Chapter Six: A Bond Renewed
Rosu hurried up the stairs, the gentle swish of her plain black cotton frock a
counterpoint to the click of her heels on the stone flags as she made her way to
report to her Mistress. Those clicks spawned a series of echoes in the narrow
spiralling staircase, overlapping and merging into an eerie discordant tune. Her
heart measured the beat as she climbed, pounding in a strong, steady rhythm
against her ribcage as the blood pulsed through its chambers and snaked its
warm, life-giving course through her veins. Despite the warmth of the exertion,
she was cold, bone-weary and famished but knew that her own needs, as was only
right and proper, were subordinate to her duties.
She arrived breathless at the top of the stairs, and halted before a single oak
door. It had no ornamentation of any kind; it was merely a simple rectangle of
wood, smooth shiny with age and polishing with one blackened iron ring for a
handle.
She hesitated, but in a perverse irony, her fear of her Mistress drove her on,
and she raised one shaking hand, which slowly formed into a fist to tap on the
worn surface.
It froze in mid-air as a voice, cold and crystal clear, called from behind the
door, "Enter, Rosu."
She suppressed the shudder of deep dread that threatened to overwhelm her, as it
always did, no matter how many times she entered Her presence, and prepared to
report to her Mistress.
***
She was staring out of the narrow mullioned window at the breathtaking radiance
of the storm outside, almost as if She were drinking in the spectacle. Her
thoughts seemed a thousand miles away, but Rosu knew far better than to flout
protocol. With fingers stiff from the cold she unbuttoned her dress, letting it
drop to the floor, to puddle around her ankles. She stepped out of the garment,
and slid her petticoats down to join it. Her long slender legs were revealed,
clad in pearly white stockings. As her Mistress ordered, she wore no
undergarments and her smooth-shaven mound was presented for Her attention. She
then removed her chemise and stood now only in tightly laced white corset,
before descending to her knees, which sank into the deep richly woven Turkish
rug. This, together with the other rich furnishings, brought a certain vivacity
to the dead stone of the chamber, although in doing so merely further
highlighted the apparent lifelessness of its occupant. Rosu clasped her left
wrist in her right hand behind her back, and lowered her eyes, which as ever
were drawn into the swirling maelstrom of vibrant blues, crimsons, ochres and
golds of the intricately woven rug. She was now to remain like this, awaiting
her Mistress' pleasure. On most occasions, this entailed merely listening to her
report, and dismissing her, leaving her to struggle back into her clothes,
rejected. But then, there were the other times...
After what seemed like a lifetime of waiting, her Mistress spoke. "As the
storm-tossed ship is sacrificed to the jagged rocks, so my friend, the tempest,
gives me that which I desire." Her voice was far-away, almost dreamy. "It was on
a night like this when first I came here, when the rage of the heavens delivered
me to Her. It is strange how little I remember...so many years..." Her voice
trailed off as She contemplated the rain streaming down the windows.
Then She turned, Her skirts swishing around Her with the abruptness of Her
movement. The vague, dreamlike state had evaporated and Her steel-sharp stare
skewered Her housekeeper, who did not even have to meet Her gaze to feel it
piercing her soul.
"you were successful." It was a statement, not a question.
Rosu shivered anew. "Yes, Mistress. One found a new scullery maid in Gaura,
but..." She stopped, biting her lip.
"But?" The word hung in the air over Rosu's head like the Sword of Damocles, a
single syllable, but drenched in threat.
Rosu swallowed. She knew she had no choice now but to continue, else the thought
would be plucked from her mind as easily as she might pluck a daisy from the
earth and with as little regard for the effect she might have on the delicate
plant. "It has become necessary to journey further afield for new...staff,
Mistress, " she ventured, her voice trembling, as she prepared to dare question
Her commands. "No-one from the local villages will send their daughters here
now. They...know the stories...about the disappearances..."
She was therefore surprised to hear her Mistress' laughter, but there was little
warmth or gaiety in that harsh sound. "They know nothing," came the flat
rejoinder. "They still cling to the old superstitions and legends, to try to
explain what their feeble minds cannot comprehend. Vlad Drakul, Countess
Bathory, mere petty thugs and butchers! They killed not for a purpose, not for
need, but merely to slake their own thirst for blood and torture! And now you
suggest that I have joined their ranks in the minds of the peasants? One girl,
maybe two, in a decade, I take from the household here. The others that serve my
needs, those peasants in the villages, die as people have always died. If I
hasten the process, then so be it." The icy voice became warmed with contempt.
"Better that their dull lumpen existence ends for a purpose other than just to
rot away in their rat-infested hovels, from disease, or old age and infirmity,
or at the hands of their barbaric husbands."
Rosu withered under Her glare, yet still, somehow, found the fortitude to
respond. "Yet, Mistress, one did not refer to the disappearances alone. Even
those who work here, work to maintain both Your estates and Your reputation,
cannot but help question the strange sounds from the cellars, the orders not to
stir from their chambers at night...and the gossip reaches their families...and
then spreads like the plague."
