Chapter Text
Her father was a stoic man.
One that grew up separated from the rest of the villagers, out of sight and out of mind of those that called the village their home. A hunter by heart and a hermit by peace, he paid no mind to the waving tides of what went on below the mountains he resided on.
He who was made an outcast like a heretic of the orothodox church, he who was the lone wolf that then thrived in the narrow backwoods of Romania.
To be set upon undesired limitations of survival for the rejected ideology of their pagan prophet.
In the eyes of the villagers below, how could it be certain that this hermit wouldn’t long last the unmerciful horrors of the backwoods. That his sinful nature would never yet come to corrupt their childrens’ thoughts, to never again seed religious heresy upon their generations.
Yet none would tell the tale of one that he led astray, a young girl of his seed, birthed in secret by one that had yet been young of age and corrupted as they had said. Thrown away as they had done with the hermit.
What remained a hushed whisper to closed ears of their survival became accepted doubt.
How had they not seen that the lone wolf could survive the backwoods? That the lone wolf would in turn raise his seed out of spite for the pack that made him the outcast.
That the little rundown hut on the outskirts of the village was made home for the troubled hermit and his little one.
…
And so the years went by, that the hermit and his seed came to be forgotten. That the village would yet continue their pagan cult, to one day be doomed by the flawed witch they named their god.
That had, at least, been the tales that her father told her before each sunrise. Before he would venture out to hunt for their next meals. What these tales were meant to be had been a mystery to her; perhaps to warn her of the village’s crazed cult, to remind her of what they had done to her father and to remain cautious of those that reside there.
But from then, she had given these tales little attention as she carried out her own work while her father was out.
When she was younger, her father had told her to never set foot out of the mountains they lived in. He never explained why, although his tales of the village below had once been enough to keep put around the snowy peaks.
“These mountains are your home, the snow and the leaves around you are your protection. Keep to this asylum and you’ll live longer than the rest of them.”
Her father had said to her once during a harsh blizzard, which was as calming to her as heavy rain was for those appreciating its ambience.
Back then, she had given it little thought. She was young then, what little naivety that stirred in her mind gave her almost no danger to imagine, no enemies to be led astray.
Could that have made this little one safe? Who could tell no one but herself to acknowledge that age old question.
“You have wit, little stepho.” He reminds her. “And resolve. Many have the skills it takes to survive, but not the resolve to keep going, like you and I.”
But these were the words that kept to her as she grew, even as she came to be alone in this little hut, grieving the body of her late father as wolves scattered around the snow outside the rot-stricken walls.
But her father told her never to mourn. For what use was grief for a dead man straining to live a life worth living.
So it could be said that she was rather stoic herself, just like her father had once been, had always been till his last breath.
The words of her father always echoed in her ears for each day that she ventured to the village below, each step of her father’s worn out boots and whispers from the villagers around warned her of the hidden dangers of the novelty of this place.
And who could imagine the hermit’s daughter would end up behind the walls of one of their own lords, safe from the whispers of heresy of the people, but could it remain the same for where she stayed behind these new walls as well?
...
And those were the thoughts that had proved to keep her safe in this castle.
“Keep your head held high, even in danger. A level head separates a hunter from the hunted.”
The last remaining sentences in her father’s journal were repeated in her head each day as the sun rose over the lone window in her cold room, she closed the journal, hand grazing over the rough leather that aged in the cold winter days that her father wrote in it.
She had become the head maid of Castle Dimitrescu in the four months that she spent working for the Lady and her three daughters. Not much changed other than granted leadership, but as far as benefits went, it meant that she could live just a little longer than the rest of the maids.
Yet she decided that this title was a failure of her actions, of her goal to remain unimportant and out of thought to the supernatural. While it made her quite untouchable compared to the other maids in the castle, it certainly made the chance of escaping these confinements much more difficult with each day.
This kept her under the watchful eye of Lady Dimitrescu, Alcina; she had figured out her name in one of the many paintings that scattered the hallways she cleaned. Her unnatural height and pale skin was enough for her to tell that she wasn’t like herself or the villagers, let alone the three sisters she always passed by, always smelling the sharp tint of blood in their appearance.
