Oh, Darling Mine [Lady Dimitrescu] [REVIII]

Chapter XI

The ornate bed laid empty before emotionless amber-hued eyes. The soft, broken white-colored sheets once askew had been carefully rearranged and properly placed, in an attempt at maintaining some sort of normalcy within the sadness her absence had inadvertently brought. The lonely candle on the nightstand barely gave any light; nothing but a sliver of pale wax remained, soon it would be completely consumed by the fervent flame... A flame that would die as the last drop of wax would melt away; just like her short, fragile life, it would fade into nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Nothing remained of her physically, and yet her obvious absence made it feel as if she'd never gone in the first place.

Lady Alcina Dimitrescu felt it the most; in her heart, in her soul, in her bones. Nothing hurt more than to not be able to hold that which one cherished the most, and only now did Alcina know of this feeling... Of this torturous, painful feeling. To love was the best and worst thing she'd ever done in her long, long life—and yet, she couldn't bring herself to regret a single thing. Not as she stared impassively at the now empty bed; where once [N] lay, waiting in agonizing pain and suffering for death to come and sweep her away.

Death would come for her nearly a fortnight after Mother Miranda's visit.

Day after day, each lady of Castle Dimitrescu would do whatever it took to make their dear former-maiden's last moments as bearable as possible. Pressing cold, wet rags on her burning forehead from the fever, to keep it at bay. Spoon-feeding her warm soups and plenty of water to keep her from dehydrating. Reading to her as she had more than once done to them to pass time, and entertain her, even if her eyes were closed, or she were asleep.

Bela kept on reading her favorite novel even as the maiden's breathing slowed to a stop that fateful evening.

Daniela kept on brushing her [H/C] hair softly even as the maiden stopped moving altogether.

Cassandra kept on holding onto her still body even as the once lively heartbeat thumping within the maiden's chest faded into silence.

Alcina kept on watching her daughters act as if the maiden remained among them still, allowing the warm tears to flow freely, soundlessly.

Almost a full month has passed since that moment.

Her death may have come agonizingly slow, however the events that followed her passing went by as fast as lightning—none of the ladies would realize the maiden's body had been carefully carried out of the castle and to Miranda's underground chambers until they arrived back at the empty bedroom. Her absence turned out to be too much for the three daughters to handle, for they buzzed away in an angry fleet of flies before Alcina could speak to them, assure them Mother Miranda would be able to bring her back.

As days passed by, Alcina's hope for a miracle faded. She blamed it on the silence. With [N] around, there was never a dull moment; even if she didn't speak, her presence spoke volumes without words, without sounds. And whenever she spoke or sang her lovely songs, Alcina swore Paradise truly existed, and she was right there. With her.

Said Paradise now seemed like a too far away dream. A faint memory that barely resembled anything at all. Silence overtook it, conquered it, destroyed it with its unrelenting embrace. Instead, there was nothing. That empty, dark void that had once haunted her, had come back the moment [N] left, and there it remained for days. For weeks. Until Alcina lost track of time, and couldn't care less about how long the darkness embraced her once more.

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