#(he seems to have treated his wife horrifically and keeping a mistress being the least of that; honestly )

[fideidefenswhore]

also, ‘should have been burned alive’ is something norfolk said about katherine howard…

[kaitycole]

Black Dahila

Summary: Liam and Drake finally learn what happened when Constantine confronted Eleanor and Jackson about their affair.

Word Count: 3328

Pairings: Constantine x Eleanor, Jackson x Eleanor, Jackson x Bianca

Warnings: Mentions of adultery, murder, illegitimate children

Song Choice: n/a

Part 19 of WP. To catch up, read here.

It’s not until he goes to sit down and catches a glare from Bastien that it finally hits Jackson why his former mentee is here and he makes sure to grab Luke’s arm when he goes to sit down.

Liam sits down in the arm chair that is close to the sliding glass doors he assumes leads to the backyard. He scrunches up his brows when notices Jackson’s hesitant to sit down. It has been three years since he took the throne and the weight of his title still hasn’t fully clicked with him.

“Oh no, please sit. I’m not here as King, this is your home after all.”

Jackson nods, slightly embarrassed before he lets go of Luke who sits on the left end of the couch closest to Liam and Jackson sits in his usual chair, one that is across from Liam.

“It seems a lot has changed in Cordonia.” He lets out a nervous chuckle, the atmosphere starts to feel heavy, like all the weight was resting on his shoulders.

“Leo abdicated for love, truly pulling an Edward VIII. Olivia had a lot to say about that.”

“How is Olivia?”

“She told me not to even bother to come here.” “Sounds like her. And Lythikos?” “She rules with a silver dagger, the people love it, the suitors not so much.” Jackson lets out a laugh and Liam feels himself untense for the first time since they pulled back in front of the ranch. It startles him at first, the fact that he could feel almost comfortable with the one person he wanted to set on fire. But it is truly rare that he gets a moment to just chat with someone.

“The Beaumont brothers, how are they? Bertrand married to some insufferable noble woman yet?”

Liam and Bastien share a brief exchange before the corners of Liam’s lips threatens to twitch into a smirk. “You’d honestly be surprised at who he married. He even has a son.”

“Poor woman.” Jackson jokes which gets Bastien to crack a smile.

“If you’ll excuse me.” Liam stands up, holding up his ringing phone before walking out the glass doors behind him.

“I don’t suppose we could share a drink and talk about the old days, could we?”

“I am on the clock.” Bastien continues to look straight ahead, trying to simply just avoid his old mentor. His first concern is Liam, next would Drake, then maybe once they were back in Cordonia could he worry about his own feelings on the matter.

To say Bastien is hurt would be a gross understatement, he is angry, pissed the fuck off and devasted that the man who taught him what he knew didn’t feel the need to clue him in on what happened. The fact that he had spent most of his life raising Drake and Savannah like his own because of how much he owned Jackson all while pushing down the grief and guilt he felt over their alleged deaths.

“How is that if Liam isn’t here on King’s business?”

He finally lets his eyes flick over to the man he used to look up to, keeping his face emotionless. “My job is to protect the King regardless of the business matter. You should know that or have you forgotten the duties you had sworn to uphold?”

“That was Drake, he’s almost here.” Liam walks back into the house, unintentionally interrupting their conversations. Bastien just nods, his glance refocusing on the wall in front of him, eyes scanning across the family photos lined up on the mantle.

There was no doubt in his mind that it was Eleanor’s idea to have so many photographs taken, she was like that when she married Constantine. Even before Liam was born, she had pictures taken of them with Leo, of Leo through the years and once Liam was born, even more were taken. She made sure Olivia was included in the family pictures they took, even if the official royal family photo didn’t have her in it, she still kept the ones with her in her personal photo albums. Bastien makes a mental note to have the servants look for them when he returns so that Liam will have them if he wants to see them.

*                      * “Luke, why don’t you go bring the cattle back in?”

Drake arrived just moments ago, taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch to Luke, meaning he’s closest to Jackson. Liam asked to hear Jackson’s version of Eleanor’s pregnancy which prompted Jackson to basically ask Luke to leave.