She placed her father’s journal beneath the mattress of her bed, grabbing a set of keys from the bedside table before heading out of her small room and into the hallways.
She walked through the dimly lit hallways of the second floor, for a moment her eyes scanned the front doors of the castle before she turned and carried her way towards the hall that kept the room of the Lady Dimitrescu.
As it had always been, these halls were the most quiet. Yet she found that its silent ambience rattled louder in her chest than the echoing screams of her fellow maids throughout the night.
She knocked softly on the door to her Lady, awaiting permission to enter as her routine had always been.
“Come in.” The soft remark of the Lady whispered in her ear, she opened the door and was met with the head of House Dimitrescu watching herself in her vanity, one that was explicitly made her ‘size’ unlike the rest of the castle.
“Good Morning, My Lady.” She greeted, yet expected no response as she walked behind Lady Dimitrescu, awaiting her orders.
The Lady had the habit of making her wait as she applied lipstick, perhaps in accordance to make any maid feel nervous, yet she found this moment to study the tall figure. So she stared at herself through the vanity, yet kept her peripheral attention to each twitch and furrow of her face in wait. To keep watch of her reaction, she always told herself, to watch for openings that would garner to her hopeful escape, she believed.
“What is the schedule for today?” Her Lady demanded, placing her lipstick down and fixing the large hat on her head.
Keeping to the schedule each day had become her new routine as the Head Maid, of each hour written down and memorized for future days.
“At nine, you have an early meeting with the Duke about foreign imports.” She began as memorized, remaining to look at herself through the vanity so as to not lock with the Lady’s own. “Then at ten, you have an early lunch. After ten, you are scheduled to attend a meeting with Mother Miranda at the court.”
She continued, unsure if the Lady truly listened or not, she was certain that it was made and written with her knowledge of the next day and questioned if this was truly necessary when she considered the intellect of her Lady.
“Hm…” Her Lady only sounded, the pale woman spared only a glance at the maid behind her before standing and waltzing towards the door. It was as expected and was she preferred, the less attention to her presence the better.
“Ileana..” The call of her name prompted her to gaze at her Lady, who turned to her, a lone hand on the handle of the door. “Cancel lunch, I’ll be meeting with Beneviento instead.”
“As you wish, My Lady.”
“In the meantime, while I’m gone, I would like you to watch over Cassandra and Daniella. They have caused too much havoc these days and made it quite difficult to replace others, refrain them from killing anymore for today.”
The Sisters? That was a new order, one she found not liking very much as it contrasted with the routine she had built for herself in the months she was working here. To watch the Dimitrescu daughters would, of course, be challenging, cutting to her time well spent on planning her escape.
And for the sisters, they were well known for their, rather savage, games they liked to play with the maids of the castle. You had been lucky to have been promoted as Head Maid, as the Lady named you untouchable to them. Though you were sure that this did not prompt good thoughts in the minds of the daughters, especially in Daniela’s, the main harasser of the three in her encounters with them.
“Ileana!” The shout of her name popped the bubble of her thoughts and she shook her head slightly before looking back into her Lady’s peeved eyes.
“My apologies, My Lady.” She remarked, bowing slightly in her mistake of wandering.
“You’ve been straying to your mind far too much these days, do not let it happen again while I’m talking to you.” The Lady asserted, a deep frown on her face that spoke of not so whispered dangers if she continued in her actions.
“I also need you to scour around and find a good vessel to be the Maiden for this year, we are in need of a new batch of wine. We’ve been scarce of good resources with the village’s population going down.”
“Of course, My Lady.”
And with that, the Lady waltzed off, leaving her in the room to churn at the thoughts of her new orders.
To not only watch over the sisters, but to walk a fellow maid to her death in being named the maiden. How this would’ve made anyone stress all around about it, she could only sigh. Finding a worthy maiden wouldn’t be too difficult, just like her father, she was the outcast of the castle’s servants...