Bleeding Heart

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<center><<timed 1s>><<fadein 3s>>[[The moon is rising.]]<</fadein>><</timed>></center>

<<run UIBar.stow(true);>><<run UIBar.hide(true);>> <center><span style= "font-family: 'Tangerine', cursive; font-size: 250%;">[[Bleeding Heart ->start]]</span> <span style= "font-family: 'Tangerine', cursive; font-size: 150%;">//by Kit H.J.// -- [[Content Warning]] --</span></center>

//by Kit H.J.//

You aren't sure how much farther you have to go. The woods are different in the cold dark - the world is different. //Different// - no. Exposed. The blood on your hands - yours and his - is just the same. You step away from the tree, wiping your trembling hands on your dress. They're numb from the cold, and your fingers are stiff and swollen as you clench and unclench your hand again. You wish you still had your knife to hold. "//Idiot//," you mutter under your breath. You start to walk again. Your legs hurt, and your feet are just as swollen as your hands, but there's nothing left for you to do but to keep walking. You saw the dogs. You know they'll catch up with you soon enough. It starts to rain then. Quiet pattering, and then the wind shifts, and the rain comes with it, howling through the trees before whipping across your back, the icy water cutting straight through your clothes. The mud at your feet churns, rejuvenated, sucking at your little heeled boots as you cry out in frustration. You lift your face to the sky again, up to the moon - but still, it cares not. Slowly, the clouds begin to swallow the [[light]].

You keep going. It's darker now, hard to distinguish the trees from the sky from the ground - until lightning flashes, everything stark and pale and ugly, and you catch the distant glimpse of stone and glass. The castle. You're getting closer. Seeing it there in front of you doesn't make you feel any kind of relief, though. You just feel stupid. An old superstition isn't going to stop dogs or the man chasing you. But there's nothing left for you to do. So you keep walking. When you hear the dogs braying behind you, you start to [[run]].

<<cacheaudio "october" "music/october.mp3">> <<set $d_rel to 10>> <<set $ending1 to false>> <<set $ending2 to false>> <<set $ending3 to false>> <<set $ending4 to false>> <<set $ending5 to false>> <<set $vamp to false>> <<set $human to false>>

<<run UIBar.show();>>Its pale face watches you through the bare, gnarled branches that reach down and pull at your hair. It watches you through the clouds, even as they try to obscure the light, the night sky thick and hazy. It watches, apathetic, as you tumble through the mud. The bottom of your skirts are torn and soaked, clinging to your ankles. The wet, heavy fabric hurts where it touches you, your ankles raw and bloody from the scratching underbrush. You ignore it, pushing forward, hiking up your dress and kicking your feet out with each step, sending mud flying in front of you - until you stumble again, catching yourself on a nearby tree, hissing in pain as the rough bark slices at your palm. You press yourself against it, hugging the trunk, clenching your hand as blood swells between your fingers. Clutching at the tree, you tilt your head back and blink up at the moon. You listen. There's no sound but for the wind and the fallen leaves whispering at your feet. [[But you know they can't be far behind.]]

You feel the pounding of your heart in your temples, in your swollen hands, it consumes the sound of the rain and the wind - just the wet //thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump// of your blood flushing hot beneath your skin. You tumble forward, your skirts ripping, one of your shoes coming free in the mud. You leave it, loping forward, pain lancing up your leg, your hands reaching out blindly to catch yourself as you stagger through the trees. The dogs howl, the sound piercing through your heart. You pause for a moment, your eyes wide, crouching low and holding your panicked breath. Surely the rain - the rain will hide your scent. Their teeth flash in your mind - bloody canines and saliva and snapping jaws. [[You never did like his dogs.]]

"Come! Let me show you the kennels," Mr. Sawhill grins, sweeping his hand in front of him, gesturing you towards the door. Your brother stands beside you, servants immediately swarming around him to take away his empty plate and push in his chair as he saunters over to the door. You hesitate. "Come on," Mr. Sawhill presses, his voice softening slightly. "I want you to see them, too, Miss Cecilia." You glance down at your half-eaten plate. A servant hovers just behind you, expectantly. "Yes, of course, Mr. Sawhill," you say with a polite smile, standing slowly. Your brother gives you a pointed look behind Mr. Sawhill's back. One of the other servants trails behind you. A younger woman, maybe a few years younger than you. A chubby girl with a round face and soft brown eyes to match. She has her hands clasped in front of her, and she stares down at her feet, avoiding your gaze. You find yourself drawn closer to her than the men. The four of you, along with another servant, begin the long walk through Sawhill's estate. Sawhill talks animatedly with your brother up ahead, though you have little interest in their conversation. You take the opportunity instead to look around, eyeing the paintings and lavish decor hanging on the walls between the wide windows that stare out over the massive garden and the distant stables, the curtains fluttering as you pass by. There's also Mr. Sawhill's //trophies// - animal heads with marble eyes that follow you as you walk. You shiver. //Be grateful//, a voice chastises you in your mind. It sounds like your brother. "Are you cold, Miss Cecilia?" the servant asks quietly. Her voice startles you, and you blink over at her. She seems embarrassed - servants aren't to speak unless spoken to. She avoids your gaze again. "I'm alright, thank you," you say quickly. [[You wrap your shawl tighter around your shoulders as you all step outside.]]

It's a brisk walk to the kennels. You can hear the dogs before you even see the massive structure, beyond the stables, near the treeline. You stare ahead at the back of Mr. Sawhill's head. Somehow your brother managed to weasel his way into his good graces. //Hunting buddies// - you could hardly believe it when he told you. Mr. Sawhill seems to be a more modern man, with lots of friends in lots of places. //Be grateful//, you hear your brother say again. He's a fit man, too, with the time and money to waste on athletic endeavors. He's clearly quite comfortable with his family's fortune. He could have any woman he wants. You pull your shawl even tighter as you all stop in the shadow of the kennels. The other servant hurries ahead to open the doors, bowing slightly as you all shuffle inside. The smell of dog and meat and shit overwhelms you, making you grimace, along with the barking and rattling of cages as the dogs jump excitedly at the appearance of Mr. Sawhill. You stare into the nearest cage, the dog barking incessantly, spittle flying from its jaws and darkening the dirt at your feet. You can't tell if it's actually excited or if it's angry, or maybe just hungry. It jumps onto its hind legs, slamming its front paws against its cage and barking even louder. You quickly take a few steps back. "They like you, Miss Cecilia!" Mr. Sawhill exclaims, slapping the heel of his palm against the side of the cage. The dog drops back down on all fours. Its tongue lolls out, saliva foaming in its jowls and hanging from its teeth, panting loudly as it stares up at you. [[The other dogs keep barking.]]

You press a hand to your brow, rubbing anxiously at your forehead. Mr. Sawhill takes a step towards you. Your brother is glaring over his shoulder again. "I'm sorry, Mr. Sawhill, please excuse me," you blurt. You turn and run back outside, embarrassed and nauseous. The barking pounds against your skull, even outside, and you hurry away from the doors, out into the green, open field, into the warm sun. The servant girl follows after you. She doesn't say anything to you this time, just standing there, but her presence comforts you. Mr. Sawhill and your brother remain inside the kennels. You press your face into your hands, and then crouch down in the grass, your skirts billowing out around you. "Oh, Miss!" the servant yelps, rushing over to grab your arm. You drop your hands and blink up at her. "I'm sorry," she says quickly, letting you go. "I thought you were fainting, Miss Cecilia, I'm so sorry," she bows profusely. "It's okay," you say. You crouch there for another moment. She joins you, pulling her knees up to her chest. You glance over at her, and she smiles sheepishly. You haven't been around many servants before. You can't afford the luxury. You do the work at home yourself. Mr. Sawhill's servants are always quiet - out of the way. Not quite there. "What's your name?" you ask her. "Emina Flowers," she says softly. She picks at the grass at your feet. Strange girl, you remember thinking. //[[Strange girl.]]//

The dogs are getting closer. Your breath fogs in front of you, your head heavy, your body slowing. You pull at low-hanging branches to drag yourself off the ground and move forward, tripping over roots as you struggle to lift your feet properly. The ground is slick, all the fallen leaves glistening with mud and rain, and you slide down a short little slope, your palms shredding as you try to catch yourself. You start to cry. They're getting //closer//. The moon breaks through the clouds then, illuminating the dark woods as you push yourself back onto your feet. And over the braying of the hounds, over the rain and the wind, you can hear running water. You just have to cross the bridge. They won't follow you, they can't, they can't, they can't - you chant it to yourself, hiking up your skirts and pushing forward. Across the bridge is the witch's wood. They can't follow you there. Your bare foot slaps against the forest floor, your socks and drawers and petticoat torn to pieces, your other boot coming untied and soon to join the other lost in the mud. But you keep going. The water grows louder. So does the [[howling]].

Lightning flashes once again, briefly illuminating your world of shadows here beneath the trees. You catch sight of the glittering water just ahead, with its iridescent white foam like a beacon in the dark as it churns and splashes violently against the rocks. You don't see the bridge. "No, no, no, no," you wail, dropping to your knees for a moment above the little gorge. How far can it be? You lost the trail a while ago. You look to your left, to your right - all you see is dark water. You hear the hounds coming, crashing through the underbrush. He can't be far behind. You're panting, leaning forward and pressing your palms into the mud. You stare down at the water, at the rapids, at the rocks. <div id="choice">[[I won't make it across. I have to find the bridge. Only a little further...]]</div> <div id="choice">[[The dogs are too close. I have to swim. I have to.]]</div>

You force yourself to stand. You limp along, following the river, your heart pounding in your skull again. //Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump.// You hear Sawhill's voice over everything, calling your name. You run. Your lungs ache as your chest heaves, your legs burning as you tumble and finally lose your other shoe. The dogs are barking, your heart is racing. But you see the bridge. You cry out, grabbing at your skirts again, lifting them up as if it will make you run faster. You stagger up the little ridge from the riverside, grabbing at handfuls of leaves and wet grass and mud as you haul yourself up. The bridge looms just ahead. You leave bloody footprints on the wooden slats as you start to cross. The world seems to fall quiet beneath the dark awning shielding the bridge, and your ears ring, the sound of the dogs barking and even the river beneath your feet vanishing for a few seconds - before the hounds appear, seeming to materialize out of the dark at the mouth of the bridge. They don't hesitate, their nails clicking against the wood as they storm after you. "No, no, no! Stop!" you scream as if they can understand, as if they ever listened to you before. You look for Sawhill, and he appears just the same, out of the dark on horseback. But his horse nearly throws him, stopping short and rearing back, refusing to cross the bridge. But the dogs - the dogs are mad. The full moon watches, it turns them mad. The bridge, the witch's wood, the river roaring down below - it turns them mad. Sawhill tries to call them off, but they don't listen to him, either. You run, half-way across now. [[But the dogs are faster.]]

The dogs are too close. You crawl forward, towards the dark water. You reach out and touch it. Your hands are numb - you can't feel the wetness, you can't feel the cold - just the pressure of the current as it pushes between your fingers. Breathing deep, you close your eyes. You stand just as the dogs burst out of the trees, just as Sawhill appears on horseback to scream your name. You jump into the river. The current takes you forcefully, tugging at your skirts and dragging you under. You immediately try to pull them off, thrashing underwater, your ankle striking a rock just as you manage to break the surface. You take a few gasping breaths, hear Sawhill's voice, and then you go back under. You fumble as the water tosses you head over heels, and it's your shoulder now that strikes another rock, the force of it righting you again. At least it wasn't your skull. Somehow, you manage to rip off your torn petticoat. You break the surface again, barely. All you glimpse is the moon, watching. The water burns as it floods your nose, making you gag, allowing more water into your mouth. Your chest hurts. You reach blindly out of the water, grasping for anything. You scramble at some rocks, but the current is too strong, sweeping you away before you can manage a handhold. Your hands are too stiff, your body doesn't respond fast enough. You're going to drown. It's dark under the water. You aren't sure which way is up or down anymore. A jagged rock strikes your hip, spinning you around, disorienting you further, and your diaphragm tightens, your lungs burning from the ice water. You convulse, vomiting as your body tries and fails to expel it. You slam into something flat and hard. You scramble at it, pushing against the current, clawing your way towards the surface. The moon is your only solace, a great milky eye staring, unblinking. Your nails rips from your fingers, your other shoe is torn from your foot, and your skirt swirls around you, threatening to entangle you and pull you back down. You break the surface, gasping and coughing and retching, hugging the wooden beam as the water breaks against your back. It's hard to open your eyes, water still rushing over you, but for now you just hold yourself there, tucking your head against the wood and trying to catch your breath. Your arms shake, and you know you don't have much strength left. You need to get out of the water. You lift your head and [[look up ->up]].

You cry out for Sawhill as the hounds reach you, forced to give up on your mad run and face them. They all surge together, one of them jumping up and sinking its teeth into your arm. Another bites at your legs, jerking you to the ground. The third lunges and bites at your hip, shaking its head and dragging you back and forth like a doll. You hear your dress rip, your skin rip, the muscle tear from the bone - you feel your body break between their teeth. You scream, your bare feet kicking and thrashing wildly as you try to get away. You throw your head back, stare up past the awning, up at the moon. A dog takes your hand, the delicate bones snapping before it rips your wrist from its socket. They tear open your dress, they look for the soft flesh underneath. You stop screaming then. You see Sawhill, see the dog release your hand and turn on him. You think about Emina. The hounds pull you apart, tear open your stomach and break through your ribs. You feel their mouths inside. You stare up at the moon. [[It watches.]]

<<timed 1s>><<fadein 3s>><center><span style= "font-family: 'EB Garamond', serif; font-size: 200%;">ENDING I</span> <span style= "font-size: 150%;">OF DOGS AND MAN</span> <span style= "font-size: 80%;">again? <<link [[↺ ->start]]>><<set $d_rel to 10>><</link>></span></center><</fadein>><</timed>>

It's the bridge. You're close to the other side - or at least, you hope you are. You're not sure which side is which. It doesn't matter. There's a gnarled root that twists out over the water that will pull you out. You're close enough to reach it. You take a few deep breaths. Your entire body hurts. Your lungs feel as if they've been deflated and ground beneath someone's boot. Your stomach is in knots, and your legs ache beneath the water. You grab the root. You test it first, your legs still wrapped around the beam, bracing against the current as you tug on the root a few times. Then you release the beam. The current immediately tries to drag you beneath the bridge, but you hold on tight, even as you're dunked underwater before you manage to haul yourself up. Your arms tremble, and you kick wildly against the water, slowly inching forward. Closer, closer. Your vision grows dark around the edges. Your breath wheezes in your throat. You grasp at the rocks, one hand still gripping the root. //Don't let go don't let go don't let go.// Your feet find purchase, and you claw at the rocks, until you feel mud and grass and leaves. You give one final heave against the root and then you collapse, your torso on solid ground, your legs buckling against the craggy shore. You drag yourself forward by fistfuls of earth. You press your face into the mud, breathe it in, the smell of it, of the dirt and the dead leaves and the decaying wood. [[You breathe deep.]]

It makes your ribs hurt. Rolling onto your back, you stare up at the sky. At the milky eye of the moon. The dogs howl on the other side of the bridge. You sit up, wincing and clutching at your hip. You struggle to stand, using the bridge's support to pull yourself onto your feet. Upright the world spins, and you vomit up all the water you swallowed, splashing across your bare feet. You cling to the railing, gasping, vomiting again. Strands of saliva drip from your open mouth, your eyes watering and your nose running as acid burns the back of your throat. "Cecilia!" Sawhill shouts, and you lift your head, breathing hard. On the other side of the bridge, you can see him - and you see the dogs, half-way across, but they're in a frenzy right at the center, biting at each other in a chaotic mass of claws and teeth. Sawhill's horse refuses to go further, huffing and tossing its head. He calls out your name again, and he screams at the dogs, but they don't listen. They keep biting and howling and tearing into one another, blood spilling across the wooden bridge, leaking between the slats, down into the dark water below. You can smell it. Wet dog and blood and their meaty breath. The full moon watches. It turns them mad. At least they can't follow you here. Neither can Sawhill. You push off the bridge, turning away. You head [[deeper]] into the woods, ignoring the whimpering of the hounds and Sawhill's cries.

