Chapter Text
Ingrid hardly seemed to breathe as she dutifully waited to be called upon by Lady Dimitrescu or any of her three young mistresses, her gloved hands tucked behind her back as her dark eyes bore into the ornate furnishings of the smaller dining hall. It was one of many halls and the most often used. Due to its small size, it was easier to heat and the maid was familiar with the Dimitrescu children's unique circumstances by now. If she were free to give any sort of opinion, she'd think it was quite sweet that her lady broke fast with her daughters in a room that she'd obviously outgrown. A certain tenderness flashed through her eyes, a tenderness she only held towards the Dimitrescu family, though nobody would have noticed unless they had been searching. That is the stoic nature of the humble maid.
Perhaps Ingrid wasn't as humble as she once was. Being told "you are one of the best maids this family has ever had" tends to fuel a person's ego. To think at one point she despised her job, a job that filled her with such pride she felt as though she could rival the Lord. A sinful thought. When the village pushed her forth, they thought she would be used as sacrifice. She thought so too. Turns out her hardworking nature and ability to adapt were favourable traits in the golden eyes of Dimitrescu. As was throwing herself in harms way to protect her four mistresses, despite them having regenerative abilities. Lady Dimitrescu had rewarded her unwavering loyalty by promoting her to head maid and gifting her an ornate gun to tuck away in the folds of her uniform. It was her second instinct to pull it out at any sign of danger, her first to jump in front of the family she served and intently await orders.
The maid was lured out from her fond reminiscing by the sound of a golden goblet tipping over, a quiet whine from one of Dimitrescu's daughters and the sight of a bright crimson seeping into the white tablecloth. She was at Daniela's side before any of the women had lifted a finger to beckon her. The Dimitrescu girls seemed identical to mere outsiders but the maiden had learned their habits after years of working at the Castle. Every woman at this table had spilled wine in her presence at some point and each had their own way of dealing with it that they were not aware of. Alcina, the lady herself, usually beckoned a maid to clean it up immediately; Bela, the eldest of the children, tried to scrub the stain away while calling for a maid; Cassandra, the middle child, sat in stunned silence at her own clumsiness before someone called a maid for her; and Daniela, the youngest, usually let out a quiet whine before she looked around for the nearest maid. That was her indicator.
"Do not fear, Miss Daniela," the maid reassured soothingly as she blotted the wine that was yet to sink into the white drape and adjusted the fallen cup. "The tablecloth will be cleaned after you have finished breaking your fast and I will refill your goblet in the meantime."
The ghost of an appreciative smiled danced across Daniela's lips as she watched the dark-haired servant clean up her mess. Ingrid's heart swelled with pride as she noticed the young mistress's smile in her peripherals. The moment was cut short by Lady Dimitrescu's sharp voice, clear as the family glass Ingrid had spent so many nights polishing in preparation for guests.
"Actually, we were just finished," the lady said, addressing the servant directly. "My children, please vacate. I wish to speak to our maid without interruption."
It's strange how a few words strung together like a pearl necklace could make a woman's heart drop to her core and make her whole body go numb as bullets of sweat pricked the back of her neck. Was this Ingrid's end? Had she made some foolish mistake small enough that she didn't notice but monumental enough to have her made into Sanguis Virginis? She held her breath as the three daughters left the room, leaving her in a very familiar situation - a maid fearing for her life and a mistress staring complacently into a golden cup of wine, leaving the prior blind to her intentions.
"Do you remember our conversation last week?" The countess asked after what felt like years, though hardly a minute had passed.
Ingrid's shoulders dropped and tension left her body as she exhaled, unapologetically relieved. "I do, my lady," she replied, not daring to draw her gaze to Alcina's eyes, which were so often swirling with malice and bloodlust.
"As expected," she said with a slight nod before emptying her cup, oozing with elegance despite her imposing figure. "The Four Lords are having a meeting with Mother Miranda tomorrow, just a standard check-in. You will accompany me and be handed over to that insolent fool as the meeting concludes."
Alcina Dimitrescu gave the impression of a poised, delicate woman despite her size and she often acted as such, playing the role of a kind yet firm lady of the house. She only gave hints to her true power when putting people in their place. The role of a peaceful homemaker was not translated when it came to her younger brother. Her emotions went unchecked whenever he was mentioned, even by herself, and her golden eyes were set ablaze with unfiltered hatred. She almost spat as she referred to him as insolent. She usually gathered herself again in a matter of seconds and she did this time too.
"You will be relieved of your duties earlier to pack your belongings. I expect you to get a decent night's sleep and make a good first impression. Do I make myself clear?"
Of course she was clear. Lady Dimitrescu was always clear. Always perfect. There was not a flaw to be found in her carefully crafted facade. Ingrid admired her greatly.
She bowed to her lady, arms at her sides. "Yes, my lady. I will not disappoint you."
Ingrid's heart skipped several beats as she felt two satin-gloved hands take each side of her face and gently tilt her head up. Her bow was shallow now that she was staring up at her mistress's towering form. She felt sweet nausea as the countess cradled her face.
"I know you won't," she purred with a proud smile. Then the moment was over and the small maid's face felt cold without someone dear holding it.
"That stain is unsightly. Have it cleaned before our next meal," Alcina's prim voice rang out, followed by the sound of the heavy mahogany door shutting.
Ingrid smiled as she carried out her orders, only to have it shattered by an exasperated sigh as she reminded herself that Lord Heisenberg would not offer her the same warmth, if any at all. She prayed her beloved mistress would take her back into her welcoming arms once her task was done.