Chapter Text
It was another cold, winter day in Romania. Countess Dimitrescu sat in comfortable silence as she attempted, albeit failed, to read a book she had been holding for over an hour now. She tried her damnedest to distract herself, yet her mind kept betraying her, seemingly being more interested in drifting off to think of pointless, stupid things. She snapped her book shut, then, and ran her hands down the front of her dress, settling on her lap. It was not disheveled, but she did so all the same. Turning her head to look out the window, she watched as her husband made polite conversation with one of the gardeners, his left hand in his pocket and his right hand toying with a pocket watch he kept with him at all times. She didn’t understand why he bothered to speak to the help, he would oftentimes say the most foul things about them. Nothing could ever please him.
The Countess’s lips curled in disgust. Her husband was such a lying, two-faced little man, yet she could not seem to get rid of the fool. Her eyes drifted away from the scene and focused on a letter that had been sitting on her desk for two days now. Her eyes skimmed over the words,
‘Count Dimitrescu and his wife, Countess Dimitrescu, are hereby respectfully invited to attend the funeral of Constantin Bălan, loving husband to Countess Selene.
Friends and acquaintances will please accept this intimation.’
She knew she was only being invited to save face - she and the other Countess were not fond of each other in the slightest, their husbands however, were almost inseparable. Rubbish attracts rubbish, it would seem. Funny how things go.
Countess Alcina Dimitrescu was never one to condone what one calls a ‘cat fight’. To her, women, in general, were worthy of more respect and leniency than men. Call it a preference, if you must. Countess Bălan, however, seemed much too happy to prove her wrong. The woman was absolutely infuriating, in every sense of the word, and every verbal interaction they had would always end in a knife fight - not literally, though it might just become so if the woman kept pushing Lady Dimitrescu’s buttons and testing her patience. One time, and much to Alcina’s chagrin, Count Dimitrescu invited the woman, and her husband, to their home in order to make amends, wanting their wives to get along so as to not hinder the men’s friendship. It did not go well. The Countess turned away from the letter, then, clenching her jaw at the memory. The gall of that woman. Her thoughts overcame her senses, then, despite herself.
ꕥ
You looked around the Castle, trying to take everything in. It was not... the ugliest thing you’ve ever seen, and that was the best you could come up with for now. Castle Dimitrescu was like the couple’s reflection ... no, not the couple’s... Alcina’s. It was Alcina’s reflection. Her name was written all over those walls. It seemed that her husband, the poor thing, would never be the one to pull the reigns of House Dimitrescu. The way he carried himself - the Castle itself, really - seemed to scream that to the heavens. It was no secret. How embarrassing, you thought. Still, it was preferable to see a woman in charge instead of a man, even if that woman as Alcina. Gods forbid. You could give her that, at least.
Your eyebrows remained raised as her husband guided you around the castle, all but bragging about how grand it was. You had a patronising, yet almost amused, look painting your face, you could tell. The fact that the Countess refused to show up at all made the entire situation that much more pleasing to you. You found that getting under Alcina’s skin brought you an immense amount of pleasure - you didn’t know why, exactly, but refused to give it much thought.
When you, your husband and the Count arrived in the dining room, the Countess had already taken her seat at the head of the table. She was holding an intricate, silver chalice in her left hand, the tips of her fingers turning white as soon as you entered her field of vision, indicating just how thrilled she was to see you. That put a smug smile on your lips. You looked around then, your ,gloved, hands resting at your front. Looking into her home was like looking into Alcina’s soul, the heart of her essence, so you knew that if you dared to push too much you would most certainly end up ruining the evening - not just for Alcina, but for you, as well. No, that wasn’t your goal.
You allowed your gaze take her in - she was wearing an overall white dress with puffy shoulders - you couldn’t see it in its entirety, the table was obscuring the lower half of her body, but you just knew it hugged all the right curves. This thought made you pause. You weren’t... fond of the woman, but you’d be lying if you said that you didn’t think she was attractive. Extremely attractive. Navigating this feeling was not always easy for you, still, you pushed that thought down and kept running your eyes over the other woman’s figure. The necklace she wore around her neck rested deliciously on her bosom, you had to tear your eyes away from it so as to not draw any unnecessary attention to the way you were all but gazing at the other woman’s chest. Her hat was decorated with beautiful flowers, resembling the one on the crest of her House, and her hair was tied back in a bun, though some of her black curls were threatening to escape it.