The rain is slowing. Lightning flashes, and the distant rumble of thunder. Somehow it's even darker on this side of the bridge. Quieter, too. The dogs have stopped barking. Deeper, deeper, into the woods. You try to remember the path. You've been here before, many times, when you were young. When you first realized there was something [[wrong]] with you.

One of your friends, a few years older than you, was about to debut. She was so excited. [[But all you felt was dread. ->dread]]

You helped her get ready. Her family was like yours - no servants. You did her hair for her. You started with your fingers, gentle, untangling the little knots first before going in with the comb. Her hair was thick and straight - you liked letting it run through your fingers. You liked when she would occasionally pet your curls in return. She was warm. That's what you remember the most. The way her body felt this close, the way it felt beneath your touch. Your hands would linger, on her shoulders, trailing the curve of her neck, your fingers tracing the hard angle of her jaw as you gathered all her hair back in both hands. She watched you through the mirror. She had laughed at the time, but remembering it now, you know it wasn't real. You could see it in her reflection - there was no humor there. Just a showing of teeth. There was something strange between the two of you after that, and it was your fault. And, of course, there was her debut. She was swept off her feet - swept far away from you. She had more important things to worry about than you and your strangeness. It disturbed you, when you'd wake up every night from the same dream where you brushed her hair. You'd wrap your hands around her throat. Feel her pulse beneath the skin. You'd hold her close. There was something [[wrong ->wrong2]] with you.

A cold winter day. It's bright, the kind of bright that makes it seem even colder despite the sun. Your breath freezes into mist as you cross the bridge. //This is a stupid idea//, you think bitterly. You don't stop, though. Across the bridge, and you step into the witch's wood. The path is faded, partially overgrown, but with the sun overhead and the trees bare of leaves you have no problem seeing the castle up ahead. Your brother always warned you away from here. The estate line ends a few kilometers back, before the river. He told you ghost stories, that there was an old witch in the woods - a tale that was known by more than just your brother. People stayed clear of the woods out here, of the old, abandoned castle. There was a witch in the woods, and she made a deal with the devil. She'll eat little girls like you. You scoff out loud. But there's a wariness in your step that you can't shake. You glance around, your hands tightening where you clasp them within your fur muff. It's quiet out here, just the sound of leaves rustling in the wind and the fading trickle of the river behind you. You glance back over your shoulder, eyeing the bridge for a moment. Up ahead, the castle looks abandoned, moreso than you expected. "Of course, it's abandoned, Cecilia," you mutter. "No one lives out here." You walk for a short while, the castle growing larger and larger as it looms over you. The idea of the witch compels you. Out here, all alone, a castle all to herself. Your brother says she eats girls, drinks their blood - but you've heard other stories, too. A foul smell hits you then, and you slow your steps, dry leaves crunching beneath your little heeled boots. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end. You hear heavy breathing - an animal. Panting, moaning, thrashing in the leaves. You see the fogging breath first, curling up through the trees, and then you see the horse. All black, it's eyes wide enough that you can see it's sclera, full of angry, burst blood vessels. It throws its head back, its ears pinned as it whines and huffs in pain. You [[watch]].

It's not one of your horses. You've never seen it before. It's large, even on the ground, and it keeps tossing its head. You can see blood on its neck, splattered across the leaves, fresh droplets landing near your feet. Some of it gets on your shoes. Suddenly it stops, turning to look at you. Its nostrils flare. Then it tries to stand, taking a few shaky steps only for its front legs to give out, and it collapses back down with so much force that it rolls onto its side. It doesn't attempt to get back up. Its breath is wet and wheezing, and its eyes somehow get even wider, darting frantically in its skull. It's going to die, you can tell, blood drooling from its mouth and flowing from its neck, the muscles straining beneath the sleek black coat. It's gone still but for its breathing. <<linkreplace 'Step back.'>> <<linkreplace 'Step back.'>> <<linkreplace '//Step closer.//'>> <<linkreplace 'Step closer.'>> <<link 'Closer. I want to see.' 'approach'>><</link>><</linkreplace>><</linkreplace>><</linkreplace>><</linkreplace>>

You take a few tentative steps, moving to stand just behind it, out of reach in case it starts kicking again. You pull your hands from your muff, slinging it over your shoulder. The horse is beautiful. The cold air steams around it, from its breath and its blood and its sweltering skin. You reach out and touch its round, distended stomach. It huffs, but it has no energy left for anything else. You slowly stroke its flank, watching it rise and fall with its breathing. It's warm. "Where did you come from?" you ask softly. "What happened to you?" You stare at all the blood on the ground, staining the leaves. You're used to seeing blood, of course, most women are, but there's //so much//. It continues to spill from the horse's throat with each breath, with each desperate pump of its heart. You can almost hear it, watching the way it flutters beneath the skin. //Thump-thump-thump, thump-thump-thump.// Erratic. Unnatural. You keep petting it. You touch its mane, long and black and just as beautiful as its coat. You comb your fingers through it and carefully untangle all the little knots, pulling out a few leaves and broken twigs. A few of the strands are wet, your fingers turning red. But it's warm. You close your eyes. You comb her hair. When you open your eyes again, the horse is dead. Your breath quickens, and you jump to your feet, pulling your bloody hands back and clutching them against your stomach. The horse's eyes are dark, staring up at the sky. You take a few steps back. You stare at the little droplets of blood on your shoes. You glance down the overgrown path, towards the castle. The windows are dark and empty. There's something [[wrong ->wrong3]] with you.

You're past that point now. You've been down this path many times since then. Looking for something that you never found. The castle is close. But it's getting hard for you to walk - you keep tripping, your muscles trembling and seizing as they try to keep you warm and alive. Frost forms on your dress as the river water and the rain start to freeze over, the wind is unforgiving as it whips through the trees and cuts you to the bone. You stare up at the castle windows. The moon reflects across their glass surface, and a primal fear grips at your heart as you get closer, as the moon grows more and more distorted. You imagine the witch standing just out of sight, watching your approach. Will she tempt you? Will she hurt you? You have nothing to give. [[You have nothing to lose. ->lose]]

You drag yourself up the stone steps. Water overflows from the perched gargoyles high overhead, splashing down across the steps, running in rivulets beneath your feet. You stare up at the stone creature, discolored and worn with age. You duck beneath the water that streams from its open mouth, grasping for the door. There's a heavy knocker at the center, the cold metal like a thousand needles pricking your palm. It takes some effort to lift it, a reminder of the terrible pain in your shoulder, and you gasp as it slips from your numb fingers and //thuds// against the door. There's no answer. You groan, pressing your face to the dark wood. You scratch at the the old, rusted handle with what fingernails you still have left - and to your surprise, it gives, and the door creaks open. You stare into the [[dark]].

<<timed 2s>><<fadein 3s>>//Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump.//<</fadein>><</timed>> <<timed 4s>><<fadein 7s>>The walls seem to [[pulse]].<</fadein>><</timed>>

You don't hesitate for too long, though, quickly ducking inside. You slam the heavy door closed behind you, slouching back against it and closing your eyes for a moment. //Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump.// All you hear is the sound of your heart. You turn around, holding your breath, straining to listen, your hands fluttering over the door, fumbling with the heavy lock. The sound of the mechanism turning - thudding into place - echoes off the stone. You press your forehead to the door, closing your eyes again. You stay like that for a while, waiting, listening, unsure if Sawhill will follow you here. He loves a challenging hunt. You push off the door then, opening your eyes but reaching out blindly, touching the walls. You half-expect them to be wet, to give like flesh beneath your hands. It's nothing but cold stone. You feel your way forward, until your eyes start to adjust. There's a dim light inside, coming in through the windows from the full moon. Still watching, even [[here]].

You move through the foyer, past the stairs, down a corridor towards a warm light that catches your eye. Glinting off the tall windows, it pushes out the cold light of the moon, and you follow it, your bare feet pattering softly, leaving dark footprints on the floor. The room at the end of the hall seems to be some kind of leisure room. There's a singular lamp, the wick burning low, sat atop a table surrounded by broken chairs. More windows, a desk pushed up beneath one of them, and shelves of dusty books. Some of the wood has rotted onto the floor, a few books fallen open at your feet. You approach the lamp, glancing around warily. It's shrouded in a thick layer of dust just like everything else. But the wick burns, lit from within. You touch the warm glass encasing the flame. [[You take it with you.]]

Lifting the lantern, you pick your way over towards the desk, peering out the window. All you really see is your illuminated reflection, and the bare, gnarled branches dancing in the wind. Rain streaks past, gathering along the windowsill, and you can feel the cold emanating from its surface, your breath and the warmth of the lantern fogging the glass. You step back, shivering. You leave the room then, lifting the lantern high as you make your way back down the corridor. The shadows shake as your hand trembles. You need to start a fire. You're going to freeze to death. Stumbling through the foyer, you groan, clutching your injured hip, swinging the lantern around in front of you. The reality of your situation - of what you've done - finally seems to dawn on you then, in the quiet, in the dark, with no hounds and no Sawhill. There's a heavy stone in your chest, and you wish the weight of it had drowned you in the river. "Oh, what am I going to do?" you ask, the words echoing back at you. //[["Oh, what am I going to do?"]]//

"Oh, Emina, what am I going to do?" you sigh dramatically, draping your arm over your face. All the wedding planning - and your brother - are driving you mad. Emina giggles, watching you through the mirror. "Maybe my brother should just marry Sawhill himself," you say, and the words are sour, the joke dying in your throat. Emina gasps behind you. "Miss Cecilia - Mistress," she corrects herself. As Sawhill's fiancée, you've earned a new title. You let your arm drop, sitting up in your seat with a frown. You glance at Emina in the mirror, but don't respond. You lower your gaze and stare down at your hands in your lap, twisting your pretty new ring around your finger. "What about you, Miss Emina?" you say then. You eye her reflection, still twisting at your ring. "Would you marry Mr. Sawhill?" Emina's eyes widen in surprise. "I don't think - it's not really my place to say. I'd never really be in that position," she laughs nervously. "Well, just pretend," you snap. But you check yourself, swallowing your bitterness. "Let's pretend, Emina. We can even swap roles," you say, standing from your chair and forcing a smile. Emina's eyes somehow widen even more, and it turns your smile genuine as you laugh, an idea sprouting in your mind. You grab her hand and rush over to the closet. Your closet, you suppose. Most of the dresses are out of style now, belonging to the older women in Sawhill's family, left behind to eventually be passed down to cousins or nieces or even daughter-in-laws. [[You have been reluctant to wear them.]]

You run a hand along the various dresses hanging in front of you, mostly green and gold - the colors of Sawhill's estate. You can at least appreciate that much about them, always having a fondness for that deep, emerald green. You glance over at Emina. She would look pretty in that color. A part of you really, really wants to see her in that color. Emina watches you quietly, fidgeting with her hands and shifting from foot to foot. At last, you find the perfect green gown for Emina. You pull it from the closet with a flourish. Emina shakes her head. "I can't put that on, Cecilia," she says anxiously. "Sawhill isn't even here," you assure her, maybe a little selfishly. "It's just us." Emina stares down at her feet. "Mistress," you say slowly, holding the dress up in front of her and tilting your head coyly. "Let me help you get ready." You can see the slightest smile on her lips, and she peeks at you through her lashes. You grin, laying the dress out on the bed while Emina starts to unfasten the pins on the front of her gown. "No, no, I do it for you," you say, selfishly again. Emina nods bashfully, dropping her hands before clasping them behind her back. You remove her apron first, tied around her waist, and then reach for the pins. The gown she's wearing is plain cotton and all white. You realize you've never seen her in anything else - or anything less. As a servant, Emina has always dressed very modestly. To be fair, you're a rather modest dresser yourself - at home you wear a similar cotton gown. Only at Sawhill's estate do you have to play dress-up. It never fits quite right. You remove the last pin but avoid looking at Emina's face. You realize you're quite hot, and you hope she can't feel it radiating off of your clammy hands. She carefully slips out of the gown, standing in her petticoat and stays, wringing her hands in front of her. You carefully carry the cotton gown over to the bed. Examining the other dress, you turn it around and unbutton the back, and then hold it out for Emina to step into. She's still wringing her hands. "Miss Cecilia..." she tries one more time. "Come on. You will be so beautiful, Emina," you urge her. She sniffs, glancing over at herself in your mirror. [["Okay."]]

She steps into the dress, and you carefully pull it up to her shoulders. You adjust her undergarments until they lay flat beneath the bodice, and then you slowly button up the back of the dress, your eyes wandering over Emina's shoulders and the curve of her neck. She has a beauty mark there that you never noticed before. "There," you say softly, and before you can stop yourself you reach out and run your fingers through her hair, quickly tucking a strand behind her ear and stepping back. Emina reaches up and touches her ear for a moment, glancing at you and smoothing down the front of the dress with her other hand. You urge her over to the mirror, though you avoid touching her again, not trusting your hands, grasping at fistfuls of your skirt. You hover just behind her, watching over her shoulder as she takes in her reflection. "Oh," she breathes, running her hands over the bodice. Then she laughs. "This is ridiculous." She shakes her head and turns away, glancing back at you. "Is it?" you ask. You grab one of her hands and spin her around, making her laugh again. Your heart flutters at the sound. When she comes to a stop, you admire her hand in yours. She has handsome hands, you've even told her so before, one drunken night when she was helping you to bed. It took you some time to get used to having her around. Sawhill apparently hand-picked her for you, even before he proposed; she was always following you about, closer than the other servants, never more than an arms-length away. Before this she was relegated to kitchen staff. She has a hard time holding her tongue, and would offend the other ladies of your new stature quite often, according to Sawhill. He found it amusing. You are grateful for Emina's presence. You didn't realize just how lonely you were until she was there to fill the [[emptiness]] around you.

You release her hand then, and you pull Sawhill's ring from your finger. "Now pretend I'm Mr. Sawhill," you say. "But I thought you were supposed to be me," she giggles. You feel your face getting hot again. You stare down at your ring. "Well, maybe I'm just me now," you say carefully. Emina seems to sense your shift in tone, her head tilting slightly and her eyes growing softer. She steps a little closer, and you take her hand in yours again. You slide the ring onto her finger, though it doesn't fit all the way, stopping at her second knuckle. Of course - it's fitted for you. Emina is quiet, watching you closely, a look on her face that you can't quite decipher. "What would your answer be, Miss Emina?" you ask, though it comes out as a whisper, and Emina has to lean in close to catch it, her hand tightening around yours as you come together. You can't look at anything else but her lips, waiting for her to say the words you want to hear. She bows her head, your noses brushing, your own lips parting instinctively - //hopefully//. But the distant sounds of shouting carry through the windows then, [[drawing her attention]] away from you.

She steps back, clearly flustered, though she seems as reluctant as you to let go of your hand - or maybe you're just imagining it. You feel a sudden revulsion with yourself, and you let her go, turning away and quickly walking over to the window. Across the gardens, near the stables and the dreaded kennels, you can see Sawhill and your brother, riding together along with their gaggle of hunters and servants and all the yapping hounds converging on their heels. You can see, even from this distance, the fox heads hanging from their saddles. You let out a long sigh, closing your eyes for a moment. You will be expected to meet them on the lawn. Emina's hand on your shoulder has you turning back around, and she holds [[the ring]] out in the palm of her hand.

You take it without a word, shoving it back on your finger before stepping around her, quickly undoing the buttons and pulling the dress off of her. You sloppily put it back on the hanger and throw it into the closet, and Emina redresses herself without your help. You don't know what to say to her, and your heart isn't in it anymore. It was just pretend. She's back to just being your servant, somber and dutiful, and soon she's draping a shawl over your shoulders, securing the heavy cloth in a fancy knot across your chest. <<linkreplace '"I\'m sorry."'>><<linkreplace '"You looked beautiful."'>><<linkreplace '"What would your answer be?"'>><<link '"Thank you."' 'Thank you'>><</link>><</linkreplace>> <</linkreplace>><</linkreplace>>

She bows her head, and then hurries over to open the door for you. You hesitate, reluctant to leave this little space the two of you have carved out together - but Emina just holds the door open expectantly, staring down at the floor, her face inscrutable in a different way now. Blank, uninterested. Just a tired servant waiting around for her mistress. You step into the hall and the two of you make your way downstairs, the distant barking and voices growing louder and louder. There's a manic energy to it, and it puts you even more on edge, a hurry in your step as you and Emina reach the garden. The hunters gather at the front of [[the kennels]].

