Your Existence | Lady Dimitrescu x Daughter

Captive

⚠️ TW: torture, blood, anguish, terror.

Third-Person POV

In the veiled mystery of a nighttime flight, Elena collapsed amid the ominous shadows cast by crows. Upon awakening, she found herself in a chilling state of confusion, lying on a table that exuded a frigid, antiseptic odor, reminiscent of a hospital or morgue. Any attempt to move resulted in the metallic screech of chains and a pain so intense it wrung heartrending screams from her lips. A tight collar around her neck reduced her to a state less than human; her hands and feet, equally restrained, offered no hope of escape.

"I'm alive!" Elena exclaimed, as tears traced paths down her face.

Confusion clouded her mind. Had her escape been merely a dream? Was it not crows that had carried her off but rather a fainting spell that had left her at the mercy of this bleak fate, possibly in a morgue awaiting autopsy? Did her discoverer truly believe her dead?

Footsteps echoed nearby, heightening the uncertainty of whether her ordeal would soon end or intensify. Upon sighting an old woman, Elena screamed in despair, struggling in vain against the chains that lacerated her wrists as they rubbed against the harsh metal.

"My dear, scream all you like. Only I and my current creations can hear you," the woman said, approaching to firmly grasp Elena's chin. "Such a pity for such a beautiful and pure vessel; you would have been the perfect Eve, if not for your cursed state," she added, her words a heavy burden on Elena's shoulders.

"MOM!" Elena cried out, invoking the formidable figure who had always protected her. She hoped that Mrs. Dimitrescu was not too angered by her flight and had not completely forsaken her.

The old woman's laughter formed a grotesque contrast to the young woman's tears. "Mom is not here, dear, and..."

Her sentence was abruptly interrupted by a roar that burst forth with power and melancholy through the stones of the place; a tremor shook the ground, reflecting a flicker of dread in the old woman's eyes, who, within seconds, displayed a perpetual and chilling smile.

Elena, with wide eyes and trembling lips, found a break in her cycle of despair with that deep rumbling.

"It seems your mom has received my message," the old woman chuckled cruelly and tightened her grip on Elena's chin. "I'll return you in one piece if your mother meets my demands," she released the girl's chin, leaving a red mark from her fingers on her pale skin. "But that doesn't mean we can't have a little fun in the meantime."

All Elena could do was shake her head from side to side, following with wide eyes the steps of the grotesquely disfigured old woman. Catching sight of the saws and other tools, more suited to a hardware store or a torture chamber than a hospital, a new scream of desperation escaped her lips, with the vain hope that someone might hear her.

"Silence!" Miranda exclaimed, firmly holding Elena's chin. "I advise you not to irritate me. We will be together for two days and I do not wish to suffer headaches. Believe me, little one, you do not want to see me angry; you have no idea what I am capable of doing."

Raising her hand in a theatrical gesture, an ophthalmoscope floated towards her as if carried by an invisible will. "Stay still and look at the ceiling," she ordered.

Elena, trembling, obeyed and fixed her gaze on the small lights of the ceiling while the old woman examined her eyes. It was a bewildering procedure for her, who had never had vision problems; her only faculty that seemed intact.

"You have the same eye color as Alcina. I suppose it's a common trait in the Dimitrescu lineage; no mistakes there," the woman murmured, sending the ophthalmoscope back into the air, where it vanished as mysteriously as it had appeared. Elena, astonished, could only conclude that these people wielded some kind of supernatural powers.