Alcina seemed to notice your curiosity, though her facial expression did not betray her emotions. She was good at hiding what she was thinking. Sometimes too good. It angered you, actually. Not being able to know what the other woman thought of moments like this sent an uncomfortable feeling through your chest and your lips twitched slightly. It would be best to draw attention to something else, now. And so you did.
“Ah,” you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm, “How... quaint,” you could’ve sworn you saw the woman’s eyes flash before she even so much as pretended to plaster a smile on her face. The grip on the chalice she was holding tightening even further - was she going to break it? It certainly looked like she was. Now, that would be a sight to behold. Your thoughts wandered against your consent, then - she had such beautiful hands. The way one of them was gripping the chalice making you think how they would feel around your—
“Good evening, my Lady,” your husband said, in an attempt to break the ice. You turned your head to the side slowly to look at him, “Your home is most beautiful. It illustrates just how glorious House Dimitrescu is,” you did your best not to roll your eyes at him, choosing to sit down in your assigned seat, instead. You were sitting to Alcina’s left, your husband directly in front of you and the count on the opposite end of the table, facing his wife. The skirts of your dress grazed Alcina’s when you took your seat. This was going to be interesting, you mused.
You tried to keep your mouth shut as much as possible throughout the entire affair, not wanting to give yourself a headache later. You moved to take a sip of the wine - which was unsurprisingly good - wine making was like an art-form for Alcina. The taste of something that’s hers on your tongue made your eyes snap towards the other woman, who, curiously enough, was already watching you. You were caught off guard by it, but quickly made an attempt to disguise your thoughts. You kept watching each other, though, this time, the way you were gazing into each other’s eyes was not... antagonistic. There was something else.
Finding it impossible to break your staring contest, you almost sighed in relief when your idiot husband pulled you away from her eyes. Your expression quickly turned sour, however, because Constantin, being the selfish fool that he was, decided that it was the perfect time to make a comment regarding your marriage.
“Don’t jest, Count. I haven’t sired children of my own yet,” he stoped to let out a hearty chuckle, not even bothering to meet your gaze, “one day people will begin to wonder if my wife truly is as frigid as she looks,” your heart dropped and the room went dead silent. He was clearly not sober. It was impossible for this conversation to end well.
The Countess’s husband was not a good man by any means, but even he had the decency to look embarrassed. The Countess, on the other hand, was watching your husband closely. You knew your face was revealing too much, attempting to keep your composure only seemed to make matters worse. Why would he say that? In front of her?
... Not that you cared for what she thought of you, of course.
Hiding your scowl behind the glass you were holding, you took one, big sip before training your eyes on your husband once more, “I find it most curious how people always seem to throw the blame on women when it is men who cannot find within themselves the ability to please women properly,” your words were dripping with venom and you felt the flush that had found its home on your face begin to settle on your neck, as well. This made Alcina’s eyes leave your husband and turn to you. She almost seemed to... approve of what you said. You noticed how she leaned back in her chair, her gaze still on you. It made your skin warm.
Your husband, on the other hand, looked furious. Good.
“Yes, because you know so much about that, don’t you, păpuşă?” you hated that name. You had asked him to stop using it several times already, yet he wouldn’t listen. He never did.
You felt the Countess’s gaze boring holes into your head for the second time that evening. There they were, two women who loathed each other - one now looking at the other as if she was now beginning to see her in a new light. You shivered at the thought. Why was she looking at you like that? And why on earth wouldn’t she stop?
Giving him a bitter and obviously fake smile, you wiped the corners of your mouth, your movements deliberate. You stood up then, placing your napkin on the table and saying, “If you’ll excuse me,” before leaving the room. You heard the Countess say something after you left, but didn’t bother to decipher it since it was not directed at you. Either way, you needed some fresh air, and if the woman was speaking ill of you to your husband then you wouldn't want to be there to hear it. That would be too much.
