Enlighten me, my Lady?

Chapter 2: Arriving Home

TWS for this chapter: pain from injuries, allusions to abuse in the past and homophobia

It takes you hours to finally be down from your highrise of terror and confusion, during which Lady Dimitrescu - the name entrusted to you while you wept against her chest - carries you to the castle's grand library and wraps you in warm shawls and blankets, never leaving your side.

You don't know why you're not mortified to spill your feelings out in the open in front of this woman who clearly isn't human. She could probably rip you to ribbons in seconds, kill you without hesitation, yet you find her voice calming and grounding in ways you can't comprehend. So, you cling onto it, desperately so.

It feels like your tears are never-ending and you hold hope close to your heart that you could just shed your pain away like that until everything would make sense. However, as the already stretched thin strength drains from you, you have to settle with weak, empty sobs against the unfamiliar embrace. Nothing your body offers you that moment is bringing you enlightenment, exhaustion doesn't treat you kindly, and eventually even staying awake proves too much for your body to handle.

You hear the Lady of the castle say something before you fall asleep, but you're too far in to actually make due of them. Still, the comfort of them follows you and coats your dreams in softness that you need with your entire soul.

You feel a sense of familiarity when you open your eyes, like this wouldn't be only the second time within a day that you've done this exact same thing with the exact same confusion dwelling in your chest. Thankfully, this time you're not choking on your own tears at least.

The cold towel placed on your face is a small detail that makes you feel safe and cared for. Somewhere at the back of your head you feel a lingering wave of sadness wash over you; like this small gesture cast upon would be something you haven't experienced much before. As much as the thought is depressing it's also bringing you hope in the sea of unknown.

Slowly, you prop yourself to sit up and let the towel drop. The library is shrouded in gentle darkness, the sun already laying down to rest, and you wonder if you've slept for a few hours or for much, much longer. Judging by the stiffness of your limbs and the soreness of your throat, it must have been a considerate amount of time since the initial chaos.

Your gaze travels as you let yourself catch your breath, your hands picking apart the frays of the quilt covering your legs.

The roaring fireplace has a full stack of spruce thrown into it, probably not too long ago, considering that the flames have barely had time to nettle into the wood. You glance at the bookshelves that almost reach the roof in their high glory, and you must admit to yourself that you find the harmony of black, red and gold recurring in the decoration quite mesmerizing.

Slowly, but surely, you start to feel fear step away for a moment, replaced by curiosity and the comfort of the coziness the space around offers you. You push away the nagging at the back of your head telling you that you're not deserving of such luxury. It's not your own thought, not exactly so, but the ache inside tells you it's been repeated to you enough that it has stuck like glue. It weighs on your heart, despite your best attempts to ignore it.

With a shake of your head, a move that makes you regret everything as pain shoots down your spine, you focus on the decor again.

The divan you're laying on has an art nouveau style side table propped next to it, and you pay attention to the leather bound book there, placed on the edge with a crimson red bookmark sticking from the corner.

You wonder if Lady Dimitrescu is the one who left it there. You nearly wish so, desperation humming against your chest painfully so as you squeeze your hand against your thigh. You don't know her, you don't know anything right now, but she's the only thing that gives a harbor to your ache, for reasons not bestowed to you yet.