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Ah, Ilona.
I whirled about in my chair and stared into the frightened gypsy's eyes. She froze, the brush she held in one hand suspended in midair. Those dark eyes surrounded by countless wrinkles were bound tightly to my gaze.
“Glynis, do not do this,” Cneajna whispered.
“Am I beautiful?” My voice floated softly on the night breeze.
The wolf raised his ears and growled deep in his throat.
“Very. Like an angel,” Ilona responded, her voice a soft monotone.
“Are my cheeks not rosy, so soft, like a rose?”
“Like a child’s. ” Ilona’s hand was shaking violently but she could not tear her gaze from mine.
“Would you like to kiss my cheek? Like a mother kisses her child. Do you wish to kiss me?”
“Oh, yes!” Bright tears were glistening in Ilona’s eyes.
“Stop it now!” Cneajna’s voice was sharp.
I knew my eyes were glowing with my unholy lust in the flickering candlelight. “Kiss me. ”
The gypsy woman began to bend down.
Elina stepped between us and slapped Ilona soundly, knocking her out of her trance. “Idiot woman!”
Ilona cried out in fright. Dropping the heavy brush, she darted from the room.
I growled furiously. How dare Elina frighten my prey away!
Cneajna grabbed hold of my chin and pulled my face to one side. I stared at her with fierce intensity.
“You are never to touch the servants. I know you are drunk with the hunger, but you must always remember this. ”
I sighed. Everyone was spoiling my fun, and I was so hungry. I just wished they would stop playing with my clothes and hair and let me be. But to do what?
A smile caressed my lips.
Oh, yes, to feed.
The Journal of Lady Antoinetta
The Castle Dungeon
June 16th
I have sat here in this filth for days now. I am disgusted by my condition, but I am a prisoner and I am to suffer all that entails. May God curse Prince Vlad for all his evil!
The days are unbearable. The nights are worse. I hear screams in the night that terrify me. They sound like the voice of my daughter, my lovely headstrong Glynis.
My beloved Edric is dead. I recall all too vividly his death. How his blood fell on me like rain. I fear that May, too, is dead. I find myself praying that the monstrous master of this castle will kill me and let my soul be free.
That he allows me to write letters home and write in my journal is nothing more than another cruelty to bestow upon me. I know my letters to Andrew will go unread. At times, I find myself hoping desperately that Glynis will be able to take them to my son, but I know that is the wild hope of a doomed woman. I stare at my little stack of letters and want to weep.
I miss my beloved Andrew and his precious wife. I will never see their children. I know this and it breaks my heart.
May Prince Vlad burn in hell for what he has done to us!