——
You stood near the front gate of the Castle, inhaling and exhaling steadily to try and calm yourself down. It was much too cold out and you had left your shawl on a hatstand inside. No matter, though. The cold felt sobering. You closed your eyes and leaned your back against the wall, your fingers splaying over the surface - you tried to use the chillness provided by it to keep yourself grounded. It wasn’t working. That was when you heard the front door open, your lips forming a thin line, thinking it was your husband. You were proved wrong, however, for the next thing you heard was the distinct sound of heels clicking on granite inching closer to you. You refused to open your eyes.
“I often wonder where men find the ridiculous amounts of audacity they carry with them everywhere they go,” the voice said. The tone was flat, yet had an edge to it.
You let a humourless laugh escape you before you were able to keep it to yourself. Not wanting to make the Countess think you were laughing at her, you opened your eyes and turned your head towards the side you heard her voice come from.
“If I had a leu for every time stupid men said something moronic, I would be filthy rich by now,” you told her. You turned your gaze up and towards the stars then.
“More than you already are?” teased the other woman, a hint of playfulness in her voice.
“So much more,” you muttered, not taking your eyes from the sky. Not looking at the woman as you spoke didn’t bother you, for you were both facing the other way and avoiding each other’s gaze. It was actually a bit humorous. No actual reply came, but Alcina hummed softly in agreement once. The sound was almost melodic. Was the coldness getting to your head? You were supposed to hate this woman. You did hate her.
... Right?
“You seem cold, Lady Bălan,” you heard her say. It made your brow furrow. Of course you were cold. You were wearing a sleeveless dress and were out in the freezing, winter air of Romania. It wouldn’t take a genius to know that that was much too risky a choice, especially if that was all you were wearing outside. You opened your eyes and turned your neck to the side to face the Lady, a witty remark on the tip of your tongue, ready to be shot at the other woman. Yet... what you saw made you pause.
She was looking at you, the edges of her lips pointing upwards slightly, and she had an absolutely sinful look in her eyes. Your lips parted for a couple of seconds - you could truly get lost in them. The woman’s features, out in the moonlight, made her look almost ethereal. Realisation dawned on your face. If you were cold, then...
You immediately crossed your arms over your chest and looked away from the other woman. It was suddenly not cold anymore. In fact, your face was burning, either from embarrassment or... something else. You hoped it was the former. Please let it be the former.
“Why did you come to me? To humiliate me further?” you defensively said. You desperately needed to change the subject and angering the other woman seemed better than whatever moment you were having before.
“I beg your pardon?” all signs of amusement left her face. Then beg. That was better, you thought.
“Did I stutter?” you spat out, “Make no mistake, Countess, I do not want nor require your pity. Do not take me for a fool,” and with that, you walked back inside. Leaving behind a furious Alcina. You regretted your words almost as soon as they came out of your mouth, yet felt like being near the woman longer than what was absolutely necessary would probably end up killing you. You took your shawl off the hatstand and wrapped it around your shoulders before storming into the dining room and training your eyes on your husband. What you saw made your blood boil. The two men were laughing. Loudly. Completely unbothered by what had happened.
Your were almost blinded by rage, yet chose your words wisely and managed to leave the Castle, with your husband, sooner than was expected.
One day, you would not be able to hold yourself back. Gods have mercy on your husband, because you certainly would not.
ꕥ
Countess Dimitrescu recalled that evening, thinking about how that was the last she ever saw of you for a long period of time. Now, she would be seeing you again at your husband’s funeral. It almost felt like a sick joke. Her reverie was broken when she heard something crack. She clicked her tongue when she noticed how she had snapped the spine of the book she had been holding. Mentally kicking herself for getting this upset over the past, she threw the book on top of the table and exhaled through her nose harshly. This day could not get any longer.
Hopefully, this whole funeral business would not take longer than necessary. Seeing Countess Bălan after she had boldly insulted her in her own home, even after she had extended a hand towards the other woman to bury the hatchet between them, was not something she took lightly. Such behaviour... was not to be accepted. Not by her. Not ever.
She would get the other woman in line, one way or another.
ꕥ ꕥ ꕥ
The funeral went as well as one might expect. You found yourself surrounded by people who pretended to care for you when you knew they only cared for your husband. A thought crossed your mind then - his death, at the very least, allowed you to hide your features from everyone else. It was better that way, for you know you’d be scrutinised, to the highest degree, if they ever noticed how you hadn’t shed a tear. Not one. Not for him.