“This involves me too. I’m staying.”

“We can talk about this later, Luke.”

The young man simply crosses his arms, shaking his head. He wasn’t going anywhere, after everything he’s learned over such a short amount of time, he honestly didn’t trust his dad to tell him the same details he gave his older brothers.

“I’m old enough to know. You will literally be talking about me, I’m staying.”

“I really don’t see any problem with Luke being present. He must have questions just like the rest of us.” Liam’s regal tone comes out, while Drake is used to it, the other Walkers look at him amazed. A small smile curls the left side of Jackson’s lips, he could see so much of Eleanor in him.

*                      * With shaking hands, she pulls the tests out of her pocket and hands them to him; she had taken four of them. He looks at them, unsure of how to act and he feels himself unable to breathe. The unsureness of what this meant left him with a mixture of fear and unease.

“Please say something.” She pleas, tears swelling in her eyes.

“Congratulations.”

She reaches out for his arm, the plastic tests clattering against the floor as she drops them, throwing herself into his chest, “it’s yours.”

Jackson stumbles backwards, the reality crashes into him like a strong wave, leaving him breathless and fearful for another. The question on his tongue leaves a bitter taste, knowing that the words will hurt her, wondering if she’ll react the same way Bianca did when he asked her a very similar question.

“Are you sure?”

The Queen pulls away, her expression resembling a wounded puppy whose owner just pushed it away. She sucks in her bottom lip, eyes filling with even bigger tears as she bites down on her quivering lip. She lets out a shaky breath, nodding repeatedly before she turns and walks away, leaving him and the pregnancy tests behind her.

Liam stands up, anger radiating off of him which Drake quickly picks up on, standing up as well. “I’m sorry, did you really question my mother?”

“Liam…” Drake steps forwards, hands reaching out, trying to calm his best friend.

“How dare you? How fucking dare you act as though she was just some common mistress.”

Drake’s hands are on Liam’s shoulders, pushing him backwards even though he knows Liam can easily push him out of the way. He quickly looks towards Bastien who is watching, but not moving, honestly, he’d be completely fine if Liam beat Jackson to a pulp. He was completely surprised at Drake’s behavior, growing up he would throw a right hook without hesitation and for a lot less than everything Jackson’s done over the years.

“I know what it seems, but you have to…”

“I don’t have to do shit.” Liam pushes Drake off of him, sitting back down in his chair. “She risked her life, her family, everything for you and you dared to treat her that way.”

The room quiets, no one saying anything or even moving, the tension can easily be felt. Liam feels torn, torn between saying fuck it and leaving, returning to Cordonia as if none of this ever happened, but also wanting to know more about the events that led to his mother’s behavior. Drake is torn between his dad and his best friend and Jackson is torn between doing the right thing and telling the events for what they are or saving face with at least Luke.

“Would you like to call it a day, Sir?” Bastien takes a step closer to Liam.

“No,” he shakes his head, “I can’t continue to drag this or the trip out.”

*                      * Eleanor’s stomach drops, it isn’t uncommon for Constantine to have a guardsman summon her to his office, but something feels off. The last time she had even spoken to her husband was roughly two weeks ago, the day that he picked up on her sour candy craving. She has managed to stay holed up in her suite which wasn’t too bad seeing how her morning sickness was horrific this time around.

Jackson’s nerves twist even tighter when he sees Eleanor walking towards him, seemingly going in the same direction. He had been at home when Novak came to get him, telling him the King needed to see him immediately. For the last several days he’s tried to see the Queen, to apologize, but based off the maid gossip she had locked herself in the Queen’s suite, not even letting Liam in to see her. He tries to make eye contact with her, wants to try to give her a soft, comforting smile, but her eyes stay locked on the tips of her shoes.

Novak is standing outside the King’s office, opening the door when they both get close enough, a small bow for Eleanor and Jackson suddenly understands why he’s been called when Novak’s gaze avoids his.

