Fair Maiden - Alcina x Fem Reader

77: The Final Hour

THE DAY OF THE CEREMONY. THE FINAL HOUR.

***Diary Entry of Alcina Dimitrescu***

Today's the day. It crept up on us quicker than any of us could have imagined. Mother Miranda's long awaited ceremony. To hell with the ceremony. She's a damn fool if she thinks she's going to be victorious. Although, she has managed to get deep into all of our heads.

The more I think about it, the more I realize everything in the past year has somehow led to this moment. One thing pairs with another. Mother Miranda had to have this entire thing planned. Somehow. Perhaps I'm overthinking it. Either way, I long for this day to come to and end. I want my daughters and wife safe at home. I want to hear their happy laughter, not their anxious silence.

Not a single word has been spoken since we left the vineyard. Joy of the past few days has been replaced with dread an worry. Understandably so. Even I am guilty of such feelings in this moment.

The girls are in the dungeon, trying to distract themselves with torturing a prey that devil dog so graciously brought them on his journey home. Y/N is curled up by the fire, drawing for the first time in ages. Well, trying to draw. As I write, I can hear her ripping one page after another from her sketchbook.

I can't even imagine what my love is feeling. In her mind, everyone is relying on her. And in a selfish way, I suppose we are. Although, I hope she knows that she's not alone in this fight. Miranda has hurt all of us, put us through countless years of torture. It's time it comes to an end. Y/N, of all people, deserves to live a life without torment.

Alas, we have reached the final hour before the ceremony. The clock is ticking, haunting my ears with daunting clicks. I think a stiff drink is called for.

-Alcina Dimitrescu

Having enough of your own frustration, you huff and toss your sketchbook onto the ground. It nearly lands in the fire, balancing on the lip of the stone fireplace. You can't think, let alone produce anything on paper. Everything you've attempted to draw comes out as unidentified scribbles. Fitting for the scattered thoughts in your mind. Alcina approaches with light footsteps, bending down to lift your sketchbook from the ground. The pages fall open in her hands, sheets of torn out paper fluttering to the ground. She collects them, looking them over before tucking them below the cover of the book. Alcina stands, looking over a drawing with a soft smile.

"I remember when you drew this." She coos, turning the page so you can see.

It's a portrait you drew of her: Reading in her favorite chair, body loosely wrapped in her silken robe. Her hair is undone, reading glasses resting in her nose. And of course, wine glass in hand. Alcina smiles and tucks the page back into your sketchbook, setting it on the end table.

"You look like you could use a drink." She hums.

"I could use a couple." You murmur.

"One will do, darling." Alcina exclaims, pacing to her liquor cart.

She bends down, pulling open lower cabinets. Reaching in, she pulls out an unusual glass bottle. The glass is clear, the half empty contents showing a deep combination of reddish brown. She grabs two whiskey glasses and pours in a small amount of liquid. Setting the bottle down, she grabs both glasses and returns to you.

"You shouldn't need anything more than this." She tells you, handing you the short glass.

"What is it?" You question, swirling it around. The smell of fruit and alcohol is pungent, but it smells nothing like her wine.