Surprisingly, the Dimitrescus showed up. You half expected the Count to come by himself - you wouldn’t blame Alcina if she had left her husband to his own devices. You weren’t exactly... friends. You both knew this. In fact, you were beginning to think everyone did. You took notice of the way the room spoke in hushed tones when they arrived and headed towards you to pay their respects.
Your fingers twitched when you remembered the night when you had last seen each other. Leaving the other woman behind... you certainly regretted it now. Alcina was about the realest thing you have ever experienced in your life. Your dynamic was not healthy by any means whatsoever, but the other woman never bothered to mask how she truly felt about you. You hated her for it, at first. But now? You were grateful for the way she behaved and wished you could go back in time. You often found yourself wondering what would have happened if you had matched the woman’s energy that night, when you were both looking out, guarded by the moon and her stars. Gods... what if. You were beginning to hate those words. What if, what if, what if.
You greeted her husband, shaking his hand absentmindedly, yet when you laid eyes on her, hoping to see her mirror what you felt, all you saw was utter disregard and disinterest. She didn’t want to be there. You were thankful for the fact that she couldn’t see your face - the veil you were wearing shielding the disappointment in your expression. It made things easier. You knew your eyes would have revealed too much.
Sunset turned into evening and your blasted guests didn’t seem to be leaving any time soon. Did they truly care for him that much...? Was it all a facade? Your husband did have the ability to charm people, in a way that made you feel most uncomfortable, though he was someone else entirely when the two of you were alone, the thought making your stomach turn.
Your thoughts were interrupted when you noticed Count Dimitrescu approach you. Fantastic, you thought. As if the day couldn’t get any worse. You straightened your posture and ground your teeth, preparing for what was about to come. His eyes were bloodshot... had he been crying? Please.
“My Lady,” he bowed his head and laid a hand on his chest, over his heart, “I wanted to further express my deepest condolences,” you wish he would stay silent. He spoke too damned much, “though I come to you with something else which has been weighing on my mind for a while now,” he paused, his lips pressing into a thin line. Surely he wasn’t about to say he had slept with your husband? The thought made you almost snicker despite yourself. Now was not the time.
“I come to apologise on behalf of my wife,” his face twisted in anger for a couple of seconds before he continued, “she... Alcina treated him poorly on that night. It brings me shame just to think of it,” .... what?
“Treated him poorly...?” you repeated what he had said back at him, enunciating every word to make sure you hadn’t misheard him.
“Yes. After the... incident,” he meant when your husband not only called you frigid but also let the two hosts know that you had slept with women before? Just wonderful, “my wife...”, a blush crept up his face - could he please just get it over with? Good heavens above.
“My wife questioned his manhood,” it was not what you were expecting. From the way the man was talking, you assumed the Countess had cursed your entire bloodline. It caught you off guard and, much to your dismay, made you bark out a laugh before you had the chance to keep it to yourself. The room turned silent and heads moved to look at what had prompted such a reaction from you, the widow.
“Gods,” you tried to compose yourself - the audacity of this man to assume that you’d be offended to hear that his wife had defended your dignity was beyond you. Men truly are only loyal to themselves and other men. Leaning forward on your chair, you curtly said “Count Dimitrescu, I assure you that it was my husband who stepped out of line that evening, not your wife,” your tone sharp.
He looked at you with a dumbfounded expression and sputtered before continuing, “My wife was—“ you immediately interjected.
“Your wife defended a woman from her husband’s cruel words. I can’t see how that could possibly warrant an apology from you,”. The nerve of this man. You noticed how the people around you were watching the scene unfold, their eyes as big as saucers. You paid no mind to it. You always found how people said not to speak ill of the dead extremely ironic and convenient. Your husband had brought you nothing but hardship over the years, whilst he was alive, in more ways than one. He didn’t deserve your kindness nor your respect. If the Countess was the only other person who seemed to agree with you and saw right through him, then you wouldn’t allow her husband to apologise for her behaviour. Her husband. Of all people.
