*****
She didn’t notice how fast the tide of her feet had carried her to the silent nursery, as dim as the rest of the place, void of any other person apart from what lay in the bassinet sitting in the middle of the room, draped in colors, fabrics, and things she could never afford and was told she didn’t need. She looked into the bassinet at Countess Bathory’s newest child, the only one to survive her wrath thus far, and then she looked to her own baby, sleeping in her arms, unaware of what was about to happen.
She thought it smiled at her, there in the bassinet, as if it knew her next motions, as evil as its mother, aware that the woman casting a shadow in the dim room couldn’t help those girls in the chamber…not now, not ever.
The maiden decided it was just the darkness of the room making her see things in a smile, and if she could take care of the baby and raise it with good, that the child would later reveal herself as a noble Bathory and become the righteous heir to stop the history of bloodshed that no one in nobility dared challenge. She could make a good history for descendants of the countess and let them think they had a choice, just as the baby in the bassinet was about to have.
The only one who could stop the current ruler, death, was the tiny baby in her arms, her only daughter.
The maiden made a promise to the count to protect his children, two of which had already been lost and now this new baby, from a threat he perceived inside the castle. The maiden was older than the pretty, delicate girls the countess usually took into her flock. She was not first choice by any means, but if she could keep her word to watch over the count’s children, she and her daughter would forever have sanctity under his rule. Her family, shamed by her faultless infant, told the whole village that the maiden, too old to marry, had drowned in a river a few months ago. She had been “killed” by an accident of someone else’s design, yet somehow managed to live in secret, and had to fulfill her promise. The promise that had saved both her and the infant’s life.
She had never thought that she would have to protect the progeny from their own mother, for it was conveniently omitted from the count’s story. The children were well taken care of, not like the maidens in the dungeon, but if they didn’t pass the tests—if they weren’t special like their mother—they wouldn’t survive.
The promise she vowed was much too noble an oath for someone of her standing, and she only had one resource she could use in stopping the countess’s wrath. It was a great, noble promise that she could not betray as a citizen. And now it came to this. The countess was told she could not have any more children; therefore, the maiden had no other choice than to switch out her own baby with the Bathory baby. They were of the same age, born rooms apart. She prayed the switch would go undetected.
She set them next to each other in the bassinet, one clothed in Bathory red, and her baby, swaddled happily in whatever miscellaneous fabric she could find to keep her warm. They looked similar enough.
As she switched their clothing, her baby started to fuss, making the maiden move faster as to not be discovered, tears sloshing out the side of her eyes and landing on the two infants below her, threatening to drown both of them if she didn’t move fast enough. The color of their eyes was not decided yet and the hair on both their heads was light and soft, so surely she could get away with it. The Bathory baby was smiling, delighted for the attention of a human. The maiden’s baby thrashed around as if she understood what was about to happen and wanted to stay with her mother, but she only hastened her switch, making her mother move faster, unable to say goodbye due to the fear of being discovered by tell-tale shrieks.
She switched the babies without another mind-numbing thought, as if afraid to look back over the shoulder that housed her heart, taking baby Bathory into her bandaged left arm, and back to the tiny chamber she would call their home. The baby’s weight had numbed the pain in the bend of her limb, and her tears had been evaporated for use at another time, though they had left her face puffy and pink. She shut the door safely behind them, as the candle she had left burning illuminated a small bed made of wood, a makeshift bassinet that held only a hemp woven blanket, and a worn side table, which was the resting place of a hasty roll of fabric serving as bandages, and a sharp utensil she had found in the cooking area. The Bathory children were said to be different---- to be special. She would have to care for this child differently than she had her own, during that short point in time in which they were together, the shortest memory she ever had already waning into obscurity. This was her new daughter, and that thought might help her mind drown out the awful infant cries it fathomed up- the baby she left alone, presumably with the company of death. She shivered, as if her used up tears were trying to come out of her skin.
The baby cooed quietly in her arms, obliged by the warmth it received.
“Are you hungry?” she asked the infant.
Her new daughter made a little sound.
The maiden smiled warmly at the baby. She walked three steps across the tiny room and picked up a bowl of food she had prepared earlier. Warm, sticky red liquid, sloshed to the top of the bowl, staining the sides with as the dark, grimacing pool settled back towards the bottom. She had been brave enough to take her own blood and pass it along to her new baby, giving the child life. Tipping the bowl towards the infant’s hungry mouth, she smiled again thinking, that wasn’t so bad.
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“Very dark, with a heavy undertone of ominous...intriguing and fascinating as each twist becomes another dark alley to journey down.” - Tome Tender Book Blog
“The story lines weave well into each other, creating an intriguing journey that keeps the reader turning the pages.” - Reader’s Favorite
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About the author:
Romarin Demetri, author and creative force, is a story crafter who loves black coffee and traveling abroad. When her characters come home in some sort of trouble, Demetri swears she didn’t invent it. Pulling from her Bachelor of Arts in English and Psychology, her debut series, The Supernatural London Underground, is a blend of fantasy ground in reality and a world readers can truly escape to. As an eccentric and reader, she still enjoys creating the alternate reality in her urban fantasy series (more than anything!), and her interactive world waits for you at RomarinDemetri.com.
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