You forgot to grab gloves - or rather, Emina forgot. You avoid looking at her, just clasping your hands together and quickly moving out of the shade and into the warm sun. Down the dirt path, you hear the men's voices rising, the dogs barking along with them, and you realize it's your brother - he's arguing with one of the other hunters. You can't make out what they're saying over the incessant barking of the dogs. They swarm around each other and the horses, braying and howling, some of them still bloody from the hunt. "...Perhaps we should wait for them inside, Mistress," Emina warns suddenly, looking wary, of you and the dogs. The other servants from the kennels stand back, looking much the same as Emina, glancing between the hounds and Sawhill, who seems to be trying and failing to corral the beasts along with the whipper-in while your brother continues to bark at the other hunter. "What are they even arguing about," you mutter. You ignore Emina, because otherwise you'd have to look at her, and you shrug off her hand and continue on. She reluctantly follows. Sawhill manages to get a few dogs through the kennel doors. The servants take them inside to examine for injuries. The remaining hounds are uninterested. You start to slow as you get closer. You realize your heart is racing and you feel ill, a sudden burn in the back of your throat. Some of the hunters turn to you, their bright red coats hard to look at in the sun. Your brother glances over at you, his face softening for a moment, and Sawhill follows his gaze, noticing you then and smiling bashfully. The dogs notice you, too. They immediately bolt from Sawhill, and you grab Emina as you start to backpedal, but the dogs swarm you before you can even think to try and run. You push Emina behind you, as if you could really stop a pack of hounds, and they jump at you, huffing and barking and tearing your dress with their paws. "Cecilia," Emina pleads directly into your ear, her hands grasping at your arm. She yelps, jumping into you, crying out as one of the dogs sinks its teeth into her leg. You swing around, raising your fist, striking the dog on the top of its head. It releases her immediately, blinking stupidly at you, confused as it slinks low to the ground. Emina presses her face into your back, trying to hide behind you, sobbing loudly. The other dogs scatter then, whimpering and yowling, running into each other and spooking some of the horses as they run off towards the treeline. You don't let the one get very far. You chase it down the dirt path, back towards the house, leaving Emina to collapse to the ground, clutching at her leg. You kick after it, its tail between its legs, kicking it until it turns around to bite you, too. It gets a mouthful of your leather boot, its jaws bright red from Emina's blood. You kick it until it's on the ground. Then you reach down, swiping up one of the heavy stones from the garden. You raise it over your head with both hands. You only have to strike it [[once]].

But you strike again. <<timed 2s>>And again.<</timed>> <<timed 4s>>And again.<</timed>> <<timed 6s>>[[And again.]]<</timed>>

Each strike liberates you. From Sawhill, your brother, the lust you feel for every maid, every woman, and Emina most of all, crying where you left her in the dirt - it's all excised with the dog. What's more pure than an animal that can't defend itself? [[Isn't that what you are?]]

"//Cecilia//!" Your brother grabs your arm, jerking you back, the stone slipping from your hands. You stagger as he grabs your other arm as well, roughly shoving you away from the hound. "What is wrong with you?" your brother hisses between clenched teeth. His eyes are wide with disbelief and fury. You blink down at your hands, at all the blood on your dress. "Is she alright?" Sawhill stops short as he sees what remains of his hound. Then he looks at you, then your brother, then back to you. "Check on the servant girl, Sawhill," your brother barks without looking at him. "Give me a moment with my sister." "Emina?" you blurt, but your brother drags you away before you can look for her. Sawhill watches, concern knitting his brow, and you briefly make eye contact before you turn away, letting your brother pull you out of sight. You start to shake, wiping your hands on your dress as you stumble through the garden. "What the hell, Cecilia," you brother shakes his head, still gripping your arms, bruises forming from his touch. "It bit her," you say weakly. He looks at you with disgust, and you can't tell if it's because of the dog or because of //her//. Instinctively you touch the ring on your finger. It draws his glare to your bloody hands and your stained dress. He shoves you away from him, looking at his own hands now as if touching you burned him. "Do you know how much those dogs are worth?" he says then. "I don't care!" you shout back. "I don't care! It's just a dog. All that money didn't make its skull any harder to break." Your brother raises his hand then, and you flinch. "Cecilia," he breathes. He quickly drops his hand and runs it through his hair, taking a step back. You stare past him, back up the dirt road, partially obscured by boxwood. But you can still see the dog laying there. It doesn't look like a dog anymore. It just looks like meat. "Cecilia," your brother says again. "What am I going to do with you? [[What am I going to do?]]"

You can still hear the dogs, feel their claws pulling on your dress. You spin around, lifting the lantern, your eyes wide as you back away from the front door. You can hear the dogs panting on the other side, digging and pawing at the foundation, huffing their breath through the cracks between wood and stone. You walk backwards, trembling, before turning on your heel and running for the stairs. Great stone steps that sprawl upward, into the dark. You scramble on all fours as best you can with the lantern, but your clumsiness sends you to the floor at the top. The lantern flies from your hand, glass shattering with a burst of flame before it's snuffed out by a sudden chill that howls through the castle, tossing your hair and rattling the glass windows in their frames. You stumble back onto your feet, ignoring the glass that slices at your hands and cuts between your toes, and you run down the hall, desperate to hide somewhere, somehow. You turn the corner at the end of the long corridor, only to slam into a great, towering shadow, cold and hard as stone. You're thrown from the force of it, the back of your skull cracking against the wall, and you drop to your knees, holding your head in your hands. //[[Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump.]]//

The shadow shifts, heedless of the moonlight, long fingers reaching out to touch your hair, the top of your head, to caress your face. The touch is like ice, stealing your breath away. Slowly, the shadow distorts, growing longer, taking shape as it stretches across the wall. Out of the dark, someone looms over you, the shadow now nothing more than their own. Instinctively, you expect Sawhill, even though the eyes staring down at you don't match. As icy as her hands, her stare lays you bare on the floor, her one finger still trailing down your cheek. She wears trousers and a long hoodless cape, though the blouse underneath is thin and white and leaves little to the imagination, unbuttoned nearly down to her navel - your gaze is drawn to her chest, to her tanned skin and the curve of her breasts. Her hair is short and curly, cut like a man's, black but for stray strands of grey. You force yourself to look into those eyes, clear as the moonlight outside. "Are you a witch?" is all you can manage to ask, your whispering breath freezing in the cold air. That makes her smile. Her teeth scare you. "Is that what they call me now?" she muses. Her voice is raspy with age and her face is handsome, lined with wrinkles that deepen along with her smile. She's older, but she's no hag. She stands up straight then, her eyes wandering from your face, to your ruined dress, down to your hands, shredded from the glass. You curl them into fists, holding them against your stomach, grimacing at the glass still embedded in your palms. "Stand up," she orders you. You stare at her boots. //[["Stand up."]]//

Slowly, you rise to your feet. The cold has become so oppressive that you can't stop shaking, your teeth chattering as you stand there with your head bowed, blood dripping from your trembling fingers. "Did you get lost in the woods, little girl?" the woman asks then, giving you a slow once-over. "N-No," you stammer. "I was looking for you." She raises an eyebrow at that. "Is that right?" she says. "It's not often I have //visitors//. And at such an ungodly hour..." She moves around you then, taking slow steps, her boots heavy on the stone floor. She puts herself between you and the stairs. "I heard stories. Stories that there was a witch here. A witch that helps [[girls like me]]."

"Girls like you?" She blinks slowly, tilting her head at you. She forces you back, farther down the hall, before circling you a second time. Her grey eyes linger, her breath on the back of your neck, and you wrap your arms around yourself, around your torn and tattered dress. She stops once she's back in front of you again. She breathes deep, her nostrils flaring. "Is all of that your blood?" she asks. <div id="choice"><<link '"Yes..."' 'yes'>><<set $d_rel -=2>><</link>></div> <div id="choice"><<link '"No."' 'no'>><</link>></div> <div id="choice"><<link '"...I don\'t know."' 'idk'>><<set $d_rel -=2>><</link>></div>

"No," you say. Her lips twitch, and you can see her lick her teeth before she steps closer. Close enough that your breaths intermingle. <<include "squirm">>

"I don't know," you say weakly. She gives you a look, narrowing her eyes and shaking her head. "You //don't know//?" she sneers. She steps close then, close enough that your breaths intermingle. <<include "squirm">>

"Yes," you lie, because it's the easiest thing to do. She narrows her eyes at you, stepping closer. Close enough that your breaths intermingle. <<include "squirm">>

She watches you squirm. "You really want my help?" she says then, the words ghosting over your lips. "Please," you whisper. "Please, I can't go back." Her eyes dart back and forth as she searches your face. "Please, Mistress," you repeat, desperately clasping your hands together. She curls her lip at you. "Don't //beg//," she says. "I'm-I'm sorry," you stammer, bowing your head. She leans in then, her hand reaching around to grab a handful of your hair. You yelp as she jerks your head back, forcing you to look at her. "Do not beg," she repeats. Then she lets you go, stroking your curls and carefully gathering some in her hand, draping them over your shoulder before letting her hand drop. You heart beats wildly in your chest, your skin flushing hot, the pain in your scalp provoking a pleasure that you've tried all your life to suppress. You step away from her hand, crossing your arms and dropping your gaze back to the floor. She gives you a long look, her dark stare unwavering. "Tell me your name." <div id="choice"><<link '"Cecilia."' 'cecilia'>><</link>></div> <div id="choice">//<<link [[Lie.]]>><<set $d_rel -=2>><</link>>//</div>

You know better than to tell a witch your name. "Elizabeth," you say. <<if hasVisited("idk")>>The woman licks her teeth. "Elizabeth?" she echoes. "Elizabeth, Elizabeth, Elizabeth," she smiles slowly, emphasizing the name each time. "You beg for my help, and yet you answer every ask with a lie." "I-" She lunges at you, grabbing you by your shoulders and slamming you back against the wall. The castle seems to come alive then, doors slamming and the windows rattling, a second wind howling through the halls. "I can hear your heart racing, Cecilia," she whispers, pressing her lips to your ear. You try to twist free of her grip, but she just grabs your face, forcing your head back as she breathes you in. "Please," you cry, far too weak to do anything but submit to her touch. "Don't worry," she purrs. "I'll still help you, dear Cecilia." Suddenly her tongue is on your neck, cold and wet as she drags it slowly over your pulse. You whimper and recoil in disgust, but there's nowhere for you to go, her body pinning you against the stone. You feel her teeth scrape across your throat, and you freeze, your breath catching and your heart skipping a few beats. "Wh... what...." you stammer. "I'm not a witch," the woman murmurs then. She pulls back just enough to look into your face. Her one hand still holds you in place, her fingers digging into your cheeks. "I'll make it quick for you," she says softly. "You'll never have to go back." You squeeze your eyes closed, exhaling slowly as she leans back in and kisses your neck. Her lips are cold, but soft. She takes her time, kissing along your jaw, then back down your neck again. Her hands loosen, and you relax, reaching out to hold her. She releases your other arm, and you wrap them both around her, gasping softly at each little kiss. You want to kiss her back, but you don't know how. You don't know how to kiss her, how to touch her, how to repay her for the kindness of sinking her teeth into your throat. You groan, pressing yourself against her, and she holds you upright, cradling you in her arms. Your blood burns as it spills down your neck, over your chest, steaming in the cold air. Her tongue presses into your flesh, her lips smacking loudly as she drinks, your entire body burning between her teeth. "It feels good," you whisper, and she hums, her arms tightening around you as she bites down harder, blood splattering the floor at your feet. Your legs give out completely, and you stare up at the ceiling, your breath growing shallow and your heart beating in your throat. //[[Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump. ->thump2]]//<<elseif hasVisited("yes")>>"Elizabeth?" she echoes. She tilts her head at you, blinking slowly. Then she lunges forward, grabbing you by your face, slamming you back against the wall. "Stop lying, girl," she hisses, and you whimper, her fingers digging into your jaw. You swallow loudly, nodding as best you can. "Tell me your name," she says again. "Cecilia," you whisper. She releases you then, her fingers brushing over your pulse before she lowers her hand - and offers it to you. <<include "give her your hand">><<else>>"Elizabeth?" she echoes. She tilts her head at you, blinking slowly. "Why are you lying?" You swallow loudly, shaking your head. "I don't know what you mean-" "Tell me your name," she repeats. "I'm not asking again." "I..." you grimace, her words cutting straight through you. "My name is Cecilia." "Hmm. //Cecilia//," she repeats, slowly drawing out each syllable, narrowing her eyes at you. Then she holds out her hand, and it takes you a moment to realize she's asking for yours. <<include "give her your hand">><</if>>

You hesitate. You listen to your shaky breath and the rain outside. The woman waits. "My name is Cecilia," you say softly. "//Cecilia//," she repeats, slowly drawing out each syllable. She holds out her hand then, and it takes you a moment to realize she's asking for yours. <<include "give her your hand">>

The woman - //the vampyre// - turns you slowly, lowering you down to the floor. She sits up, peering down at you, her mouth glistening with your blood. She strokes your face, pushing your hair back, and then she leans in and kisses your lips - lets you taste yourself on her tongue. Her kisses are warm now, wet with blood, and she tilts her head, urging your mouth to open wider for her. Your body starts to thrash involuntarily, kicking at the floor, one of your hands grabbing a desperate handful of her curls. She just keeps kissing you. The window overhead seems to leer down at you, yawning wide as the moon watches through the trees. It's hard to breathe. [[But at least you're finally warm.]]

<<timed 1s>><<fadein 3s>><center><span style= "font-family: 'EB Garamond', serif; font-size: 200%;">ENDING II</span> <span style= "font-size: 150%;">SUBMIT</span> <span style= "font-size: 80%;">again? <<link [[↺ ->start]]>><<set $d_rel to 10>><</link>></span></center><</fadein>><</timed>>

You already gave her your name - so you give her your hand, too. Her hands are calloused and rough and just as cold as yours. She bows her head, and presses a kiss to the back of your hand. "You can call me Darcy," she says softly, cradling your hand and peering up at you through her lashes. She smirks at whatever face you must be making, and then straightens up, squeezing your hand and pulling you close. "Let's get you warmed up, Miss Cecilia," she says, urging you down the hall, and you have no choice now but to [[follow]].

Deeper into the castle, and you're sat at the very end of a long dining table, still shivering slightly, the fire at your back still not quite enough to warm you up in your wet dress. You glance over your shoulder, watching Darcy stuff the fireplace, prodding at the stacked logs with a rusty poker. A cup of tea steams on the table in front of you. You hold it in your hands, your fingers tingling with pins and needles. You glance around the room, some kind of lavish dining hall, though it's clearly been left to fall into disrepair. The walls are stained with water, the table and utensils and centerpieces all covered in a thick layer of dust. The chandelier overhead is dull with cobwebs, and it rotates slowly from some unseen draft, occasionally catching a flash of lightning through the windows and shimmering softly. Darcy slowly walks around the table, removing her cloak and draping it across the back of one of the chairs before crossing her arms and eyeing the tea in your hands. You take a quick sip, closing your eyes as the steam heats your face. The tea itself is rich and spicy - ginger and cinnamon and a heavy earthy taste that you can't quite place. It warms you from the inside, spreading through your chest, burning your tongue as you take another long drink. For a while you both sit in silence, with you nursing your tea and Darcy watching you. "Let me see your hands," Darcy says suddenly. You lower the cup, blinking over at her. You set it on the table, and realize your blood has smeared on the porcelain. You turn your hands palm-up, and Darcy grabs your wrists, examining the damage. "Do your feet look like this, too?" she asks. When you don't answer, her hand suddenly tightens around your wrist, and she digs a finger into one of the gashes in your palm. You yelp, jarring the table, tea splashing from your cup, but Darcy holds you in place. She extracts a piece of glass, letting it drop beside your spilled tea, your blood splattering far enough to dapple the kettle. You writhe in the chair, Darcy reaching around and pulling a handkerchief from her back pocket and pressing it into your hand. You swallow the sob in your throat, tears burning from the pain, turning away as Darcy moves on to your other hand to extract the remaining glass. [["What were you running from?"]]

