Your Existence | Lady Dimitrescu x Daughter

The Resurgence of a Cult

Elena collapsed into the armchair by her large window, wrapped in the oppressive gloom that filled the room with a suffocating air. The weeks had dragged on torturously since the ritual. Now, self-imposed and secluded in her chamber, she hid from the world and from the eyes of those she once knew—those who now stared at her with fear and disgust, as if her very presence were a constant reminder of the horror unleashed when she lost control.

Guilt gnawed at her, a slow poison coursing through her veins, keeping her awake through the long hours of the night. She knew the creature that had been unleashed within her was not the Elena she remembered, but knowing that didn't ease her sorrow.

The crystal goblets filled with the blood she so craved were her only companions in those moments of desolation. She drank with a silent hunger, feeling each sip soothe the burning fire raging inside her. Yet she couldn't escape the repulsive thought that, by giving in to that urge, she was reliving the same sin that had brought her to this state, over and over again.

Alcina, regal and somber, visited her daily, accompanied by her daughters Daniela, Bela, and Cassandra. They were like elegant shadows gliding through her room, bringing with them an unsettling presence. Alcina watched her with a mix of love, understanding, and subtle disapproval; her amber eyes exuded a dark wisdom that Elena couldn't quite grasp. Daniela, the most playful, observed her with a twisted smile, trying to cheer her up however she could, while Bela and Cassandra exchanged knowing glances, wrapped in a tense silence that filled the air with an unsettling charge.

But Juliet, the elderly maid, never missed a single day. Her visits were an enigma; no one ever knew what she would say, but her presence was a silent balm to the tormented Elena. She would sit beside her, reading passages and stories from her childhood, her soft, melodic voice filling the silences with a cadence that seemed to enchant the air. Sometimes, her words mingled with the wind's lament, creating a sad, intoxicating melody that echoed through the mansion's dark corners.

Elena clung to those moments, seeking solace in Juliet's words, though true comfort never fully arrived. Each time she closed her eyes, she relived the attack when her thirst had spiraled out of control, the moment her instincts took over her judgment, and in a blind, ravenous frenzy, she had torn flesh and drunk the innocent blood of Emma.

Elena still remembered that Emma had barely had time to scream—or at least, she hadn't heard it. Emma had been the first victim of her loss of control, and that image remained seared into her mind like a red-hot brand.

She knew her confinement wasn't just a simple retreat but a self-imposed punishment. There were no visible chains binding her, but the shackles of her mind were stronger than any iron. In her moments of clarity, she wondered if she would ever escape the prison she had built for herself or if she was doomed to live eternally with the weight of her crime, consumed by the insatiable hunger that now defined her.

The door creaked open, the sharp sound echoing through the vast room, but Elena didn't move. She remained still, her eyes fixed on some undefined point beyond the window. The landscape beyond the thick glass seemed deceptively familiar; each time she looked at it, something seemed to change, as if the shadows moved of their own accord and the trees twisted into impossible shapes. It was all subtle, almost imperceptible, but enough to make her question her sanity.

"I brought you a new book; I think you'll like it," Daniela said, dropping with elegant nonchalance into the armchair beside Elena. Her voice carried a singsong tone, almost mocking, as if she took a strange delight in the encounter. "Did you finish the last one?"

Elena turned away from the window, managing a faint smile, a gesture that barely masked the unease gnawing at her.

"Yes, I read it. But... I think this confinement is starting to make me see things," she confessed in a whisper, barely audible, as if speaking the words aloud would make her fears all too real.