The scene in the office isn’t reassuring for either Eleanor or Jackson, Constantine is standing with his back to the door and Timothy is standing to the right side of the King’s desk. Jackson can see something on the desk but he can’t make out what it is. 

He turns around, sitting slightly on the edge of his desk, looking at both of them, a stone-cold expression in his eyes. Constantine stares at his wife, trying to or more like hoping that she will give him some reason to forgive her. He wants to be wrong, he wants things to go the way that they should. He wants to be told that he’s just been overthinking and connecting invisible dots, but when all signs point one way, it’s hard to go towards the other.

“How long have you been two sneaking around?” “Constantine, I…”

“I think it’s important to remind you that I already know the answers to the questions I plan on asking, there’s really no reason to lie at this point.” His words are often chilling, but the coldness of his words sinks deep into their bones, a shiver creeps down their spines.

“Over a year.” Eleanor wraps her arms around herself, trying to calm down her racing heart that’s lodging its way in her throat.

“And this?” He holds up the pregnancy tests, tossing them to the ground between them. The thin white plastic tests clatter against the floor, bouncing a bit on impact. It had been reported to him that a maid found a few tests in the guardsman suite not to mention there were some found in the Queen’s bathroom.

“Three or so months.”

Constantine’s stomach drops, but he doesn’t weaver from his stoic nature. He couldn’t exactly calculate when she could’ve gotten pregnant, but he could be for sure that she was in no way carrying an heir. But even with this reveal, he had already known that, just not really wanting to accept it. Accept the fact that he’ll most likely go down in history as the king that lost two wives.

“But there’s a chan—”

The King starts laughing, amazed at just how far his wife is willing to go to try to save her lover. She has to know that he wouldn’t have called them both there if he didn’t have all the evidence that he needed.

“These prove that to be a lie.” He grabs the thick envelope off the desk, walking closer to Eleanor, who tightens her grip around herself. “Or do you need a reminder?”

She lets out a gasp at the explicit nature of the photographs of her and Jackson, face turning red from embarrassment that her husband had seen them. It’s the first time since the pair had returned from Valtoria that she felt shameful of her actions, curious as to how he actually felt at her betrayal but scared of what his plan was.

“What’s going to happen?”

Constantine walks to his desk, sitting in the thick leather chair before swirling it around to face them, a sinister look on his face. He wants to laugh, the fact his wife cheated on him with a man that hasn’t even tried to take some of the blame baffled him. Even when Liana had left, when he knew he had nothing to do with her choice, he still carried the burden of blame because to him, a real man wouldn’t be able to tolerate the woman he loves name being tarnish in any way.

“Despite the obviousness of the paternity, I had an appointment made for you under Ellie Rhys, your two highest maids will help you disguise yourself.”

Eleanor just nods, what more can she do, she’s already done enough. Jackson still hasn’t said anything, if he was honest, he hasn’t thought much of the fact Eleanor had told him she was pregnant. He doesn’t want to think that it could be his because it means that everything will come to the surface and he isn’t ready for that. He’s not ready to own up to what he’s done, for all the damage that will be the result of his selfish actions.

** The week’s wait is dreadful for Eleanor, especially on top of her hellish morning sickness and practically nonexistent energy level. Towards the end of the week she’s surprised to see Constantine slip into her room, asking how she’s feeling. But when she tries to reach out, to get him to really look at her, he excuses himself, his only warmth being given to the unborn child.

She’s summoned to his office just a couple days later, this time without Jackson which has her completely worried, but he assures her that he just wanted to speak with her privately first. He has Timothy hand her the sealed envelope from the doctor’s office, telling her it was addressed to her not him so he didn’t open it.

He doesn’t have to ask for her the results, he can read it on her face and while he had a strong feeling it wasn’t his, a teeny piece of him had thought it wouldn’t be such a bad thing. She looks up at him, tears in her eyes, but receives no sympathy from him, his expression as icy as ever. He waves Timothy who goes to the door and lets Jackson into the office.

“You two are to leave the country, actually this side of the Atlantic. What’s that things Americans wanted?” Constantine snaps his fingers as if that gesture would trigger his memory, “ah yes, a white picket fence. Surely you two could have that ideal now.”