You glance back over at her, blinking the tears from your eyes. Darcy raises an eyebrow at your silence. She drops the final shard of glass and releases your hand, satisfied with her work, stepping back from the table. "Must have been horrible for you to run //here// of all places, just because you heard a few silly stories." You feel your face get hot then. You pull your hands back into your lap and stare down at your cup. <div id="choice"><<link '"I wasn\'t running."' 'running'>><</link>></div> <div id="choice"><<link '"The stories weren\'t silly to me."' 'stories'>><</link>></div> <div id="choice"><<link '"I had no choice."' 'choice'>><</link>></div>

"I wasn't running," you say. Darcy laughs, flashing her teeth. "I //wasn't// running," you repeat, swallowing loudly. "I told you, I came here looking for you." "Hmm," she tilts her head. "So you said." She walks around your chair then, putting her hands on your shoulders. The hair on the back of your neck rises, and you bow your head and stare down at your muddled reflection in the tea. Darcy's eyes glint in the porcelain. "And if this place was empty? If I wasn't here?" You lift your gaze and peer down the long dining table, watching the chandelier overhead as it slowly rotates. "Then I guess I would climb the highest tower in this place and throw myself off of it," you say bluntly. <<include "release">>

"I didn't have a choice," you say. Darcy studies you for a long moment, just the fire crackling at your back. "No," she says eventually. "No, we hardly ever do." She walks around your chair then, putting her hands on your shoulders. The hair on the back of your neck rises, and you bow your head and stare down at your muddled reflection in the tea. Darcy's eyes glint in the porcelain. "I couldn't live with my other option," you say quietly. <<include "release">>

"The stories weren't silly to me," you say quietly. Darcy studies you for a long moment, just the fire crackling at your back. "You're right," she says eventually, stepping around your chair then and putting her hands on your shoulders. The hair on the back of your neck rises, and you bow your head and stare down at your muddled reflection in the tea. Darcy's eyes glint in the porcelain. "There is always some truth to be found in the stories people tell," she says slowly. "Even the silly ones." She bends down closer then, her lips close to your ear. "Even the scary ones." "Even the lies become true in away, if you tell them enough times," you say, swirling the tea in your cup. <<include "release">>

Now it's finally Darcy's turn to be silent. She releases your shoulders, reaching up to comb your messy, wet curls with her fingers. She pulls out a few leaves and twigs, flicking them to the floor, and you're surprised how gentle she is as she untangles various knots, her cold fingers brushing along your nape. "Come," she says eventually. "Let's get you out of that filthy dress." "Oh..." you sniffle, and she helps you up from the chair, looping her arm with yours. Once more, she leads you [[deeper ->deeper2]] into the castle.

Darcy shows you up to a room so big that it makes your head spin. Even bigger than any of the rooms at Sawhill's estate, and the thought has you feeling smug, finding some kind of comfort in the comparison - and that yours is better. //Yours// - Darcy's. She lays out a gown for you, pulled from the closet, and she puts a light hand on your arm as she passes you for the door. She slips out into the hall and leaves you without a word. You stand in front of the fireplace, already burning, and you close your eyes, just feeling the heat of the flames on your face. Your body feels so heavy. You sigh, stepping back and beginning the struggle to get out of your wet dress. A few buttons pop off during your careless efforts, clattering across the floor and rolling under the bed. You groan, the pain in your shoulder flaring as you reach back and pull at the lacing on the bodice. You wish Emina was here. There's a dresser on the far wall, with a massive mirror set in the back, and you stand in front of it, twisting and turning as you watch your reflection pull at the dress. Eventually, you manage to free yourself, letting the dress drop to the floor at your feet. You rip off your stays and the remaining scraps of your petticoat, kicking it all away until you're completely bare. You turn and stare at your naked body in the mirror, your hand flitting up to your arm, Darcy's cold touch still lingering. You draw your hand up to your shoulder, grimacing at the bruise there, a blue flower blooming across your skin. [[You stare at your reflection.]]

You touch your chest, then your stomach. You see another bruise on your hip, even nastier than the one on your shoulder. The bone grinds with each movement you make, shifting on your feet, and you tenderly lay your palm over it, the skin hot to the touch. Beneath the fresh bruise, you can see an older one, mirrored on the other side. You put both hands on your hips, though Sawhill's hands are larger than yours, and your fingertips fall short of the bruises he left behind. You drop your hands, staring down at the ring on your finger, twisting it around and around, watching the pale light fracture across the jewel's surface. Sawhill was never cruel to you. You wouldn't call him gentle, but he wasn't malicious. No, he was just a clumsy man, a hungry man, and he never hesitated, would never restrict his appetite. He'd touch your arm, pet your back. That's how he let you know what he wanted. Hovering over your shoulder, leaning in close, stroking your arm. Setting your book aside, or embroidery, or whatever stupid, mindless task you were expected to be doing as a woman, and you would let him pull off your clothes, because that's what you're supposed to do, as a woman. He never forced it. You were just obedient. You belonged in the kennels with all of his other dogs. That's how he liked to do it, too. Pushing your head down, pressing your face into the mattress and gripping at your hips, grunting with each thrust. He didn't do much else. Never used his hands or mouth. He'd finish, pull you close, pet your arm. [[You feel sorry for him.]]

You pull the ring from you finger, setting it on the dresser. You don't need that anymore. You turn towards the window, peering out into the dark. The clouds are heavier, the moon vanished from the sky. The rain is relentless, and it's difficult to see much of anything beyond the reaching branches that scratch at the glass. You catch a glimpse of the river still, just the white water flashing between the trees, and you hope Sawhill went back home with his dogs. You put on the nightgown Darcy chose for you. The fabric is thick and warm, though it slides down your shoulders, exposing your collarbones and your aching bruise. You adjust the hem, falling just above your ankles, and then you limp back in front of the mirror. Your gaze goes to the empty space behind you where Emina should be. After the incident with the hounds, Sawhill and your brother deemed it best for you to return home for a while. Sawhill joined you, of course, but Emina stayed behind so a decent doctor - the kind only Sawhill's money afforded - could keep an eye on her injury. Within a few days your brother had proposed that they host a hunt in the witch's wood. He repurposed your empty stables into kennels and before you knew it some of Sawhill's hounds and horses had [[arrived]].

You stand outside on the lawn, watching Sawhill's trainers unloading hounds into your stables. It seems they've all forgotten the entire reason you returned home to begin with. If the dogs were just going to come along, too, then you wish you could have stayed behind with Emina. You know your brother is trying to smooth things over with Sawhill. He worries that he'll back out of the engagement. //You// worry that your brother is going to commit you for your trouble. What better distraction for all of you than a risky hunt in the wild woods? What a story the men would have to tell afterwards; and how simple it is for you to just stay inside and out of the way until the wedding. You walk across the yard, as close as you dare to the dogs. The whipper-in, his trainers, and the servants ignore you, and you do the same. The stable doors are thrown wide open, and you stand off to the side, taking in the makeshift accommodations your brother threw together. The dogs are agitated, from the journey here and from the unfamiliar space, huffing and panting despite the cold. You watch them, your hands tightening around fistfuls of your skirt. [["Cecilia!"]]

Sawhill's voice carries through the open doors, and some of the dogs start to whine, prancing from paw to paw with an anxious excitement. They recognize their master. "Cecilia," Sawhill repeats, and you turn just as he bounds up behind you, glaring at the whipper-in and shaking his head. "You shouldn't be out here alone," he says, a little breathless. He takes your hands in his, pulling you close, stepping in front of you and herding you back out of the stables and away from the hounds, still whining and howling for his attention. "How many did you bring?" you ask, unable to hide your bitterness. Sawhill smiles sheepishly. "Only the best and most well-behaved, my love," he assures you. You eye him for a moment, and then sigh. He grins, squeezing your hands, and you let him pull you away, back towards the house. "I have a surprise for you," he says. You don't respond, but he doesn't notice. He leads you across the lawn and back inside, helping you out of your jacket. You return the favor, unfastening the buttons on his expensive maroon overcoat. He watches you with a little smile, leaning in to press a few kisses along your throat. He hums as you push the coat off his shoulders, freeing his arms and wrapping them around you, his nose cold where it brushes along your jaw. You don't feel much of anything towards his affections, but you don't push him off, either. Sawhill's eagerness surprised you after he initially proposed - of course, he's careful about appearances when you're in public, but he isn't shy about it when the two of you are alone. And here, in the countryside, at your poor little farmhouse and tiny estate, there are far fewer prying eyes. Just your brother, who couldn't care less, so long as you keep Sawhill happy. "What's this surprise, Heath?" you ask, muttering the words into his hair. He pulls back, grabbing your hands again, pulling you along into the leisure room. "Look who came along with the dogs," he says, and Emina smiles back at you, standing in front of the pianoforte in the corner. You're stunned for a moment, and then you rush over and throw your arms around her. [[She laughs.]]

"The doctor cleared her to resume work," Sawhill explains. "Nothing too strenuous, of course," he adds. You release Emina, holding her face for a moment, but self-conscious with Sawhill watching you. She just smiles and smiles, and you squeeze her shoulders, dropping your gaze and stepping back. "I know these last two weeks have been.... hard," Sawhill says delicately. "I know you've been lonely." He steps up behind you, touching your hair before wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "And I know I am no match for Miss Flowers' company," he jokes. "I thought it would be good for her to be here while your brother and I prepare for the hunt." He hesitates. "And the wedding." You nod slowly. "Of course," you say. You glance over at Emina. "Miss Flowers, can you play?" he asks then, nodding at the pianoforte. "Oh... yes, Master Sawhill," she says. She takes a seat, flipping up the lid. Your pianoforte is old and almost certainly out of tune, and she takes a moment to test a few keys. It doesn't sound too bad. "We'll have to practice our dancing before the big day, Cecilia," Sawhill smiles, spinning you around. [[Emina begins to play.]]

<<audio "october" loop play>><<timed 1s>><<fadein 3s>>[[You listen. ->You listen]]<</fadein>><</timed>>

Sawhill puts a hand on your hip at first, but then pulls you close, his palm pressed flat against your back. You put your hand on his shoulder, and he takes your other one in his. You glance down at your feet, starting slow, wanting to avoid Sawhill's stare this close. His words - //the wedding// - replay over and over in your mind, and your hand tightens around his shoulder, desperate for something to keep you steady. Sawhill spins you around again, and you barely manage to avoid stepping on his toes. You lift your gaze and look at Emina over his shoulder, watching as her hands move swiftly over the keys. She doesn't notice your stare, too intent on playing, her brow furrowed in concentration. You missed her. Your chest aches to be this close but so far away, with Sawhill between you. With the world between you. You're forced to look away as you and Sawhill slowly move about the room. You blink up at him then, his eyes bright as he peers down at you. He smiles softly, laughing a little. "Are you alright?" he asks quietly. "I don't know," you answer truthfully. His face falls with concern. You have to look away again. You know your brother is the one that planted the seed in Sawhill's mind, but Sawhill is the one that nurtured it and allowed it to grow. His love for you is genuine. You should be grateful. [[But you just feel guilty.]]

<<audio "october" volume 1 fadeoverto 10 0>>Sawhill continues to guide you slowly through the steps, though you're not really dancing anymore. He strokes your back, pulling you even closer. Emina keeps playing. You rest your head on Sawhill's chest, closing your eyes again. You sway gently in place, listening to the sound of his heart, pulsing with each note of Emina's song. You hear a door open down the hall then, and one of the trainers suddenly bursts into the room. Emina awkwardly plays out a few more notes, bringing the song to a close, while Sawhill releases you, glaring over at the intruder. "Sorry, sir, please forgive the interruption, but we need your assistance out at the stables," the man rambles. "Sir," he adds again with a grimace. Sawhill mutters under his breath, giving you an apologetic look before quickly following after him. You stand alone in the center of the room. "Mistress," Emina says, and you close your eyes, pressing your face into your hands. Your heart is racing, and it's hard to breathe, tears burning in your eyes even as you desperately try to will them away. //What am I going to do? What am I going to do?// You feel Emina's hand on your back, the warmth of her body next to yours. "Cecilia," she says softly. You let your hands drop, turning to face her. "I missed you," you blurt. She smiles. "I missed you, too." "Emina..." you try, but the words falter in your throat. She tilts her head at you, her brow furrowing in confusion. "What's wrong, Mistress?" she asks. "You're not upset with me, are you? I thought it would be fun to surprise you, and Sawhill agreed..." You glance around the room, towards the hall and through the windows. "I missed you," you repeat again. You take her face in your hands, like before. But this time Sawhill isn't here to watch you. [[Kiss her.]]

You lean in and kiss her. At first she doesn't respond, recoiling slightly - but then she stops, her hands grasping at your shoulders, exhaling slowly before she kisses you back. The two of you stumble back into the pianoforte, the keys jarring as it takes Emina's weight, your kiss deepening into something more. She opens her mouth for you, and you drag your tongue against hers, hot and slick. You grab at her hip and press yourself closer, your other hand still cupping her face, feeling the heat of desire rise just beneath her skin. Emina makes a soft sound, her hands tightening around your shoulders - and then she suddenly pushes you away, hard enough that you stagger and nearly trip over your skirts. You blink at her, confused, and she just stares at you with wide eyes. "Why did you do that?" Emina finally gasps, pressing her hand to her mouth. She looks horrified. She looks afraid. She pushes off the pianoforte, taking a few steps back, shaking her head. You don't get to respond before your brother suddenly walks into the room. He takes one look at Emina and then turns on you. "What did you do, Cecilia?" he accuses. Emina takes the chance to escape, rushing past you, vanishing deeper into the house. "What did you do?" your brother repeats, stepping close, grabbing your arms and shaking you. "I-" He shakes you again, and then glances over his shoulder, ensuring no one else is lurking nearby. Then he drags you away, back to your room, throwing you inside. "Cecilia..." He takes a deep breath. "I told Sawhill not to bring that damn girl here," he mutters. "Do not leave this room," he says then. "I will fix this with Miss Flowers. Not a word to Sawhill," he adds, jabbing a finger at you. "I didn't mean to," you finally manage to speak, the tears bursting forward as you do. You drop down to the floor, tucking your knees to your chest, shaking your head again and again. "Please, I didn't mean to," you sob. [[Your brother looks mortified.]]

"Get up," he snaps, grabbing one of your arms again. He hauls you to your feet, pushing you over onto the bed. "You are going to ruin this for us," he says. His nostrils flare, and he closes his eyes for a moment, still clutching your arm. "Stay in this room. I'm going to tell Sawhill you're not feeling well. Get yourself together, Cecilia," he speaks as if you're a child. "I'm going to find Miss Flowers." He lets you go then, turning on his heel and walking out the door. He slams it closed, and you quiet your crying, a sudden fear as you rush over to the door and listen - but he doesn't lock it. You step back, sniffling loudly, roughly wiping your face with the back of your hand. You turn away from the door, slowly walking across your room to stand beneath the window. You stare past the lawn, past the stables and the trainers and the dogs and Sawhill. You press your face to the glass, watching the dark woods, the trees swaying in the winter breeze. [["Cecilia."]]

You startle in front of the mirror. You squeeze your eyes closed for a moment, pressing a hand to your forehead, and then you sigh, turning towards the door just as it opens. Darcy steps inside, slowly coming into the light. She brings a chill in with her, and you lean towards the fireplace, pulling the nightgown tighter around yourself. You keep your eyes cast downward, staring at your feet and giving Darcy an awkward little curtsy as she lurks closer. She seems amused, tilting her head as you straighten back up. "Mistress - what can I do to repay you?" you ask weakly. Shame more than fear turns you meek as you stand in front of this woman with nothing to really offer. Darcy blinks slowly at you, stepping closer, her hands slowly rising to rest atop your shoulders. Her cool hand is a relief against the painful swelling, and you let her slowly turn you around to face the mirror again, though you keep your head turned slightly, trying to look at her. She leans in, sliding her one hand down so she can get a good look at your bruise. You can feel her breath on you, craning your neck to see just as she brushes her lips against your shoulder. "What are you doing," you barely manage the words, strangled and hardly a question, Emina's fearful face suddenly flashing in your mind. You should recoil, like Emina - you should push her away, like Emina. But you don't do either of those things. Darcy just hums, quirking an eyebrow at you, her lips trailing up your shoulder to the curve of your neck. Her grey eyes flit to the mirror then, and you follow her gaze - only to see that she has no reflection. It's [[only you]], staring back at yourself.