He all but sneered at you. This was going to be interesting, “I simply assumed that a mourning widow would want to hear how her husband was degraded by someone who is attending his funeral. Clearly I was mistaken,”
“Do not attempt to assume anything about me, my Lord. You couldn’t, even if you tried. And I must say,” you continued, your hands clawing at the arms of the chair you were sitting on, “telling a widow what the most appropriate way for her to grieve is is the farthest thing from what it means to respect her in a situation such as this one. I was his wife, not you.” your tone left no room for argument. Hopefully, he would leave and crawl back into the hole he had come from.
“Well, I’ll be-“ he started, but thought better of it. Clenching his jaw one final time, he bowed his head towards you and turned to leave. If fuming out of one’s ears was possible, he would be doing it right about now.
You slowly leaned back in your chair once the man left, his shoulders tense. Your gaze then traveled around the room, noticing how everyone was still looking at you. You knew what they were thinking. What kind of wife allows someone, who insulted her dead husband, to be let off the hook without so much as a slap on the wrist? Your eyes scanned over the crowd, daring someone to say something, before settling on Lady Dimitrescu, who had, apparently, heard your entire interaction with her husband. She couldn’t see your face, but you hoped that she knew you were grateful.
You could tell she was still displeased with how you had behaved that night - she wasn’t someone who was too keen on forgetting or forgiving, you could respect that - but her lips twitched in acknowledgement, her eyes never leaving the place where she assumed your eyes were.
One hundred faces in that room, maybe more, and you could only trust the woman whom you had hated for years. A sick joke, indeed. Yet it made your heart squeeze almost painfully in your chest.
If only she knew why you couldn’t seem to stand her for all those years...
You couldn’t leave matters between you like this. This was a problem you had to fix, before it was too late. You watched as she narrowed her eyes, her lips pursing - she was seemingly lost in thought - before her gaze drifted away from you and she began walking towards a more secluded part of your home. Before turning the corner, she glanced at you over her shoulder. She was asking — or telling — you to follow.
Your brow wrinkled. You were not one to follow orders just because someone else wanted you to, but this felt like a second chance the other woman could possibly regret if you were to take too long to decide whether or not you should accept it. Did you deserve it? You were always the one to turn your conversations sour - Alcina wasn’t the kindest person you’ve met, far from it, actually, but she tolerated your presence before you decided to push her away. And, gods, how you pushed her away. You tried your damnedest not to care for the other woman, but fighting against what you felt, and thought, for her was only making matters worse. Alcina would have noticed if she hadn’t been too busy contemplating your death. Or at least that’s how you saw it.
...
To hell with it. You stood up, ignoring how your guests looked at you with questioning eyes, when your legs trembled and you had to place a hand on your chair to momentarily lean against it, and followed the Countess. Maybe it was a trap, maybe the woman was going to chastise you for humiliating her husband publicly - you didn’t care. You would follow her to the ends of the world, at this point. Trap or not.
——
She was facing a large painting of your husband, a golden goblet engraved with the crest of your House in hand, her index finger was tapping against it. You couldn’t see her face, but knew she was probably judging your late husband’s poor taste in the arts. The painting was absolutely horrendous, truth be told.
You came to stand beside her, your gaze settling on the painting as well. An uncomfortable feeling suddenly clawed at your chest - the painter did an amazing job capturing what truly lied beyond the veil in your husband’s eyes. What an evil, evil man. You all but physically shook your awful thoughts away and let out a grunt, “Ugh,” you glowered at it one last time before turning away from it entirely and looking somewhere else - trying to distract yourself.
Alcina gave you a questioning look, wordlessly asking you to explain your reaction. And so you did.
“You know, the worst part of this entire affair is that people seem to think I don’t have enough paintings of my husband ruining my walls,” you said matter of factly and moved to remove the black veil that had been previously obscuring your face, “almost as if they want him to keep plaguing my entire existence, even after his blasted death,”
“I can’t possibly imagine how you feel,” the Countess drawled, “this one in particular is terribly unsightly,” her eyes were still on the painting before she gave you a sidelong glance.
“It is right at the bottom of the stairs, as well. I am forced to look at it each morning - it always gives me such a fright,” you don’t know what your face looked like when you finished your sentence, though it seemed to amuse the Countess, for she exhaled harshly through her nose. It wasn’t a laugh, but there was some levity behind it. It made you feel warm inside.