She sniffs, wiping a few tears from her cheeks. “What am I going to tell Liam?” “Nothing, he’ll think you died, a pretty standard death of a noble when there’s a coup.”

“A coup?” Jackson finally speaks up, much to the royal couple’s surprise.

“Ah, yes.” Constantine taps his chin before looking at Timothy, “care to explain.” “Yes, Sir.” Timothy nods before turning back to Eleanor and Jackson, proceeding to go into detail about how things will happen. That they’ve been investigating a radical group called ‘la Force de Pert’ and staging a coup, under their name, could help them take action against them.

He tells them that an announcement will be made that says the Queen was taken hostage by the group and Jackson made the heroic decision to go rescue her without backup. That night after the media left, the two of them would be escorted to a private airport where they’d be taken somewhere in America, free to live their lives however they please.

Timothy makes sure to emphasis what the King has just said, that they are never to return back to Cordonia or anywhere in Europe for that matter. That the fifty states that America has to offer should be big enough for them, even the US territories were up for grabs, but once they landed, they weren’t to cross any ocean for any reason. They weren’t to talk about their prior stations, anything related to Cordonia, the two of them were to simply fall off the face of the earth.

“You expect me to just leave Liam? Leave him here with you?” Her voice breaks, she tries to understand what is being said but the only thing she can think of is her son. “I won’t, I’m taking him with me.”

Constantine chuckles, pushing himself out of the chair, slowly striding towards Eleanor, his hand cupping her chin, forcing her to look at him. “It’s almost cute how someone in your position thinks you can tell me how things are going to happen.”

“Please, Constantine.” Her lip starts to quiver, but he tightens his grip on her face.

“You have no room to make demands.” He drops her face, turning to go back to his desk.

“I’ll just come back and take him! You will NOT keep him from me!”

“If you step foot on this side of the Atlantic,” he stops, turning around on his heel, “I will have him killed.”

There’s a heavy silence that drops over the room, it’s almost smothering as Eleanor tries to catch her breath. Tears cover her cheeks, shaking her head, trying to understand his callousness, how he could threaten his own flesh and blood.

“You wouldn’t! He’s a prince of this country!”

“He is the SPARE!” His voice booms throughout the room, causing her to flinch, his ice-cold tone ripping through her.

“Constan—” Jackson stops when he sees the bewildered expression on the King’s face.

“You may be on personal terms with the Queen, but I assure you that we are not.” He sits back down behind his desk, “I should hope you also know the same sentiment goes for your children, if you try to return.”

Jackson just nods and Eleanor looks at him horrified, confused as to how he could willingly agree to this, agree to give up his children so easily.

“Don’t look so down Ellie, it’s honorable for a guardsman to die a hero, isn’t that right, Jackson?”

“I can’t just leave my son, Constantine. You can’t ask me to do that!” Eleanor cries out, unable to stop herself from falling to her knees.

“You’re right, I’m not asking, I’m telling.” He leans back in his chair, “but are you even thinking about Liam when you shout things like that?”

She looks up at him, tears still blurring her vision, a broken expression on her face, “of course I am.”

“Tsk.” Constantine shakes his head, “think about it. If you came back for him, you’d basically be telling him that your bastard baby is more important than him. If Liam really mattered to you, you wouldn’t have put yourself in this situation to begin with, you didn’t think that I’d find out and just let it continue in the palace, did you?”

“What about Drake and Savannah?” Jackson quickly asks.

“Ah, yes. Bianca will receive a sizable compensation for her loss so they will be taken care of. They will be more than welcomed to stay at the cabin, as long as they don’t threaten Liam’s reputation.”

“Excuse me?”

“Although he is the spare, Liam has an important role to fulfill as prince. It doesn’t look good for people of his station to be involved with those with yours. Just look at the predicament at hand.”

[ruffiorocks]

Dany, Drogo and forced marriage in Game of Thrones, a historical perspective.

(Disclaimer, I obviously don't think rape and abuse are in any way OK).