Now you do recoil, slipping out of Darcy's hands and spinning around, backpedaling until you bump into the dresser, the mirror rattling dangerously against the wall. Your heart beats jackrabbit fast, your breath catching in your throat as your chest tightens with fear. "You're not a witch. You... you're a vampyre," you stammer. "You're a monster!" Darcy just smiles. Then she steps closer, and closer, trapping you against the dresser. "Are you afraid?" she asks softly. <div id="choice"><<link '"Yes."' 'yes2'>><</link>></div> <div id="choice"><<link '"No."' 'no2'>><<set $d_rel -=2>><</link>></div>

"Yes," you say, and Darcy nods. She presses her hands flat against the dresser on either side of you, her body aligning perfectly with yours, cold and hard through the fabric of your nightgown. "I can feel it," she says, raising one hand to trail a finger along your neck, tapping a short nail against your fluttering pulse. "It's alright. If I was going to kill you, I would have done it already." You swallow loudly, and she watches the movement of your throat bobbing, her eyes dark as her gaze slowly drifts down, and the sudden hunger in her stare is more familiar than you'd like to admit. <<include "extract">>

"No," you say, and Darcy's smile turns into a smirk. She presses her hands flat against the dresser on either side of you, her body aligning perfectly with yours, cold and hard through the thin fabric of your nightgown. "That's not what your heart tells me," she says, raising one hand to trail a finger along your neck, tapping a short nail against your fluttering pulse. "It's alright. If I was going to kill you, I would have done it already." You frown at her, swallowing loudly, and she watches the movement of your throat bobbing, her eyes dark as her gaze slowly drifts down, and the sudden hunger in her stare is more familiar than you'd like to admit. <<include "extract">>

You carefully extract one of your arms out from beneath her own, lifting your hand and tentatively touching her face. Her eyes slowly close, and she leans into the touch, pulling her own hand back and resting it on your hip. You wonder how long she's been alone in this place. She pulls you off the dresser then, opening her eyes and turning you back around to face the mirror. Her hand goes to your shoulder again, the other one squeezing your hip as you stare into the mirror. "A monster, maybe. To some," she whispers the words into your ear. "Who am I to deny my nature?" You glare at your reflection. Darcy's hand on your hip starts to move, snaking around to press her palm flat against your stomach. Your nightgown shifts in the mirror, the fabric bunching beneath Darcy's arm, the imprint of her hand slowly sliding up to just above your navel. You keep staring at yourself, even when Darcy's lips are on your shoulder again, on your neck, your skin prickling at her phantom touch. "What is it that you want, Cecilia?" <<linkreplace 'I want to get out of this engagement.'>><<linkreplace 'I want to get away from my brother.'>><<linkreplace 'I want to be with Emina.'>><<linkreplace 'I want to be happy.'>><<link 'I want to be exactly what I am.' 'what i am'>><</link>><</linkreplace>><</linkreplace>><</linkreplace>><</linkreplace>>

Darcy hums, her lips pressed against your throat. "As you wish," she says, and she roughly grabs your chin and forces you to look away from your reflection. You look at her, at her grey eyes and her parted lips and her elongated canines flashing in the firelight. And then she kisses you. It's rough, not like with Emina - you can feel Darcy's teeth, her fingers digging into your cheeks, her other hand curling into a fist and grasping at your nightgown. Her eyes are closed, and you watch her for a moment, before glancing over at the mirror. You imagine your reflection banging on the glass - the woman from this morning, a different person than you are now, urging you to run away. //You should be grateful//, you want to say to her. You close your eyes and kiss Darcy back. She pulls you away from the mirror, away from the fire, across the room to the bed. She pulls at your nightgown, her hands cold where they brush along your thighs, and you shiver as she lowers you down onto the bed. Her hands tighten for a moment before she pulls back, licking her lips, blinking slowly down at you. She leaves you to walk around the bed and pull the curtains closed, the room darkening but for the warm glow of the fireplace. Just the two of you now, and she stands at the foot of the bed, unfastening the few remaining buttons on her shirt and pulling it free from her trousers. Your face flushes hot as she shrugs the shirt from her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. She slowly climbs back onto the bed, on top of you, lowering herself into a kiss. You tense as her bare torso touches you, your hands grabbing at fistfuls of the comforter and your eyes squeezing closed. Darcy notices, humming softly as she kisses you, reaching out and touching one of your wrists. She pulls your hand from the blanket and guides it to her waist while simultaneously deepening your kiss, biting at your bottom lip and making you gasp. She bites hard enough to break the skin, her tongue dragging over your chin and slipping into your mouth, a sudden fervor as she tastes you. Cold metal in your mouth, a throbbing in your lip, and your other hand releases the comforter, grabbing at Darcy's curly hair, urging her closer as she sucks on your tongue. You can feel her smile, and whatever reservations still shackled you to the bed shatter, your hips bucking up against hers and a low moan escaping from the back of your throat. "//Darcy//," you breathe her name, your hand tightening in her hair, a yawning [[hunger]] in you like you've never felt before.

Darcy breaks your bloody kiss and starts to move lower, along your jaw and down the curve of your neck. She licks your pulse before sucking on it, rolling the skin between her teeth. She sucks until it hurts, and then she scrapes her teeth over it, your body lighting on fire as she sinks her teeth into your flesh. Your eyes flutter closed as she drinks from your throat, your mind imagining dirty things with all the sounds her mouth makes. Your one hand slides up her back, desperate to hold her close, to touch every part of her, between her shoulder blades down to the curve of her ass. Darcy drinks her fill and moves even lower. She kisses along your collarbones, across your chest until she's kissing the top of your nightgown. She sits up, pulls at the garment hard enough that some of the seams pop before she manages to get it over your head. She throws it to the floor and then presses her palm flat against your sternum, sitting up and admiring your naked body. Her hand slowly caresses you, between your breasts down to your navel. She leans back in for a kiss, each hand taking one of your breasts and squeezing roughly, her thumbs swiping over your nipples and forcing your back to arch. There are tears in your eyes, your face hot as she keeps touching you in a way no one else ever has. She kisses your tears away, kisses her bite on your neck, kisses each breast as she holds them in her hands. She glances up at you, wrapping her lips around one of them, her tongue swirling around your nipple as she sucks softly, her teeth prickling deliciously as you fill her mouth. You feel lightheaded, blood still warm on your neck, and you stare up at the ceiling, panting loudly as Darcy moves from one breast to the other. You grab at her curly hair, pushing yourself into her, feeling her teeth and pushing harder. [[Darcy watches you through half-lidded eyes.]]

The fire glows behind her, illuminating her hair and the back of your hand, still tangled in her curls. She bows her head, kissing your stomach, the fire sending long shadows across the wall, light flickering and dancing across the muscles of Darcy's back as she lowers herself between your legs. The wet gleam of blood shivers with each breath you take, pooling between your breasts and slowly gathering in the rolls of your stomach, following the trail of Darcy's lips, eager to be consumed by her. You feel the same as she opens your legs, her breath lingering on your inner thighs. She lavishes soft kisses followed by her teeth, blood spilling down the back of your legs and staining the sheets. You're lightheaded again, gasping softly as Darcy drinks, peering up at you as she cradles one of your thighs with both hands. Open-mouthed and hungry, you writhe around on the bed, touching your breasts, blood smearing beneath your hands. Darcy releases you then, her eyes bright and her mouth stained dark, her hands sliding up to touch you, her finger swiping along the swollen heat between your legs. You close your eyes, feel her fingers and her lips and her tongue. Darcy is slow and methodical. She takes her time, relishing in her exploration of all the different ways she can make you moan, all the different ways she can make you come, again and again and again. For the first time your body is yours - not a cage, not an obstacle, not a thing to be given over to someone else - but //yours//. You feel the pain and the pleasure and every little touch and kiss and lick of Darcy's tongue. Your heart flutters and you can feel that, too, the muscle contracting and pumping the blood through your veins just so Darcy can drink it. She drinks your blood, your sweat, your cum - she drinks it all because it's yours. [[Again and again and again.]]

You're warm, despite Darcy's cold hands. You touch your neck and marvel at all of the blood. Darcy eventually drinks her fill. Eventually, she relents, long after you've lost track - of time, of yourself. She sits back on her knees, wiping her mouth on her arm and licking her fingers. She stands slowly, staring down at you, watching you until your eyelids start to droop. Your legs tremble and your body aches, your bruises and bites throbbing along with every beat of your heart. It feels good. You hold a hand out for her, laying it on the bed with your palm up-turned. You realize she never even took her trousers off. She just keeps watching you. You say her name, trying to fight your exhaustion, but it's an impossible fight with all of the blood you've lost. Just as you close your eyes you feel the mattress tilt, [[feel the cold of Darcy's body lying next to yours.]]

<<if $d_rel <= 6>><<include "human">><<else>><<include "vampyre">><</if>>

<<timed 1s>><<fadein 2s>>[[You wake up alone. ->human 1]]<</fadein>><</timed>>

<<timed 1s>><<fadein 2s>>[[You wake up alone. ->vampyre 1]]<</fadein>><</timed>>

For a moment you forget where you are, confused and delirious, sitting up abruptly in a panicked daze. You're naked in bed, and covered in dried, crusting blood that pulls at your skin. You frantically scratch at your chest, blood flaking away, your breath quickening as you look down at your body, at the bites and bruises and the dark stains soaked through the sheets. You force yourself up and stumble out of bed, spotting your nightgown on the floor. You snatch it up, quickly pulling it on, feeling the shameful need to cover yourself. You stop in front of the mirror, crossing your arms over your chest, hyper-aware of how visible your breasts are through the white fabric. Disgust rises with the bile in the back of your throat, bitter in your mouth and making your eyes water. You cover your face with your hands and turn away from the mirror. <<link [[You struggle to remember the previous night.]]>><<set $human to true>><</link>>

For a moment you forget where you are, confused and delirious, sitting up abruptly in a panicked daze. You're naked in bed, and covered in dried, crusting blood that pulls at your skin. You frantically scratch at your chest, blood flaking away, your breath quickening as you look down at your body, at the bites and bruises and the dark stains soaked through the sheets. You force yourself up and stumble out of bed, but you're immediately brought to your knees by a sharp pain lancing through your stomach. You cry out, crumpling forward and clutching at your abdomen. The whole room spins, and you have to close your eyes, panting against the cold wooden floor. It takes you a few minutes to recover, a dull ache still twisting in your gut, but at least you can stand. You rise on shaky legs, retrieving your nightgown from the floor and quickly clothing yourself. The pain has you sweating despite the cold, and you stagger back to the bed, sitting hard on the edge of the mattress. <<link [[You struggle to remember the previous night.]]>><<set $vamp to true>><</link>>

You're still standing in front of the window. It's dusk now, the sun burning orange on the horizon, piercing through the dark trees and casting long shadows across the lawn. The moon will rise soon enough. You pace your room. Your brother never came back. Maybe they all left to take Emina somewhere far way from you. Does that mean he told Sawhill? Did he tell the other servants? Do they all know what you are? You make a strange sound, curling forward and pressing your face into your hands. "What am I going to do?" you cry. You feel sorry for yourself for a moment, before taking a deep, shaky breath. You exhale slowly, dropping your hands and walking back over to the window. The sun has vanished, and the woods are [[dark ->dark2]].

Content warnings include violence, gore, death, blood consumption, period-typical misogyny, explicit sex, dubious consent, mauling and animal death. Proceed? [[Yes. ->start]] [[No. ->splash screen]]

You wait for some time, watching the trees. The stable is lit up across the lawn, and you conclude that must be where your brother and Sawhill are. You can see people moving around out there in the dark, and if you press yourself against the glass you can hear their distant voices and the dogs. It's late, and you slip out of your room, holding your breath and listening for any servants. There are none, of course - this is your house, not Sawhill's. There's no space for them in this house, and what servants that are still here this late are certainly out in the stable, attending to him and your brother. You slink down the hall, past the leisure room with the pianoforte and towards the kitchen. Tallow candles burn along the counter, the smell heavy as you slip into the room. You pause in front of the kitchen window, staring out at the warm light across the lawn. From this angle you can see into the open door of the stable, and you can see Sawhill and a few of his trainers, trying to situate one of his horses. What a stupid idea to bring the dogs here, to attempt a hunt in these rotten, barren woods - what a stupid idea it was to come back home at all. The faucet over the sink drips softly, water dappling the iron tub. Your brother was supposed to fix that. You stand alone in the kitchen in the silence, just the dripping water to keep you company. The realization that this is it - this is your future, this is your marriage to Mr. Sawhill, that you will have countless nights just like this one where you stand alone in the kitchen and stare out the window at a world you can never be a part of - it has you grabbing the iron tub and vomiting into the sink. You don't hear the door open over your retching, but you do hear [[your name]] when you finally stop to catch your breath.

"Cecilia," your brother hurries over to you, putting a comforting hand on your back. The concern in his voice irritates you. You hunch over the sink, squeezing your eyes closed, your brother just rubbing circles across your back. "Tell me what to do here, Cecilia," he says then. "I don't know how to help you right now, with - with all of this." You spin around, slapping his hand away with a sneer. "I don't want your help," you spit at him. Your brother looks both hurt and exasperated. "I'm doing this for you," he hisses, rubbing at his temples. "Don't you understand that?" "Oh, please. You want his money just as badly," you sneer. "You should marry him instead." You brother scowls at you. "I can't marry that man," you whisper, deflating slightly beneath his glare. "You can't marry the maid, either, Cecilia," your brother snaps back. You bristle, but he just sighs. "Sawhill is decent enough and he has the wealth to support you. You're not going to get a better match. The fact is that I can marry up, regardless - but you... you're lucky someone like Sawhill even spared you a glance." "You don't have to tell me that," you laugh bitterly. "You think I'm stupid? You think I don't understand my situation?" "Cecilia-" [["Shut up!"]]

You're breathing hard, your face flushed and your heart beating in your throat. Your brother gives you a sad look that you can't stand. You push off the sink, shoving your way past him for the door that he came in through. But he grabs your arm, stopping you half-way. "Enough," he says, his hand tightening around your wrist. "I'm not just going to sit here and let you throw your one chance away." "Let go of me," you growl through gritted teeth. "I'm going to take you back to your room," your brother says, his voice soft, but the grip on your arm betrays him. He starts to pull you away from the door, jerking you hard enough that you trip over your feet and have to catch yourself on the counter. You pull your arm back, grabbing the lip of the sink with your other hand and anchoring yourself on the spot. Your brother doesn't let go, but you can see the frustrated tears in his eyes as he pulls on you again. He takes a deep breath, and then grabs at your waist, wrenching you off the sink despite your cries of protest. The two of you struggle for a moment, grappling against the counter. "Cecilia," he pleads with you, but you slap and claw ferociously at him, momentarily freeing yourself from his grip. You lunge across the kitchen - grabbing a knife where it hangs on the wall. You spin around, slicing at your brother's outstretched hand. You cut deep through the fat of his palm, and he recoils, his mouth open in shock. But his shock turns to anger, and he tries at grab you again, reaching for your arm and bloodying fistfuls of your dress. "Have you lost your damn mind?" he shouts, slamming you against the counter and rattling the cupboards. [[You answer by plunging the knife into his chest.]]