... perish the thought.
The two of you fell silent. It was comfortable at first, but it quickly overstayed its welcome. Feeling as if you had to break the ice, you changed the subject, “How do you find the wine?” and finally turned to face the other woman. Alcina looked down at her goblet, her left eyebrow arching before she looked up to meet your gaze again. She paused briefly when she saw your face for the first time that evening - in years, really. Her arched eyebrow dropped and her brow furrowed momentarily. You knew why.
“Ours is better,” she flatly said after a few seconds - Alcina wanted to say hers was better, you could tell - her lips curled down in irritation as soon as the words came out of her mouth. It almost made you crack a smile. For a serious woman, the Countess seemed to have an underlying talent for deadpan humor. You wished to see more of it. You... hoped you could see more of it.
You squinted your eyes at her, trying to decide whether or not you should debate her on the matter before choosing to spare yourself the headache. You were making an attempt at friendship, after all, and approaching the Countess on a more neutral ground after having hated each other for years made things much harder than they had to be.
“It pains me to admit it... but I must agree with you,” you carefully said. It wasn’t a lie per se, but, one, you didn’t want to stroke the woman’s ego, and two, you were a proud woman. Everything was a competition for the both of you, especially considering how difficult your relationship was over the years. Starting with a clean slate meant you had to walk on eggshells around each other. You more than her.
Alcina took it as a compliment, but didn’t smile. Her eyes searched yours for... for something. You couldn’t quite tell, but you wish she’d stop. Why did you always feel exposed whenever you spoke to her? It aggravated you a bit - no matter what you did to hide your emotions, she always managed to read between the lines. The point is, she took your compliment, kept it, and her face didn’t even move an inch. It was as if she was telling you ‘I know this’. The thought made you try and stand taller than her, then. You chin tilting upwards. She noticed and seemed... amused. This was, apparently, a pointless resistance for you.
No matter, though. Now was not the time to preserve your ego. You came to her for a specific reason, and now was as good a time as any. You pursed your lips and didn’t break eye contact with the Countess. She knew what was about to come, yet simply stood there and watched you squirm in place. She knew she was owed an apology. You both did.
“I came to you to apologise,” your face looked almost pained. You meant every word, but it was surreal how, after several years of the both of you fueling an antagonistic dynamic, there was finally breakthrough in the horizon. Was she prepared for it? Were you?
...
Regardless of how you felt at the moment, one thing was clear - you needed this. You weren’t sure if she cared, but you did. And you were running out of time.
Her eyes dared you to continue. Her body was still facing the painting, making it look like she was unfazed by the conversation.
“I behaved... poorly, and it was terribly unseemly of me. I was but a guest in your home yet chose to let my emotions get the better of me and... lashed out. At the wrong person, no less,” you cleared your throat and grimaced. This sounded like a poor apology, in your ears. Hopefully she saw it differently.
The Countess was still watching you. Studying you. You felt like you were being picked apart and dissected by her prying gaze. Catching a glimpse of your husband’s painting in your peripheral vision, you immediately felt his ghostly presence looming over you, as if he was watching the scene unfold and judging you for it. You wanted nothing more than to move away from the damned thing. Well, at least if he was in hell right now, scrutinising your life choices and wanting you to regret them, then, unfortunately for him, the discomfort you were experiencing at that moment had the exact opposite effect on you. It gave you an edge, actually. You prayed to your gods that he was watching. You wanted nothing more than to rub it all over his face. He could roll over in his grave, for all you care.
“And you are telling me this, years later, why, exactly? Don’t tell me this was all the time it took for you to finally grow a conscience”, she condescendingly said. It didn’t sting, though. You understood where she was coming from, and if you were in her shoes you wouldn’t trust yourself either. Not at first, at least.
You let out a calming breath and a bitter laugh. Your heart clenched at how she was looking at you. Maybe you were a masochist. Maybe you just enjoyed watching her when she was angry. The way her nose scrunched up and her icy stare seemed to throw daggers at you... even the way she was staring down at you made you almost chuckle in amusement. It was truly a sight to behold. You could respect a woman with a backbone. In fact, you found it endearing - the woman was terrifying and utterly beautiful.
