hands which rested in my lap. He looked at me with his serious expression, a tint of judgement in his eyes. "You are 18 years of age, are you not Y/N?" He asked, his voice still husky from illness. I looked at him and frowned slightly, this topic was always depressing. "Yes father, and before you bug me I don't fancy any of the young men in the village," I replied, standing up from his bedside to walk back towards the window.
"And work?" He asked, shoving another spoonful of stew into his cranky trap. My frown grew, a slight bit of disappointment tainted my facial features. "I've told you, I am going today to the Dimitrescu castle, most of the younger women in the village have applied to work there. Even Anastasia has applied!" I explained, my (h/c) eyebrows furrowing. My father thought for a moment before giving a curt nod. "Good, your working for one of the four lords that rule this land."
A moment of silence filled the room, the candle flames flickering softly from the drafts that wisped from the door frame. I stood up, wrapping myself up in a tattered black jacket that used to be my mother's. "I have to leave now before I end up being late, Anastasia is meeting up with me at the crested gate," I spoke sternly, my father's face faltering from his serious look. "If your hungry after you finished there is still some in the pot on the stove. Please don't get up to much," I warned, directing a hostile gaze at my old man. He grumbled in defiance but agreed silently.

Without another word, I opened the front door to be greeted with freezing wind. I quickly stepped out and shut the door behind me, fumbling around with the mental ring of keys on my belt. Once the key fitted into the lock and a small click was heard, I started on my journey down the rough path of the village. Despite living in the twenty first century, our village was very outdated, small homes without proper heating or electricity, a smartphone was foreign in this small village in Romania. The snow crinkled under the rubber soles of my boots, my eyes fixated forward as I focused on the path ahead instead of the conversion a few moments before with my father.
How would he know about finding a lover, my mother had died five years ago and my father hasn't remarried yet. He can't complain about me finding a husband if we won't find a wife. The subject of finding a husband was tricky because frankly, I didn't find men attractive. I know that it is a sin to view women sexually if you were also, but I can't deny the feelings that I have and pretend that I like men. The village had very traditional views, remote from the rest of the world. There was no 'god' though, only the guidance of the strange woman Mother Miranda. My family has no money for me to move out of the village, let alone buy new clothes. Everything I own now once belonged to my mother. My thoughts were disrupted as the soft padding of feet sounded from behind. I turned around to view a young woman with flowing strawberry blonde pigtails spilling out from under a white bonnet. A small smile slipped as I slowed my pace to give her a chance to catch up.