The blade stops about half-way, trapped between his ribs, both of you staring with wide eyes as blood slowly spreads across his white shirt. "Wh-why?" he stammers, and you let go of the knife to hold him, slumping against the counter under his weight before you awkwardly slide to the floor. His hands hover in front of him, his brow furrowed in confusion. You touch his chest, making him wince, but you don't dare touch the knife again. "I'm sorry," you breathe, but you're not really sure if you mean it. Your brother just groans, his head thumping back against the wooden floor. You stand, sweat gathering along your hairline, blood soaking your hands and smeared down your dress. You back away, and then turn and run out the door. You collide with Sawhill, nearly falling backwards from the force of it, your vision blurred with tears. "Cecilia?" is all Sawhill manages to say before the dog he's holding starts barking, and Sawhill has to grab at its collar before it can lunge at you. Spit froths from the corners of its mouth as it jumps on its hind legs, jerking Sawhill around, snarling and barking and snapping its jaws. You stagger back, covering your mouth with your bloody hands. You give Sawhill a look that you hope is apologetic before you step past him and run across the lawn. You can hear more dogs barking, howling and thrashing around in their poorly constructed kennels inside the stable, horses bolting into the dark, and you see a few hounds outside of their cages, pulling against their trainers, hungry to chase you down. <<if $human>>[[You reach the woods just as they break free. ->human 2]]<<else>>[[You reach the woods just as they break free. ->vampyre 2]]<</if>>

You tremble back in front of the mirror. You touch the bite marks on your neck, your body weak and sore. You think about your brother. "Darcy?" you call out, but there's no answer. Across the room, you reach for the curtains, slowly pulling them back to reveal the late morning sun outside. You can feel the cold radiating off the glass, and your head hurts from the bright light. You let the curtain fall closed. Walking around the room offers you nothing. Darcy's not here. You grab a burning candle from the nearby dresser and step out into the hallway. It's dark inside, all the windows covered with the same heavy, black curtains. "Darcy?" you try again. The castle breathes around you. Your temples throb, and the walls pulse with it. You walk through the long dining hall Darcy had you in last night. The fire is out, only burning embers glowing softly amongst the ash. You glance over the table, your tea cup still sat right where you left it. The tea inside is dark, staining the porcelain, and when you pick it up it moves slowly, clinging to the sides, a strange smell wafting over you as the liquid trembles. You quickly put it back down, covering your nose with your hand and backing away from the table. Overhead, the chandelier continues its slow, never-ending rotation, the glass whispering softly. Lifting the candle high, you continue towards the stairs. You feel lightheaded, your feet numb and dragging as you go. The dancing shadows from the candlelight play tricks on your mind as you reach the long corridor before the stairs, and you cling to the wall, afraid to leave your back exposed to the dark. The broken glass from the lantern you dropped last night glimmers at your feet, the pieces still scattered haphazardly across the floor. Carefully, you pick your way through it, and begin your descent. [[You hear breathing.]]

You tremble on the bed. You touch the bite marks on your neck, your body weak and sore. You think about your brother. "Darcy?" you call out, but there's no answer. You carefully stand from the bed and cross the room, reaching for the curtains, slowly pulling them back to reveal the late morning sun outside. You can feel the cold radiating off the glass, and the bright light hurts, making you recoil and drop the curtain. Walking around the room offers you nothing. Darcy's not here. You grab a burning candle from the nearby dresser and step out into the hallway. It's dark inside, all the windows covered with the same heavy, black curtains. "Darcy?" you try again. The castle breathes around you. Your temples throb, and the walls pulse with it. It's a long walk to the stairs. You limp slowly, still clutching at your stomach with one hand. Everything hurts - your head, your back, your stomach, even your teeth ache. You walk through the long dining hall Darcy had you in last night. The fire is out, only burning embers glowing softly amongst the ash. You glance over the table, your tea cup still sat right where you left it. The tea inside is dark, staining the porcelain, and when you pick it up it moves slowly, clinging to the sides, a strange smell wafting over you as the liquid trembles. You quickly put it back down, covering your nose with you hand and backing away from the table. Overhead, the chandelier continues its slow, never-ending rotation, the glass whispering softly. Lifting the candle high, you continue towards the stairs. You feel lightheaded, your feet numb and dragging as you go. The dancing shadows from the candlelight play tricks on your mind as you reach the long corridor before the stairs, and you cling to the wall, afraid to leave your back exposed to the dark. The broken glass from the lantern you dropped last night glimmers at your feet, the pieces still scattered haphazardly across the floor. Carefully, you pick your way through it, peering down the dark staircase. [[You descend.]]

You freeze mid-step, listening. Gasping, wet breaths - the first thing in your mind is your brother on the floor. You shake your head, and hurry down the stairs. [[There, at the bottom, you find Sawhill.]]

"Oh, God," you blurt, dropping to your knees beside him. His eyes move around erratically, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to breath. But his throat is torn, spilling blood across the floor that rushes out with each beat of his heart, soaking through your nightgown and wetting your knees. "Heath," you say, setting aside the candle and pressing your hands to his chest. One of his hands reaches clumsily for yours, touching your arm before grabbing at your wrist. He tries to speak, but his voice is just a wet gargle, the blood pooling in the back of his throat making him gag. You hush him, letting him hold your hand while you use your other in a weak attempt to slow the bleeding, clasping your palm over the gruesome wound. "You shouldn't have come here," you tell him. His eyes are glassy and far away, but you think he can still hear you. You scoot a little closer, wanting to offer him some kind of comfort in the end. "This isn't what I wanted," you say. His eyes focus for a moment. You think he knows that you're lying. You pull your hand back then, letting his blood spill unimpeded. "I am sorry," you say instead. He lets out a long, wet sigh. His hand tightens around yours. Tears spill over, dripping from your chin and mixing with all the blood. You bow your head and press your forehead to his chest. His heart fades slowly, the rise and fall of his breathing turning shallow until eventually it ceases entirely. His hand releases yours. You squeeze your eyes closed, curling around him, his blood hot under your cheek. "I'm sorry," you say again. [[But you're all alone in the dark.]]

"//Darcy//!" you shout, sobbing loudly, wiping your tears on Sawhill's overcoat. You didn't even get to ask him about your brother. You sit back and touch the blood on your face, taking a few shuddering breaths, and then you hear something else - the fucking hounds. On the other side of the door, huffing and pawing and whining for their master. You slowly stand, stepping over Sawhill and crossing the foyer. You press your hand flat against the door, the dogs growing agitated, yapping and clawing at the ground. The door rattles on its hinges as they jump up and down, and you can feel their hot breath coming through the broken seal at your feet. You wind back and kick the door, crying out as pain lances up your bare foot to your bruised ankle, but you don't care. You shout and bang on the door with your fists, cursing the hounds and Sawhill and even Darcy, too. You scream until your throat is raw, kicking and slapping with your aching hands and feet. Then you slump against the door before sliding down onto your knees, staring down at the shadows passing through the sliver of light peaking under the door. "Miss Cecilia?" You startle, turning to see Emina step into the light. She's not looking at you, but at Sawhill, his body still illuminated by the candle you left on the floor. "What did you do to him?" she asks, covering her mouth with her hands. "Emina," you breathe, shaking your head. "No. No, why are you here?" You jump to your feet, and her eyes widen as she takes in your bloodied appearance. "I followed him," she says, her voice shaky. "I had to find you..." "Get out!" you shout at her, making her flinch. You rush towards her, raising your hands in front of you, but she doesn't run, only taking a few steps back before you grab her. You shake her by her shoulders, shoving her back against the wall, and you can see the tears in her eyes, glittering in the candlelight. "Aren't you going to run away, girl?" your hands tighten, digging into her flesh. Emina shakes her head, the tears finally spilling over. "Cecilia," she cries, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Your hands tighten even more, your fingers clawing into her shoulders. Emina squirms a bit, but still doesn't try to get away, instead reaching up to lightly touch at your arms, your wrists, her hands far warmer than your own. When she touches your face, you recoil slightly, curling your lip at her, turning away - but she forces your head back around, forces you to look at her before she kisses you. It's a sloppy kiss, busting your lip against your teeth in her urgency, fearful that you'll try to twist away. The two of you tumble back together, your heel colliding with Sawhill before Emina pulls you closer, away from him and away from the light of the melting candle, deeper into the dark. She presses back against one of the windows, gasping at the cold glass on her back, felt even through the heavy curtain and her dress. A few slivers of light spill through as the curtain shifts, and you pause for a moment, both of you panting softly as you glance over your shoulder, peering down the long corridor to your right. You scan the shadows, the illuminated stretches of stone and dust, searching for Darcy's grey eyes, but if she's here with you she doesn't want to be seen. You shiver, wrapping your arms around Emina, and she kisses you again, your eyes fluttering closed. "I'm sorry," she murmurs again, the words ghosting over your busted lip. "I forgive you," you assure her. You bow your head, Emina's kiss brushing along your cheek, and you feel a sob trapped in your throat, a sudden rush of tears as you collapse back to the floor again, burying your face in the folds of Emina's dress. Emina cries, too, crouching down in front of you, bundling you up in her skirts and holding you against her chest. You stare over at Sawhill, unmoving on the floor, the slow spread of blood still expanding beneath him at the foot of the stairs. //[[What did I do to him?]]//

"I had to do it," you whisper. Emina sniffles quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "It's okay," she says softly. "I know. I'll take care of you." She stands then, reaching for your hands and lifting you up onto your feet. You want to say: You've always taken care of me. You want to say: I'm sorry, too. You want to say: Leave me here, Emina. You want to say: I love you. But you don't say any of those things. Emina pulls you along, back to the front door. Shadows still dance back and forth, hot breath seeping through the door like fog at your feet as the dogs prance and whine. Emina guides you over and pushes you against the wall, holding you there with an outstretched hand and giving you a long look before glancing back over at Sawhill. She sniffles again, wiping her nose on her sleeve, and then, before you realize what she's doing, she abruptly opens the door. She swings the massive door towards her, pressing her back against you, both of you hidden behind the heavy wood. The hounds pour in, clawing over each other in their haste, their barking filling the castle and echoing off the walls. Some of them are limping, torn ears and swollen eyes and bloody teeth, covered in nasty wounds and oozing sores, with red foam on their lips that drips freely from their lolling tongues as they pant open-mouthed and hungry. They descend upon Sawhill's corpse, sniffing him curiously at first, licking at his blood on the floor, before they start to pull at his clothes with their teeth. You watch, the fabric tearing first and then the flesh, your own hand fluttering up to your throat, to the bite mark Darcy left behind. More blood rushes across the floor, Sawhill's head lolling to the side, his unseeing eyes watching you. The hounds consume with wild abandon, uncaring - or perhaps relishing - that they are devouring their master. You watch the gleaming teeth, the pale flashes of bone and yellow fat as Sawhill's flesh is stripped away. Hot breath and warm blood steams in the cold air, and for a moment you think Sawhill is breathing again, blinking at you, his pale lips forming your name. Emina has to pull you away, out through the door and into the sun. She quickly turns to close the door, but it slams shut on its own, a gust of icy wind whipping your hair and throwing your nightgown, sending you and Emina stumbling down the stone steps and sprawling into the frozen mud. [[You stare up at the bright blue sky, watching the trees dance for a moment.]]

Emina is gasping beside you, quickly crawling over and helping you sit up. You keep your head tilted back towards the cloudless sky. The moon is still there, despite the sun. "Cecilia," Emina squeezes your shoulders. "Look at me." You do as she says. "We're going to tell them a story," she says slowly. "About what happened." You glance down at all the blood on your hands, soaked into your nightgown. "It's okay," she assures you. "We'll pretend." You swallow loudly, studying her face for a moment. "I'm always pretending," you say. She gives you a sad look, like your brother. "It's okay," she says again, smiling gently. She stands then, and offers you her hand. She pulls you up into her embrace. Over her shoulder, you stare up at the castle, at the dark windows and the distorted glass. The curtains shiver on the other side, a slow exhaling of breath. [[You see your reflection, staring back at you.]]

<<timed 1s>><<fadein 3s>><center><span style= "font-family: 'EB Garamond', serif; font-size: 200%;">ENDING III</span> <span style= "font-size: 150%;">HUMAN NATURE</span> <span style= "font-size: 80%;">again? <<link [[↺ ->start]]>><<set $d_rel to 10>><</link>></span></center><</fadein>><</timed>>

On the last few steps you stumble, catching yourself on the wall before sliding down to the floor. You cry out as your stomach twists, your whole body convulsing painfully, the candle clattering loudly before it extinguishes and rolls free from the candle holder. You curl up on the floor, the stone icy cold through your nightgown, your panting breath filling the silence along with the pounding of your heart. It's erratic, beating against your ribs like a frightened bird in its cage, and the pain in your stomach comes again, a sharp pain that starts in your gut and crawls all the way up your spine to the base of your skull. It wraps around your head and constricts like a crown of thorns, and you groan pitifully, hiding your face between your knees. You long for Darcy's cold embrace. Weakly, you lift your head and whisper her name into the dark - but if she's there in the shadows, she doesn't want to be seen. You sniffle sadly, sitting up as best you're able. The front door isn't too far, and you can see light spilling in through the crack above the floor. That's when you notice the muddy boot prints, still wet and gleaming in the dark. <<link '"Cecilia!"' 'vampyre 3'>><</link>>

Your breath catches in your throat, and you push yourself up, scrambling against the wall. You can smell him before you see him - wet earth, sweat, and the hounds' stench lingering on him as he comes rushing down the hall from deeper within the castle. There's another smell, too. It's sweet and metallic, your mouth watering as Sawhill appears out of the dark. Even his heart, the familiar sound of it, makes something twitch in your stomach. "Sawhill," you breathe his name, staggering back, overwhelmed for a moment. He raises his hands in front of him, his eyes wide as he takes in your appearance, slowly stepping past the door and the stairs, towards you. <div id="choice"><<link '"Stay away from me."' 'stay away from me'>><</link>></div> <div id="choice"><<link '"Help me, Heath."' 'help me heath'>><</link>></div>

"Stay away from me," you say, shaking your head and covering your mouth. "Cecilia..." The hurt in his voice is more painful than if he had just rushed over and slapped you. He stands in the middle of the foyer, his hands still held out in front of him - an offering. You shake your head again. If he gets any closer you're not going to be able to control yourself. "You shouldn't be here," you say. You press yourself against the wall, hiding your face from him, trying to ignore the new cravings clawing at your stomach. "Cecilia, what's wrong? What's going on?" You don't answer him, just picking at a crack in the wall. "I came here for you," he says once it's clear you're not going to respond. He steps closer, clasping his hands in front of him. "What part of me jumping in the river made you think I wanted that?" you snap. He gives you a wounded look, dropping his hands and glancing around the room as if it will give him the right answer for you. "I'm sorry, about the hounds. I never should have brought them here," he tries. "Last night - they wouldn't listen to me. I don't...." he trails off, shaking his head. You glare over at him. "Get out of here, Heath," you say. "Go find yourself a new wife." Sawhill opens and closes his mouth in disbelief. "What? How could you say that?" You bow your head, pressing your face against the wall again and breathing through your mouth. You can taste the cold water from the river, the horse sweat and the gritty wet earth all clinging to Sawhill's clothes, but most of all it's the memory of his flesh beneath your fingers that looms in your mind, prodding at you, your eyes studying the glimpse of skin beneath his collar, saliva thickening in your mouth. "Your brother-" he tries to start, and you close your eyes, grimacing as your stomach growls. "Take care of him for me," you manage to say. "You come back with me. We can take care of him together," Sawhill says, and he starts to come towards you again, reaching out as you shrink back against the wall. "I said //stay away from me//!" you scream at him, and you know he sees you now, the way his eyes widen and he scrambles back, his boot kicking your discarded candle across the floor and down the hall. You hear his heart racing and smell the sudden nervous sweat and rush of blood as his face pales. He reaches around and pulls a large hunting knife from his belt, pointing it at you, the blade [[glinting]] in the dark.

