Her Fair Maiden

Tender as a Rose

H
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     You stare at her through your half-lidded eyes. Lady Dimitrescu sits at her vanity doing her makeup. Seeing as she hasn't gone ballistic over you being in her bed, she must remember bits and pieces of last night.
     Her poise has returned. She now sits up straight and properly as she applies her signature lipstick. Her dress is the same shade of burgundy. It reaches the end of her knees, has a v-line that folds over, is long-sleeved, and is made of the richest velvet you've ever seen.
     A smile tugs at the corners of her lips. "Good morning, Antanasia."
     A shudder goes through you. How is she so observant without looking your way?
     You sit up, prop up on your elbow, and rub your eye before speaking. Her eyes meet yours in the mirror. "Good morning, my lady."
     "How did you sleep?"
     "Lavishly."
     She chuckles. "I'm glad." Silence falls over the room briefly before she speaks again. She turns to face you now. "Thank you for assisting me last night."
     "You remember?"
     "For the most part. My body regulates alcohol so quickly that it's almost useless to drink it in the first place. I was starting to sober up on our walk back. I vaguely recall what happened before that."
     "Do you want to know?" you ask, expecting her to say no.
"I do, yes."
"You caught me wandering the halls after curfew. I think it was around one a.m. I was having trouble sleeping, so I sought out some entertainment."
"I thought you were going to grab a glass of water."
"Well, I figured that would be easier to explain. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lied to you."
"It's quite alright," she says. "I was disoriented anyway."
She's too mellow this morning. What's changed? Shouldn't she be furious? You snuck out, gave her orders—even if it was in her best interest—and she woke up with you in her bed.
     "Did anything else happen?" she queries.
     You hesitate. "Um, yes."
     "Go on."
     "With my consent, you kissed me on the neck. But I stopped you before it went further because, well, I'll leave it at that."
     "Tell me why."
     Her response takes you by surprise. "I stopped because you were drunk, and I knew you weren't in the right mindset. The last time we had a moment like that, you told me it was a mistake."
     "I'm grateful for your mindfulness." She stands, saunters to your side of the bed, and takes a seat next to you. You sit up fully now and look up at her. She reaches out her palm, and you lay your hand in it. Holding it firmly, she says, "I can't tell you how sorry I am."
     "What?"
     "I hurt you, didn't I? How could I not have?"
     "You did, but why are you apologizing? What's changed with you to say sorry to me?"
     "Nothing has changed with me. This is me being vulnerable."
     "That's preciously my point."
"I see," she says. "Do you forgive me?"
"Not entirely, but that doesn't change the fact that I care about you."
She turns away as if you've landed a physical blow on her. "Don't say that."
"Why not?" you challenge. "You can't keep doing this to me. I have feelings too, you know? If this is you being vulnerable, then tell me why I'm not allowed to say I care about you. I won't deprive myself of emotions the way you do."
"Because, Antanasia, you don't know what I am!" she snaps. Tears well up on her waterline. "You are the one person in this godforsaken castle that doesn't, and I don't want you to see me for what I am."
"Then tell me. Let me carry whatever burden you have; I'm more than willing."
"How can you be so willing without truly knowing what you're getting yourself into?"
"Can you just trust that I won't go away after you tell me? I already know about your way of life. It's foreign to me, but I haven't run away, have I? I may not know everything, but I know enough. Let me in, my lady—"
"Alcina," she cuts you off. "If you're going through with this, you might as well know my name."
"Alcina," you correct yourself. Her name flows through your mouth with ease. "Alcina, will you let me in?"
"Yes." She wipes her eyes with the palms of her hands to compose herself. Even in the afterglow of sorrow, she still radiates beauty like a goddess.
"Thank you. When shall we start?"
"Well, it is Sunday, so I don't have to be in my office until ten. We have about twenty-five minutes. Would you like to start within the next few?"
"That would be lovely."
"Good. Before we begin, breakfast will be here any minute." A knock sounds at the door. "Perfect timing."
     "Do you want me to grab it?"
     "No, no. That's quite alright."
     Lady Dimitresu—Alcina—advances towards the large door. When it opens, you hear Stefana greet her.
     "Your breakfast, my lady. Would you like me to pour your tea?"
     "I'll handle it. Thank you, Stefana. You're dismissed." Once the food and tea are handed over, she's out without another peep. Thank God she's still intact.
     Alcina comes back towards you, shutting the door with her heel. She puts the tray in the middle of the bed. A part of it is covered by a cloche. From what you can see, there's an array of fruits, accompanied by a few pieces of toast with jam, honey, and butter. Not to mention the fried eggs, cheese, and cold cuts. The tray also holds two porcelain teacups, a kettle, Earl Grey tea bags, and even a small flask to the side. Surely she isn't drinking this early in the morning.
     "Take your pick. The flask and covered portion are catered specifically to my diet, but the rest is free rein. Once you get settled, we can start our chat."
You readjust so you're sitting cross-legged in front of the tray. She climbs onto the bed on the opposite side and sits with her legs tucked in beside her. She pours her tea and you watch as she infuses it with the thick red liquid from the flask.
"I'm all ears," she says.
"Okay." You run through all the questions you have saved in the back of your mind. They swarm around your subconscious, making it hard to sort out the most important ones. There's one in particular that's pestering you the most, so you ask. "What are you?"
She considers this for a moment as she sips from her cup. "You've said it yourself."
"What do you mean? I haven't a clue. I mean, I could call you a vampire, but I feel as though that's nothing more than a folktale."
"Do you not recall asking your dear roommate if I was 'actually a monster?' "
"You can't possibly think I still have that mentality. I hardly knew you at the time. I was in shock. The only correlation I could make was that you were a vampire of sorts. They're frequently in fictionalized stories. I was close-minded, that's all."
"Regardless of terminology, I'm by design the same as those creatures. You may as well consider me a monster, so why try to fight it?"
"Because you haven't lost your humanity. I can see that much clearly."
She frowns. "Ask me another question."
You feel the embarrassment flush through your cheeks. Though, the feeling will have to be ignored because this may be the only time you get this chance. Therefore, you search for another question. "How long have you been like you are today?"
"Forty-six years and counting. I haven't aged a day since 1958. Unfortunately, I have gotten taller."