"I rely on you, Rosu," her Mistress interrupted, Her voice heavy with menace,
"to choose wisely and at random between the villages. For my part, I am neither
greedy nor indiscriminate. I select those whom I wish to serve me with due care
and attention - as I selected you - and I expect you to do the same."
The kneeling woman lowered her head still further in a gesture of deeper
humility, so that her chin almost touched her chest.
She glided over, extending a delicate slim hand and grasped Her servant under
the chin, tilting her head firmly up, forcing her to meet Her stare. The
housekeeper flinched, but her eyes fixed unswervingly on those of their
Mistress. She had no choice.
"If the locals are getting suspicious, Rosu, then you are taking insufficient
care. I do not care for the notion of a torch-carrying rabble battering at my
gates. It is somehow... trite. You, therefore will have to apply more wisdom to
your future choices, or so indeed shall I." She left the rest of this threat
unspoken but its presence was clear and tangible in that circular chamber. She
released her grip on Rosu's chin, leaving behind the deep indentation of her
fingernails.
Rosu gathered her fragmented wits back together and drew in a deep breath. "I
have ordered the new girl to bed for now Mistress, and that she be ready to take
up her duties by 5 o'clock tomorrow morning." The housekeeper groped for the
mundanity of household affairs and work shifts as if desperate to take refuge
there from the terror instilled by her Mistress' words.
The brooding figure that had now returned to the window waved a negligent hand.
"I have no interest in her duties, Rosu, you deal with the servants as is your
place. I will...evaluate her in My own time." She turned her face back to the
glass.
Rosu ducked her head again. Normally this would be a signal that she was
dismissed, but she did not rise.
Her Mistress sensed it immediately: the dull black tendril of fear, so
conspicuous from the formless grey clouds of dread that normally shrouded the
minds of those who were close to Her. "Well, speak!" she snapped, suddenly
wearying of this. Rosu knew her station, knew the terms upon which her continued
service was based, and the guarantees that She had most graciously granted, but
still she yielded to baseless fear like a dull common peasant. She was beginning
to tire of the woman, despite her undoubted ability at running the household.
"Rosu, the day that I first sipped at your throat, as a courtly lady delicately
drinks her tea from a china cup, was the day that I took ownership of both your
body and your mind. But the latter is as murky as a stagnant pond, and I see
only the thoughts that float upon the surface like scum. Either tell me what it
is you wish to say, or go. I grow tired of your timidity, slave, and the
necessity of delicacy becomes ever less important. I thirst constantly and one
of these nights I *will* take my fill."
The servant's breath caught in her throat, and her voice was arrested for the
space of several heartbeats. "One fears for the consequences of banishing the
other slave, Mistress!" the sentence finally tumbled out. "It is running wild
out there and who knows what might happen, whom it might kill in order to feed."
Having blurted out this implied criticism, she lowered her head once more,
half-expecting to feel the sharp teeth tearing at her throat at any moment.
She sighed inwardly. Not only was She well aware of Rosu's error in questioning
Her judgement, but also of the servant's overwhelming terror at the thought of
the consequences. She modified her approach therefore and spoke more gently.
Despite her annoyance, the woman was still useful. For the present. "Rosu, you
have little cause for concern. The slave is unused to fending for itself. It
will be confused and terrified, as I have left little of its former humanity
behind. It will be as a wolf raised in captivity and then let loose into the
wild. I do not doubt that it will sustain itself on what small creatures it can
catch, but they will be insufficient, and it will eventually become weak and
sickly. Naturally it cannot die, but I presume it will crawl into some filthy
hole and exist as best it can." This condemnation of another living creature to
eternal purgatory was uttered in a tone of complete indifference. There were all
kinds of hells, and the slave's would be of its own making. In any case, how
could one feel compassion for an object, a mere beast that could not obey the
simplest of orders and control its urges unless constantly and stringently
restrained?
She turned Her attention back to Her servant, seeing the opportunity both for
calming the woman's fears, and also meeting Her own needs. "Come, Rosu," She
whispered. "Enough of such matters, let us renew our bond. I feel your thoughts
grow vague and slip into grey shadows. Let us return the colour."
She approached, slipping out of Her own attire as easily as a snake shedding its
skin, revealing the milky white perfection of Her form. She snagged a leather
belt from an occasional table as she passed, and rounded behind the housekeeper,
wrapping the belt around the thin wrists, gently but snugly pinning them in the
small of Rosu's back. Despite her fear, the housekeeper felt a frisson of
arousal at the loss of her freedom. She licked her lips, moistening them as they
dried, mere moments before a wadded silk scarf entered her mouth. She moaned
gently as another scarf was knotted tightly behind her head. As the power of
speech, of movement, of *choice* was taken away, she finally relaxed and barely
felt it as needle-sharp incisors penetrated her neck and her Mistress joined
with her again.