"Help me, Heath," you say, pushing yourself off the wall and staggering towards him. He rushes over, his boot kicking the candle across the floor, thudding dully against the foot of the stairs. He grabs your shoulders, his hands so warm they almost burn, your skin prickling under his touch. He holds you upright, giving you a quick once-over. One of his hands flutters to your neck, to the bite marks Darcy left behind. "I'm sorry, Cecilia," he says. "The dogs - I never should have brought them here. Last night, they wouldn't listen to me, I...." He trails off for a moment, closing his eyes. "What happened? Last night?" he asks then. You shake your head, and he sighs, pulling you close, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. You hold onto his waist, grabbing at fistfuls of his overcoat, pressing your face into his chest and breathing him in. His heart beats a little faster at your touch, as you turn your head and brush you lips along his jaw, your stomach growling in anticipation. "I argued with your brother," he says suddenly. "After what happened with Emina." You tense a bit at her name, pulling back to look at his face, your hunger coiling painfully in annoyance. "Cecilia..." he struggles for a moment, avoiding your stare. "What you did to him - I don't know that I can argue with him anymore." "What are you talking about?" you ask, though you've already known for a long time just how this ends for you. "I've got a recommendation for a good doctor, a decent women's clinic with wonderful accommodations. They can help you there," he tries to assure you. "Don't call it a clinic, Heath," you snap. "Call it what it is." "Cecilia, you stabbed your brother with a kitchen knife," he blurts in frustration. He puts his hands on your shoulders again, searching your face for a moment. "What else would you have me do?" You double over then, clutching at your stomach, blood and bile burning in the back of your throat. Sawhill keeps you from dropping to your knees, cursing under his breath as he leads you over to sit on the stairs. You glare at him, digging your nails into his arm, making him grimace. "Stop it, Cecilia," he says, pulling his arm free. He stands over you, rubbing the crescent moon marks you left behind, giving you a look just like your brother. "I love you," he says suddenly. "You know that, don't you?" [[You just throw up blood on his shoes.]]

"//Jesus//," he quickly steps back, a sudden fear in his eyes as he fumbles a handkerchief from his pocket. Your panting breath fogs in the cold, and you shiver, pulling your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around yourself. Your chest hurts, your heart beating too fast, and the feeling of each muscle contraction disgusts you - too aware of your body, of your blood and guts and the goosebumps prickling your skin. Sawhill crouches in front of you, reaching up to wipe the blood from your mouth. His brow furrows as he looks at you, cradling your face for a moment before gripping your chin and turning your head. He suddenly pushes up your lip, stares at your teeth, then down at the bite mark on your neck again. "Heath," you say softly, unfurling yourself and grabbing at the front of his coat before he can jump back. But the fear has spread, his eyes widening, a recognition that wasn't there before. He reaches around to grab something from his belt - his hunting knife. He always has that fucking knife on him. You lunge from the staircase and grab at his arms, slamming him back against the door. In response, you suddenly hear a chorus of barking and scratching as the hounds on the other side whine for their master. You and Sawhill struggle awkwardly, with you snapping at his face while his boots stomp on your bare feet. After a brief moment of tussling against the door, he manages to grab a clump of your hair and jerk your head back and away from his throat. You realize he's crying, and you wish he had never come here. [[But it's too late, now.]]

You claw at his hand, kicking at his legs and gnashing your teeth, and you manage to connect your heel with his knee and he drops you, staggering back into the door again. You touch your scalp, the skin burning and tender beneath your cold fingers, while he clutches at his leg, crouched half-way to the floor. "Cecilia, please," he breathes, shaking his head. He's holding his knife now, watching you warily. You lunge at him again. He plunges the knife through your stomach just as you sink your teeth into his throat. He screams, pulling the knife back and stabbing you again and again. He grabs your hair with his other hand and rips your head back a second time, pulling your teeth from his flesh and throwing you back onto the stairs. You crumple to the floor, and Sawhill drops to his knees beside you, sobbing as he tries to pick you up and hold you in his arms. He grabs you by the neck when you try to bite him again, restraining you in his lap. "Stop, please, stop," he begs, even as you kick and lash around in his arms. "Cecilia-" he starts, but something smashes over the back of his head, and he slumps forward, his arms going slack before he falls backward onto the floor. You scramble back, clutching at your stomach, splintered wood scattering around you as Emina raises the broken chair and brings it down on Sawhill a second time. The impact sends more wooden shards across the foyer, and what remains of the chair breaks apart in Emina's hands, and she drops it, staggering back in shock. She rushes over to you, but you quickly push her away, your hunger lashing out as the smell of blood fills the air, its claws tearing through your abdomen worse than Sawhill's knife. You crawl over to him, pulling him across the floor by his coat, blood trickling from his temple and spilling from his throat with every beat of his heart. You lean in, petting his face, giving him one last kiss - and then you start to [[feed]].

You're clumsy at first, biting tentatively, tilting your head back and forth as you try to find your way in. You reach up and grab Sawhill's chin, pushing his head into the floor and licking at his pulse fluttering in his throat. You bite at the lean muscle there, running from his clavicle to the back of his skull, and the sudden rush of blood in your mouth surprises you. Your teeth cut through flesh as easily as his knife, and it's effortless as you tear it away and expose the meat underneath. You remember once you saw a life-size wax figure like this at a museum with your brother. The kind surgeons use to study anatomy, and you watched as they opened up her throat and her chest cavity, even her abdomen, revealing all the hidden organs inside. There was even a figure there that had no flesh, skinned like an animal, and you had been fascinated at the red muscle on display, touching your own arms, feeling your body as you stared at this other one through your reflection in the glass, how those muscles connected to the skeleton and the veins and arteries that intertwined between them - how they were the same within you. It had been so lovingly crafted despite the vulgarity of it. The details, the artificial wetness, even the pose, its naked hand turned partially outwards as if hesitating before offering it to you. As you pull apart Sawhill's throat, you understand. You want to capture this moment in wax, too. You open your mouth wide and [[eat]].

You keep eating until you're full. Until your stomach bulges and aches. You sit back on your heels, wiping the blood from your mouth, breathing loud and wet as you stare down at what remains of Sawhill. His head is tilted to the side, staring at the base of the stairs, his eyes still open but seeing nothing. You squeeze your own eyes closed, turning away, wiping with a sudden urgency at your face and neck. Blood sticks to the bottom of your feet, spilled out across the cold stone floor, soaking into the hem of your nightgown. You sniffle loudly, bowing your head, unsure how you will ever get all this blood out from beneath your fingernails. You hear footsteps then, and your head snaps up, freezing Emina where she stands. You forgot she was even here. She has her hands over her mouth, staring down at you and Sawhill. The look on her face turns the satisfaction in your belly into a painful knot. You look from her, to Sawhill, down to your hands and bloody feet. There is no more hunger, no more satisfaction - there is no feeling left but the horror. You quickly stand, only to double over as you're reminded of the knife wounds in your abdomen. You stagger sideways, your shoulder slamming into the wall, and then Emina is there, trying to hold you steady, but you recoil from her touch, from her pity and fear. Clutching at your stomach, you can feel the throb of your heartbeat in your throat, unnatural, skipping and stuttering as you gasp against the pain. Your throat tightens as you look back at Emina, and then you turn on your heel and run off [[deeper ->deeper3]] into the castle.

The first floor is unfamiliar to you beyond the foyer, and you run blind through a labyrinth of rooms and winding corridors until you find what you think must be the remains of a kitchen. You rush past the scorched hearth and crumbling brick oven and duck away into a small pantry, filled with cobwebs and molding crates. You hear the sound of rats scratching in the corner, scurrying away as you drop down onto your knees in the dark. You wipe your face with the back of your hand, your pathetic sniveling muted by the damp walls of the pantry. You stare down at the tears in your nightgown, tentatively slipping your finger through the soaking fabric and touching at your stomach. Acid burns the back of your throat, your earlier hunger betraying you now as a sudden nausea seizes you. The smells in the pantry are overwhelming, along with all the sounds - the chittering rodent laughter as they gather around you in anticipation, the creak of the upper floors as you slump back against the wall, your own uncontrollable groaning and the sound of your bloodied heels scraping over the stone floor as you flail and thrash around. [[You're dying.]]

You press a hand to your chest. Your heart is still beating, weak and wildly out of rhythm, but still beating. You try to remember if Darcy had a heartbeat last night, but the only thing you can remember are her cold hands and her teeth. She did this to you. She coaxed it out of you with her mouth. You lay back on the floor, hiding your face in the crook of your elbow, trying desperately to banish Emina's horrified face and Sawhill's empty eyes from your mind. It doesn't really matter now; what's done is done. It was you or him. You press both hands against your stomach. Your blood isn't nearly as warm as Sawhill's was, and it's slow and thick as it trickles down your sides and spreads through the cracks in the dirty cobblestones beneath you. [[It looks like melting wax.]]

The pantry is cold and wet and the chill is starting to take you. The rats are inching closer, licking at your blood, and you can feel them in your hair, the little claws on your scalp, the warmth of one of their tiny bodies pressed against the inside of your ankle as it chews at the hem of your nightgown. You let the cold and the rats settle over you. [[You close your eyes.]]

//<<timed 1s>><<fadein 2s>>Thump-thump.....<</fadein>><</timed>> <<timed 3s>><<fadein 5s>>Thump...thump.........<</fadein>><</timed>> <<timed 5s>><<fadein 8s>>Thump......<</fadein>><</timed>>// <<timed 10s>>[[Silence.]]<</timed>>

<<audio "october" volume 0 fadeoverto 30 100>><<timed 1s>><<fadein 3s>>[[You hear a familiar sound.]]<</fadein>><</timed>>

Somewhere, someone is playing the piano. You sit up, and the rats scurry away, vanishing once more behind the crates. You blink a few times, the image of the pantry sharper, clarifying for you despite the dark. You drag yourself out on your hands and knees, and then you seem to find your body again, your stomach twitching as you slowly push yourself up onto your feet. You listen to the song, swaying all alone in the decaying kitchen, remembering the steps Sawhill guided you through. You repeat them, holding your arms out, dancing with the shadows. You can't decide if you're mocking him or saying goodbye one last time. Eventually, you stop, dropping your arms back down to your sides. [[You follow the song through the castle.]]

<<audio "october" volume 1 fadeoverto 15 0>>It leads you down the corridor where you found the lamp the previous night, the music swelling as you get closer and closer. Another room, across the hall, the door hanging ajar, and you slowly push it open, creaking on its hinges. Emina plays at a rotting piano, though you wouldn't know it from the sound. It sounds better to you even than when she played it on your little pianoforte back home. Emina glances up at you, and you get your first real look at her. She's been crying - her eyes are swollen and red, and even from here you can see the glistening wetness on her cheeks. The two of you stare at each other as she finishes the song. You slowly make your way across the room, bloody footprints in the dust behind you. Emina doesn't move, watching you with obvious uncertainty. You move around the piano, and carefully take a seat at the other end of the bench. "Cecilia," Emina is the one to finally break the silence. "What happened to you?" You lift a blood-stained hand and tap randomly at some of the keys, making Emina wince. You leave a streak of red on the ivory. "I'm surprised you're here," you say eventually. She swallows loudly. "I followed him," she says, "I had to find you." Emina slides along the bench, moving herself a little closer to you. You tilt your head at her as she searches your face. "You killed him," she says then. "I ate him," you correct. This dubious //him//. Always him. [[Emina slides even closer.]]

Close enough that her thigh presses against yours. She's startled by the cold, but she doesn't pull away. In fact, she reaches out for you, touching your bloody hand, taking it in her own. "Cecilia," she says your name again, softly, staring down at your hand and stroking your fingers, as if trying to wipe the blood from them. She lifts her gaze after a moment, blinking slowly at you. Her brow is furrowed slightly, and her eyes are still red, but clear of tears. There's something familiar there, you can see it - maybe it's just your reflection in the black of her pupils. When she leans in and kisses you, though, that doubt dissipates. Emina releases your hand, pressing herself against you and grabbing your face, while you lean over and grab at her waist, at fistfuls of her skirt, eagerly reciprocating and opening your mouth for her. Blood smears between you, from your hands and your lips and all the wet stains in your nightgown, but Emina is undeterred. She prods at your teeth with her tongue, an unashamed curiosity as you both push and pull at each other, the piano bench groaning dangerously underneath you. There's a heat building in your gut, a different kind of hunger, and you roughly push Emina into the piano, the keys bleating loudly in indignation. You stand only to sit right back down, turning and lifting your leg over to straddle the bench so you can face your lover properly. Emina blinks at you, dazed, blood smeared all over her mouth. Her lips glisten enticingly, and you kiss her again, your tongue dragging over hers, a small sound pressing into your mouth as Emina tries and fails to stifle it. You reach over and ungracefully gather up her skirts in a sudden desperation to hear that sound again, your cold hand finding its way beneath her petticoat and groping through fabric until you find a warm bit of exposed flesh to touch. Emina's breath catches in her throat, and she pulls back to look at you, to look into your face, your noses brushing together as you taste her breath in your mouth. But Emina suddenly jerks back, the bench stuttering across the floor as she slams her hands down on the piano and abruptly jumps to her feet, snatching her skirts and darting away from your hand, leaving you reeling alone on the bench. She stares fearfully across the room, towards the [[door]].

You follow her gaze and see Darcy standing in the doorway. Slowly she creeps into the room, that usual chill following with her, glancing between you and Emina. "It's okay," you say, watching Darcy as she stops in front of the piano. "It's okay, Emina. She helped me." Emina is still afraid. She only kissed you now because she thought you were alone. You wonder if she'll try to run again like before. You can't say for sure what you will do if she does. Emina grabs at the front of her skirt and twists it anxiously in both hands, her fearful stare still locked on Darcy. Her breath comes almost as quick as her heart, beating against her ribs with such force you can almost feel it yourself in this big empty room. You stand slowly, not wanting to startle her even more, carefully stepping back from the piano, though you stop short of going to her. You glance over at Darcy then, who, after a brief locking of eyes, nods at you. A slight wind whispers through the room, the shadows distorting and reaching out across the floor towards Darcy, towards all three of you as she steps around the piano and stands before Emina. Darcy extends her hand. [[Emina takes it.]]

<<timed 1s>><<fadein 3s>><center><span style= "font-family: 'EB Garamond', serif; font-size: 200%;">ENDING VI</span> <span style= "font-size: 150%;">THE THREE WITCHES</span> <span style= "font-size: 80%;">again? <<link [[↺ ->start]]>><<set $d_rel to 10>><</link>></span></center><</fadein>><</timed>>

"You know that won't stop me," you tell him. He shakes his head, tears in his eyes that he tries desperately to blink away. "I-I don't understand," Sawhill stammers. "How?" "I'm cursed," you tell him, which has always been true. You push yourself off the wall then, and give Sawhill a long look. You wonder what he tastes like. "Go home," you tell him. "Take my brother with you. Take care of him. Will you do that for me, Heath?" He lowers his knife, wiping his face with the back of his hand. "I don't want to leave you here," he says softly. "But you will." "I love you, Cecilia," he pleads. "I know," you say sadly. "And I know that you'll leave me here, and you'll tell them whatever story you have to, to preserve my brother and yourself. And because you love me, you'll take care of him for me, and you'll take good care of Miss Flowers, too. You make sure she's looked after." The two of you stare at each other for a long time. Sawhill cries silently, but for once, you do not. Eventually, he nods. "I'll do that for you," he says. He takes a deep breath, palming his knife. "I would have given you a good life, Cecilia." You don't respond, doubling over and vomiting blood all over the floor. Sawhill takes a few steps towards you, but you glare up at him, curling your lip - your last warning. "Get out," you hiss. You don't want to hurt him. Sawhill's face hardens then, his final tears shed. He doesn't say anything else, backing away slowly before reaching for the heavy latch on the door. You take a few steps back as he swings it open, the sunlight pouring in and illuminating the stone walls and motes of swirling dust. You watch his shadow dance over the stairs before the door swings closed behind him. You let out a long, shaky breath, before collapsing back against the wall, grabbing at your stomach again as it lashes out at you, claws tearing through your abdomen, bile and blood rising in the back of your throat. You bow your head, panting loudly, foaming spit gathering in the corners of your mouth. [[You're dying. ->You're dying1]]

Maybe you're already dead. You press a hand to your chest. Your heart is still beating, though - out of rhythm, but still beating. You try to remember if Darcy had a heartbeat last night, but the only thing you can remember are her cold hands and her teeth. She did this to you. She coaxed it out of you with her mouth. You press your face to the wall, wrapping your arms around yourself. You stare down at the sliver of sunlight beneath the door. The cold is starting to take you, and you let it settle over you without much resistance. If what's done is done, it won't matter, either way. [[You close your eyes. ->You close your eyes1]]

And then there's that smell again. Sweet, metallic, //[[enticing]]//.