You suppress a laugh due to the mood cast upon the room and continue. "Do you know why you have to eat and drink what you do?"
"As a mortal, I had a hereditary blood disease. It affected the way I came into my second life."
"Were you... bitten?" you ask quietly, in fear of sounding idiotic.
She lets out a short laugh. "I wish. It was Mother Miranda who made me this way. However, I can't say any more on that matter; I'm sworn to secrecy."
"Understandable. What was your life like before your turning?"
     "Utterly exquisite," she replies. "I was a jazz singer in the thirties and forties. My group was called 'Miss D and the Pallboys.' We had a few hits, but nothing too big."
     "Mother Miranda set up the Pallboys funding to go to me after the last of our members—besides myself—passed away in 1976.
     "Our first album got a rendition as a CD in 1985, so I received a decent-sized check for that. Nowadays, though, it's mostly radio silence. I get the occasional skimpy check in the mail. They always go to the girls."
"I didn't know you could sing."
"There's a lot of things you don't know about me, dragă."
There's that word again. Her native tongue. Suddenly, it dawns on you. "It was you!"
"Pardon?"
"You were the one who came into the library that night—my first night here!"
     She goes silent and looks at you with the most conflicted gaze you've ever seen.
     "Are you alright? Should I... not have brought that up?" you ask.
     "I'm fine. It's not that. You tend to shock me, is all."
     "Oh. I'm sorry."
     "Don't apologize. Surprises aren't a common occurrence in my daily life anymore. Your quips and revelations are quite refreshing."
     "In that case, I'm happy to know I serve you well."
She smiles. "Do you have any further questions?"
"It's only been a few minutes; of course I do!"
"Well, then, go on."
     "What year were you born?"
     "Straightforward, are we? Didn't your parents teach you not to ask a lady her age?" she chuckles. "I'm only joking. I was born in 1914. I'll save you the time; I'm ninety."
     You disregard the atrocious cougar joke that pops up in your mind and think of a new, more appropriate response. "Wow. You look incredible."
      "I appreciate it."
      You stuff a few strawberries in your mouth to further suppress the informal thoughts. That stupid pun is fighting to slip from your tongue. Saying it would be a huge step over an invisible boundary line. Who's to know if you'd be crossing that line?
     "Are you alright, Antanasia?"
     "Um, yeah," you trail off.
     "Really? Your heart is beating rapidly."
     "Sorry. I have a horrible joke that popped up in my head. It's sort of distracting me."
     "Ah. Well, why don't you get it off your chest? I know you have more questions."
      "I don't know that it's appropriate."
      "This isn't exactly an appropriate environment."
      "Fine," you say, giving in. "I was going to say, 'Ninety? Guess I'm a cougar chaser now.' "
     You can see the air gather in her cheeks as she tries to hold it. Ultimately, she fails. She lets out a "pfft" sound and spirals into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.
"Don't encourage me! That was awful!"
She frantically wipes away the tears of joy escaping from the corners of her eyes. Through her uneven breaths, she says, "It may have been awful, but it was hilarious. This is precisely what I mean when I say your quips are refreshing."
Once she comes back down from her mirth, you proceed with your questions.
"I have another thing to ask."
"Go on."
"What did you have the young ladies do to Stefana after you sent them away?"
"Nothing harmful if that's what you're thinking," she says. "The girls took her up to the opera room so she could play for them. They all had plans to do so that night anyway."
Your mood changes to a more serious demeanor. "You had me under the impression that they were taking her to be tortured."
She thinks on your response. "I do suppose I was being avoidant with my answers. So, I'm sorry if I made you think I planned to cause her harm. That was unfair to you."
"Thank you for explaining yourself and apologizing."
"It's the very least I could do after everything I've put you through."
You smile gently at her. The deep admiration you once held for her starts creeping up again. It's same feeling as the first time you locked eyes with her. The way your stomach dropped then is the same as now.
Your hand reaches across the plush duvet to hers. Your fingers graze the back of her palm. You slip them into the space between her thumb and index finger. With her size, your whole hand is swallowed by the time you fully grasp her. You lovingly squeeze her hand.
"I have one last question, Alcina."
The way you use her name catches her attention. "Yes?" she asks.
"What do you want from me?"
As she opens her lips to respond, a firm knock sounds at the door. "My lady?" Stefana calls. "It's nine forty-five. You need to be in your office by ten at the latest today."
"Damn it," she mutters under her breath. "I'll be down soon. Thank you for the time check, Stefana."
"Of course, my lady." Her footsteps sound down the hall.
"My sincerest apologies. I didn't realize the time."
As disappointed as you are, you understand that her work is important; more important than you.
"It's alright. Work is demanding. Go, we'll have more chances like this. I'm sure of it."
She squeezes your shoulder. "Thank you for understanding. I'll see you as soon as I can, okay?"
"Okay."
She smiles, grabs her untouched food, and advances to the doors. As she's opening it, she has one more thing to say. "I almost forgot," she turns to you, "you have my permission to go to the village from now on. Do as you will with that."
"Oh. Thank you." She winks and exits. You sit in her luxurious bedroom alone with your thoughts now.
It's your day off from maid duties, so you don't have much to do. This means you can spend as much time as you please getting ready. And with a bath chamber fit for a queen within reach, it'd be a shame not to use it. A bold move, but who will know? Alcina will be off at work until the afternoon.
     You hop off the bed quietly and tiptoe to the bathroom—even though there is no one here to see you commit such an "unruly" act.
     Scents of roses, orchids, and even some hints of wine flood your senses as you enter. The smell of flowers comes from the pots sitting on various shelves. However, the only ones planted are roses of varying colors. So where the orchid smell is coming from is a mystery.
     The furnishings are normally sized, save for the tub; it's huge. It stretches from wall to wall, with a little space at the head. A step-stool sits behind it. Presumably a position fit for a maid assisting with hair washing. Your curious mind continues to explore other aspects of the room.
Articles of neatly folded clothing catch your eye. You saunter towards the countertop to investigate. It's a maid's uniform, bra, and underwear. Your stomach lurches. Did she have someone in here before me? you wonder.
A note sits beside the garments. You're quick to inspect it. If she's going to break your trust, it's only fair for you to know exactly what's going on. The note reads as follows:

Antanasia,
I do hope it's you who's reading this. I assumed your wandering mind may lead you here. Please feel free to use anything you might find here to freshen up. I had Stefana fetch some clothes for you from your room.
Wishing you a lovely day,
A. Dimitrescu

Oh. It's for you. She anticipated you'd be in here, and not only did she permit you to use her things, she also sent Stefana to grab your clothes. How thoughtful of her. Your jealousy subsides and is replaced by a warm, airy feeling.
     This is a different kind of care than that of your father. It's even different from how Viv, Jules, and Irini care for you. Is this how someone who loves you treats you?
Does Alcina love you?
No! That's ridiculous. She just got over herself enough to let her feelings show. A woman like her would never love you, right?
Out with it. This is a conversation to have directly with her or to talk over with Viv. Besides, you may not have cleaning duties today, but you do have dessert-making on the agenda. Showing up in a tank top and short shorts wouldn't be professional, no matter what you think is going on with her.
You put the note down and walk away from the counter toward the bathtub. You turn on the water and grab the breakfast you didn't finish. On the way back to the bathroom, you pluck a grape off its vine to distract your racing thoughts; it doesn't work.
You place the food tray on the counter and go to the tub. From the edge of it, you can see steam rising. When you place your fingers under the water to check the temperature, it's near scolding, which means it's perfect. You plug the drain and place the bath tray across the tub.
As you watch the water level increase, you pick at your food. While doing so, you notice a record player sitting on a shelf at the opposite end of the room with some vinyl next to it. Music will definitely distract you.
You sift through the records and find one that looks aged and throughly loved. It reads Billie Holiday. Alcina must play it a lot, considering its condition.
You place it on the player and move the needle. Through the plugged-in speakers, the music comes through. You look at the back of the record. The first song on the track list is titled Easy Living. After learning about her, the song is definitely Alcina; it's jazz.
...This is totally distracting you from thinking about her.
You scoff at your feeble attempt to avert your thoughts and start undressing. Once everything is off, you fold your clothes and place them next to your fresh uniform.
     You walk over to the tub. The water is about halfway raised and perfect for your height. You stop it, grab your food, and place it on the bath rack. It's slightly too tall for comfort, but not entirely unmanageable.
     The hot water embraces you as you slide into the bath (with some assistance from the stool). Billie Holiday's record continues to spin, and a new song comes and goes. As you snack on your treats, the minutes are quickly lost to the jazzy beats.
     Within twenty-five minutes, the room falls silent again. How could you forget vinyls need to be flipped?
     "Shit," you mumble. Now would be a great time to have an assistant.
     The door creaks open. Your eyes widen and you peek over the edge. Before you can process, an unfamiliar maid is walking in. Her gaze meets yours. She shrieks in shock and immediately goes to run out.
"No, no! Wait!" you yell, but it's too late.
She's definitely going to tell someone.

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Art I made for this chapter!!