You clasped your hands together behind your back and glanced away from the other woman’s face, trying to focus on what you wanted to tell her, instead, “May we speak somewhere else?”, the stupid painting was beginning to irritate you. It was an inanimate object, true, but it was still not worthy of witnessing what was about to happen next. You’d have to put the blasted thing away in the near future. It was hideous.
Alcina didn’t seem particularly thrilled to continue the conversation, but she still followed you outside - matching your slow and deliberate pace - through your garden, and to your gazebo that was facing a lake and the dense woods that surrounded your castle. You moved to stand close to the railing and placed both your hands on it. The soft, chirping sounds of the crickets seemed to calm you, preparing you for what you were about to say. Your gaze dropped to the lake, then, your heart beating steadily in your chest as you looked at the moonlight’s reflection dancing on its surface. Alcina was, apparently, more interested in your garden, but you would soon pull her away from her thoughts.
“I am dying,” you finally said, your posture sagging, which didn’t at all match with your calm voice. It was the first time you had ever dared to utter those words out loud, apparently the other woman’s presence seemed to give you the edge you needed.
You didn’t see how Alcina’s head all but snapped in your direction. Didn’t see how she parted her lips for a moment yet said nothing. The silence was deafening. Suddenly, your tired face and eyes made sense to her - you weren’t pale, but looked so, incredibly tired -; the way your hands trembled slightly whenever you weren’t holding them; the way you seemed to walk at a slower pace... You didn’t see the way realisation dawned on her face before she inched closer to you.
Your turned your head to meet her eyes once more and almost sighed at how beautiful the woman truly was. In a moment of longing, your eyes fell to her lips before you had to mentally kick yourself for it, glancing away begrudgingly. You hummed low in your throat and tapped your fingers against the railing, "My husband... was not a kind man," was what you hesitantly said before finally continuing, “I am dying,” you repeated, determination settling on your face, “and I wasn’t going to let the bastard outlive me,”. It was said with nothing but contempt in your voice and, much to your surprise, earned no type of reaction from Alcina, who simply kept watching you. This caused your heart to clench, uncertainty washing over you. Had you made a mistake? Was this woman going to lead you to your downfall? All terrible thoughts, really, so, in a moment of weakness, this time, you let your face twist in confusion before preparing yourself to meet the other woman's eyes. Once you did, what you saw earned Alcina a bittersweet, half-hearted laugh, despite yourself.
You didn’t see a hint of judgment, fear, pity or even confusion. All you saw was understanding. You watched as Alcina’s chin tilted upwards then, slowly, a flash of something crossing her eyes. For the first time in your life, someone was looking at you as if they truly and completely understood you. She took what you told her and asked nothing of you. Didn't question you. Didn't berate you. You allowed her to see you, the real you, and she took you as you were.
You took note of how the moon and stars reflected on her eyes, then. You could swear that, if you dared to draw nearer, you’d find a whole galaxy in them. You almost longed to find out what it was, exactly, that her eyes were telling you.
It seemed that you and the other Countess were meant to have these, rather stressful, moments under the moonlight. It was funny how the dark made you see each other differently. Hopefully this time it would end better.
Once again, you stayed in comfortable silence for awhile. Your eyes scanned her face for a possible change of heart, yet found none. Alcina didn’t say anything, though her body language had changed almost imperceptibly - she no longer looked angry with you. In fact, she almost looked like she wanted to tell you something. Anything.
You watched, with tired eyes, as she lifted her glass and raised it towards you. It seemed like she had some new-found respect for you and, honestly? You could say the same. You smiled at her, allowing it to reach your eyes for the first time in a long while - hopefully the way you looked at her would speak for you. Noticing the way Alcina's lips upturned - almost giving you a real smile - apparently they had.
You were supposed to hate her, yet the woman had showed you more kindness in this moment alone than anyone ever could and had in your entire life. You wish you could reach out, grab her hand and thank her properly. You wished you could tell her all that you had left unspoken over the years. You wished you could let her know your deepest secrets, hidden and locked away in your chest.
You wish she saw it all in your eyes, yet hated the mere thought of it ever happening.