You inhale deeply, opening your eyes. "Miss Cecilia?" You lift your head, blinking slowly, the world seemingly sharper and colder than before. You can smell her, just as familiar to you as Sawhill - the faint smell of dogs, her orange blossom perfume and the thick scent of dish soap and the kitchen. The river and the mud. "Emina," you breathe her name just as she appears out of the dark, retreading Sawhill's steps. The two of you stare at each other. Emina looks like she's been crying - her eyes are swollen and red, her cheeks flushed and wet. You push yourself up onto your feet, Emina's eyes widening as you stand before her. "Did you come with //him//?" you spit the last word, a sudden contempt winding through you, competing with the hunger in your gut. "...I followed him," she says. "I wanted to find you." "Well, you've found me." You take a step towards her. She doesn't back away, but you can hear her heart accelerate. A beautiful sound. "What happened to you, Cecilia?" she asks, fresh tears welling up in her eyes. You shake your head, licking your lips over and over again, more blood in your mouth as your stomach gurgles painfully. Emina's brow furrows, and her heart beats even faster. But she's the one that steps closer, raising a hand to touch your face. The warmth of her palm surprises you, just as the cold of your cheek surprises her. Looking at her this close, your chest aches, a new hollow pain opening up beneath your ribs with no heart to push back against it. You let out a long breath, closing your eyes and bowing your head. "I'm sorry," Emina says softly. You turn your head, pressing your lips to her palm, brushing a kiss against her inner wrist. Emina inhales sharply, stroking your face, and you open your mouth to breathe her in, her pulse fluttering beneath your tongue. You can't help it. You bite down on her wrist, bone grinding between your teeth as blood rushes in and fills your mouth. You think she tastes like oranges, or maybe it's just her perfume fooling your mind into thinking that. She's messy like an orange, too, spilling over your chin and dripping down onto your feet, warm and sticky and sweet. Emina screams, jerking her arm back, ripping your teeth from her flesh before bolting back down the hall. The first floor is unfamiliar to you beyond the foyer, but you're quick to follow her, compelled by your hunger. All the windows are covered just the same, the curtains already shivering along in Emina's wake, billows of disturbed dust and cobwebs flashing in the brief glimpses of sunlight that burn your skin. "Emina!" you call after her, taking a sharp turn to discover a second staircase. Emina is half-way up, her feet pounding against the stairs, and you rush up after her on all fours. You grab at her skirts, but the fabric tears free in your hand and you're thrown to the floor at the top of the stairs as Emina breaks away again. "You can't keep running away from me!" you shout. Emina slows at the end of the corridor, turning back to look at you, her chest rising and falling frantically. It's hard not to stare. Some of the blood from her arm has splattered down between her breasts and along the front of her dress, and she cradles it against her stomach, glaring over at you. "There's no one here but me and you, Emina. No one to walk in on us, to stand between us," you say, slowly crawling towards her. "No," Emina breathes, shaking her head. "No, no, you don't get it. I'm not like you - I'm not like this," she holds her bloody arm up for emphasis. "I'm not like you, Cecilia!" Your brow furrows, and you blink at her, trying to understand. "I thought...." "You thought wrong! For God's sake, look at yourself! Look at what it's done to you!" Emina keeps shouting. She cries big tears that roll down her cheeks and fall from her chin, streaking through all of the blood. "I'm not like you," she says again, the words whispered down the long corridor between you. <div id="choice"><<link '"Yes, you are."' 'yes you are'>><</link>></div> <div id="choice"><<link '"No, you\'re not."' 'no you are not'>><</link>></div>

"Yes, you are," you say, nodding your head. "You are." You think Emina looks relieved that you said it - confirmed what she was trying so hard to deny. She sniffles loudly, lowering her arm, roughly wiping at her tears. "You are. You know it, that's why you're scared. That's why you came here. That's why you touched me." You feel the hollow in your chest ache again. Were you not in her position, just a few hours ago? You resume your crawl towards her, licking your lips, still tasting her blood. "I was scared, too," you say softly. Emina takes deep, shuddering breaths, and you worry she may collapse. She keeps touching her wrist, her eyes darting from you to her bloody fingers and then back to you. Your own eyes are drawn to all the blood, dripping slowly from her fingers and streaking down her white skirts. The monster in your stomach tries desperately to crawl its way up your throat, but just like you've always done you bite your tongue and swallow it back down, forcing yourself to look into Emina's terrified face. You say her name, still crouched on the floor, offering her your hand. Emina looks down at you through her tears. Eventually, her breathing steadies, her tears spill over, and she presses her bloody hand into your own. You stand, in one fluid motion, Emina staggering back into a little side table at the end of the hall, a broken candleholder clattering against the curtained window. You lean in and kiss her hungrily, Emina kicking up her skirt and wrapping her legs around your own as she leans back against the table. You can taste her tears, sharp and bitter and just as warm as her blood. Her heart beats against your empty chest as you press her back into the window, grabbing at her thighs and pulling at her dress. She gasps into your mouth, from the cold of your hands, from the touch itself. You turn your head and bite at her bottom lip, sucking softly before you move lower, licking at her jaw, the soft curve of her neck, your teeth slowly making their way to her throat. Her pulse flutters beneath your tongue as you drag it across her flesh, your newly formed fangs scraping over the soft skin as you open your mouth wide and breathe deep - and then you bite down, slowly, carefully, trembling against Emina as her blood spills deliciously between your lips and down between your breasts. Emina groans, grabbing at your shoulders, panting softly as you start to [[feed ->feed1]].

You sit back on your heels, narrowing your eyes at her. "No, you're not," you say slowly. Emina sobs, shaking her head and backing away as you stand. If your heart was still beating, it would break. Emina turns and runs, and you resume your chase, nearly colliding into the wall as you start after her down the next corridor, your bare feet slipping on mud left behind by her boots. You feel yourself snarl, watching her skirts vanish around the corner, but you know she can't hide from you. You breathe deep, the smell of her panicked blood and her floral perfume hanging in the air, the trail of mud showing you the way. You sprint through the halls, slamming open doors and knocking over end tables and shattering vases. You hear Emina crying, but the sound provokes nothing but anger in you now. You cut through a few rooms, connected by a servants' hall, before bursting back out into the main corridor ahead of Emina. She tries to stop herself, but her muddy boots slip out from underneath her, and she crashes to the floor with a pained grunt. "Cecilia, please!" she cries, frantically clawing at the floor as she tries to get back onto her feet. You leer down and grab her by the ankle, dragging her back into your embrace. "Cecilia," she spits your name like a curse, slapping and kicking at you, but all of that stops when you sink your teeth into her throat. She makes a high-pitched sound, going rigid underneath you, and you close your eyes as her blood floods your mouth. You're surprised with which the ease your teeth cut through flesh - easier than any knife could have done. It's effortless as you tear away the flesh and expose the meat and blood underneath, the raw pulse of Emina's heart. You remember once you saw a life-size wax figure like this at a museum with your brother. The kind surgeons use to study anatomy, and you watched as they opened up her throat and her chest cavity, even her abdomen, revealing all the hidden organs inside. You watched as they pulled out every piece, laying her out completely on the table for you and all the other visitors to see. It felt like a violation, at the time, even though she was just made of wax - her breasts pulled from her body, then her ribs, then her heart. It was //intimate//. So many excruciating details, from the artificial wetness, to the visceral colors of her body - red and purple and yellow and green and black, painted by hand along with the blood and the skin and the fat and every organ held aloft in the interpreter's hands. You tried to memorize each one, straining to stare past your reflection in the glass, nearly pressing your face against it to see. But you kept looking at her face, turned to the side, her eyes closed, long lashes curling over her cheeks. Love had been put into the carving of her face - her hands, too, pale blue veins just beneath the skin, perfect rounded fingernails and cuticles, resting gently against the table. Such beauty within the vulgarity. You understand it, now. Staring down at Emina, at her soft brown eyes and her full lips and the exposed, bloody muscle in her neck fluttering wildly as she twists her head back and forth, even her manicured nails clawing at your arms. You'd like to capture this moment in wax, too. You open your mouth wide and [[feed ->feed2]].

You wrap your arms around her, pulling her off the window and burying your face into her throat. You inhale through your nose, breathing her in once again, feeling her frantic, bloody pulse quicken against your lips and just beneath your fingers as you dig your nails into her shoulders. The pain in your stomach intensifies briefly before placating, a knot slowly unraveling in your abdomen, undone only by Emina's blood. "Cecilia," she pants, squirming in your arms, but your hunger is insatiable. Now that you've tasted this - now that you've tasted //her// - you can't stop. You don't want to stop. You want to drink this in forever, just you and her together in the dark. You release one of her shoulders to cradle her face, your thumb brushing along her bottom lip before slipping into her open mouth. Her tongue presses against the tip of your finger, warm and wet, and the sensation has you longing to stick your finger somewhere else instead. You release her throat then and pull your hand back, desperate to kiss her again. She murmurs something, her legs tightening around you, swaying slightly atop the table, grabbing at your hips and pulling you closer as you deepen your kiss. You wonder if she's as insatiable as you. If she's really the same kind of girl as you. Your answer comes when Emina suddenly reaches for the candleholder - broken, you realize now - and plunges the jagged, rusted metal into your stomach. You recoil, staggering back down the corridor in shock. Your recent death does nothing to dull the pain of being stabbed in the gut, and you stare down at your slow, black blood oozing through your nightgown before you grab the candleholder and rip it free, dropping it to the floor with a heavy //thud//. Your legs wobble, and you collapse back against the wooden banister - but the wood is rotten, crumbling beneath your weight and sending you falling back down to the first floor. [[You land on your back, staring up at Emina's horrified face.]]

She rushes down the stairs, and you just lay there, clutching at your stomach, your black blood slow and thick as it seeps between your fingers. Your skin feels tight and itchy, one of your fingers curiously probing the wound through your nightgown. It feels like Emina's mouth. It shifts, just like her tongue, the skin already working to pull itself back together, closing around your finger briefly before you retract it with a gasp. Emina appears then, staring down at you with those big tears in her eyes once again. "I'm sorry," she says. You open your mouth to respond, but her blood just gurgles in the back of your throat. Emina backs away, and then she turns and runs for the front door. You roll onto your side, crying out as your back realigns with a loud and painful //snap//, and then you struggle to your feet and stumble after her. The door slams closed before you can catch her. You throw yourself against it, breathing blood and spit across the wood before fumbling for the latch. "Don't," a familiar voice sounds, a cold hand grasping your wrist. You freeze for a moment, slowly turning to see Darcy just behind you. "You'll burn," she says. You ignore her, ripping your hand free and throwing the door open. Sunlight rushes in, smoke filling your mouth and burning your eyes as your flesh immediately starts to blister in the light. Your forearms glow like embers in the fire, your skin peeling back and turning black while the yellow fat underneath bubbles and melts. You scream out into the cold morning air, into the woods, and you hope your voice follows Emina across the river - [[you hope it follows her all the way home.]]

Darcy snakes behind you in the shadows, grabbing the back of your nightgown and yanking you out of the doorway before kicking it closed, the darkness swallowing you once more. Your arms, your chest, your face, all hiss and smoke in the freezing air, and you collapse back into Darcy, dizzy from the pain. She slowly lowers you down to the floor, holding you carefully in her lap. She shushes your frantic breathing, petting your hair, pulling some of your curls free from the sticky, bloody mess that is your face. "She'll be back, Cecilia," she assures you, speaking the words directly into your ear, her breath a cold whisper that crawls all the way down your spine. "<<if hasVisited("stories")>>She's heard all the same stories as you.<<elseif hasVisited("choice")>>She'll have no other choice soon enough.<<else>>She'll come running here just the same as you.<</if>> She'll be back." You nod, panting loudly, grimacing as your skin starts to break and peel from your arms, the charred, black flesh curling into ash on the floor in front of you. Darcy helps, pulling strips of it away, revealing soft, unblemished skin underneath, a light coating of blood oozing through your pores that she smears in like lotion before licking what remains from her fingers. Your head spins, and your stomach starts to contract again, sharp pinpricks needling through your intestines. You lean into Darcy, pressing your face into her shoulder. She tilts her head, peering down at you, reaching up to pet your hair again. "What did you do to me?" you finally ask. "All I did was feed you," she says, pressing the words through your hair, into your skull. You stare up at her, and then you smile, and then you laugh, clinging to Darcy as she rocks you in her lap, still petting your hair. Then she lifts her arm and slices her wrist with teeth. You stop laughing, your mouth opening automatically. No words to be exchanged, only flesh and blood. Darcy offers you more blood than you will ever be able to drink. [[It's not as warm as Emina's, but it's just as sweet.]]

<<timed 1s>><<fadein 3s>><center><span style= "font-family: 'EB Garamond', serif; font-size: 200%;">ENDING IV</span> <span style= "font-size: 150%;">BLOOD AND BILE</span> <span style= "font-size: 80%;">again? <<link [[↺ ->start]]>><<set $d_rel to 10>><</link>></span></center><</fadein>><</timed>>

Eventually, Emina stops thrashing. You drink from her until you can't anymore, until your stomach bulges and aches. You're panting by the time you stop, sitting back on the floor with a grunt, slumping against the wall. You wipe roughly at your face with the back of your hand, licking your lips and rubbing at all the blood trickling down your neck. "Emina," you say softly. You touch her shoulder and roll her fully onto her back. Her eyes are still open, and they remind you of the marble eyes of Sawhill's trophies. You push off the wall, crouching over her, gently prodding at the mess you've made of her throat. You feel that ache beneath your ribs again, and you lean forward, resting your head against her breast. She's as cold as you now, and there's no heartbeat to listen to. You sniffle sadly, reaching out and grasping at her icy hand, slick with blood. A floor board creaks then, and you quickly sit up, Darcy stepping out of the dark. Announcing herself. You glare at her, hunching protectively over Emina. She doesn't say anything, just watching you, creeping closer, bringing that familiar chill along with her. "Leave me alone," you hiss. Darcy ignores you, so you stand to meet her, stepping over Emina and feeling a sudden anger and indignation at her intrusion in this moment between you and your maid. "Don't look at her," you sneer. "This is your fault," you add, jabbing a finger in her direction. "All of this is your fault!" Darcy quirks an eyebrow at you. "It was not my teeth in her neck," she says. [[You lunge at her.]]

Darcy easily steps aside and shoves you into the wall. You twist around and try to swipe at her with your nails, pushing off the wall and lashing out violently, but she just catches your wrist and pulls you close before throwing you to the floor. You slam into the hardwood, gasping for a moment, Darcy's strength sending you tumbling over yourself down the hall. You sprawl out in a daze before struggling onto your hands and knees, grabbing at your bruised hip as old pain lances down your leg. You glare up at Darcy as she approaches, curling your lip and pressing your nails into the floor. "What the fuck did you do to me?" you spit. Darcy lifts her chin, blinking slowly at you. She doesn't give you an answer, because it's not really a question. You know what you are. You throw yourself at her again, launching off the floor, and Darcy doesn't move, letting you slam into her, a solid wall of cold flesh. You slap her across the face, though she hardly reacts, even when you do it again, and again, even as you start to beat her chest with your fists. It's not long before you tire yourself out. You crumple to the floor, clinging to her shirt for a moment before crawling away, back to Emina. You reach out, petting her face, closing her eyes when you can't stand it anymore. The tears you feel now are nothing but blood, red droplets falling onto Emina's cheeks, slowly trickling down into her hair, smearing her skin as you try to wipe them away. "Cecilia," Darcy says behind you, her tongue whispering against the back of her teeth as she overenunciates your name. You turn and look up at her, see her fangs, the red reflection in her eyes as she tilts her head towards you. "I killed her," you whisper. "Yes," Darcy says, not unkindly. You squeeze your eyes shut, breathing in the heavy smell of blood. It's soaked into your nightgown, trapped beneath your fingernails, falling from your eyes. The taste of Emina lingers, her flesh now committed forever to memory. You won't forget what she's given you. When you open your eyes, Darcy offers you her hand. [[You take it.]]

<<timed 1s>><<fadein 3s>><center><span style= "font-family: 'EB Garamond', serif; font-size: 200%;">ENDING V</span> <span style= "font-size: 150%;">BLEEDING HEART</span> <span style= "font-size: 80%;">again? <<link [[↺ ->start]]>><<set $d_rel to 10>><</link>></span></center><</fadein>><</timed>>