I've been re-reading the first book because it's been a long time since I did and we're in lockdown so I have plenty of time on my hands.

I've finished the chapter of Dany and Drogo's wedding night and surprised when I saw that at the end of that chapter Dany actually gives consent to Drogo, unlike the how the show presents it. I'd completely forgotten about that.

Drogo sits and takes the bells from his hair and Dany joins in to help him. He then undresess with help and she is then undressed. Like the show he keeps saying "no" but unlike the show Dany actually takes comfort in the fact he knows at least one word she does. Drogo touches her a lot, works her up and then he says one last time "no?" But the last one is a question. Dany replies with "Yes" and then takes his finger and you can guess what happens next. It's a very different portrayal to how the show presents it.

Now, I remember later in the book that Drogo comes in every night, has sex with her roughly and then leaves. Very like the show and that's where Dany learns to please him from her slave and he's surprised in both book and show.

Now I know what people will say, "She was 13! It was rape!" And yes, from a 20th century point of view that is what it very much is. BUT this story does not take place on 2020.

G.R.R Martin based his books on the Wars of the Roses, so for us it takes place between the 14th and 15th century. If you study history you would know that being married off against your will was something that was done for both boys and girls. It was an arrangement usually made when they were children and people got on with it.

Dany's age of 13 wasn't considered underage for the time those books are based around. I'm fact some were married at the age of 5 or 6. The most prominent 13 year old who was married off during the WOTR was Margaret Beaufort, the mother of Henry VII and grandmother of Henry VIII. Margaret was a wealthy heiress and was married off to a 30 something year old man. Actually perfectly normal and acceptable for the time. Consummation of the marriage however was another matter, where it wasn't actually illegal to consummate at age 13 it wasn't considered a good idea because the girl hadn't finished developing and complications could occur should she get pregnant. When Margaret Beaufort was left pregnant at 13 after her husband was killed people thought that it was to early for her, but again not actually illegal in anyway. Unfortunately for Margaret she would only ever have the one child, she was probably damaged to much after getting pregnant so early. Later on she made sure her grandchildren were older before being married off and consumating their marriages.

So, for Dany to be married at 13 and be having sex isn't actually all that off for world that Martin has created, even though to us it seems very off.

It was also not considered rape when a man had sex with his wife whenever he chose. Women were taught to simply put up with it. I'm medieval society it was actually considered a sin to enjoy sex, especially for women. High born men would have sex with their wives for pro creation not enjoyment, that was what mistresses were for. (Just to clarify these aren't my views, simply the views of medieval society).

In the show and book we see Drogo take Dany from behind and she isn't enjoying it, to the point she wants to kill herself, this is heartbreaking, but that's because we as the audience and reader are thinking of it in a 20th century point of view but also Dany's point of view. The Dothraki are not like the people of Westeros. Even at the wedding it is explained by master Illyrio that the Dothraki mount their women like a stallion mounts a mare. It happens at the wedding, both in the show and in the books. It's not even referred to as sex, it's referred to as mating. Later on in the show when Dany is suggesting the Dothraki take the women as wives rather than rape them she is laughed at and the blood riders say "does the horse lie with the sheep?" They are referring to themselves and others as animals. Drogo is a product of Drogo's culture, the men take the women like a horse takes a mare. It's horrible to use of course! But what one has to understand is that this is the culture of the Dothraki, the culture that Martin created and a culture that Dany absolutely does not belong in.

I saw someone mention that Dany's age means nothing to Ned and Robert when they discuss her, but of course it doesn't, because in their society being married off at that age and getting pregnant isn't a shock to them. She's referred to as a 'child' but that's because she is a 13 year old teenager who to Ned poses not threat to them.

Now, remember that throughout the first book Jon and Robb are 14 and refer to themselves as almost "a man grown" as in they are almost of age. In the 14th and 15th century 14 was the legal age of marriage for a boy (unless they were married was children or by proxy). Even Bran at 7 calls himself almost a man grown. It was only at the beginning of the 16th century that the age of maturity went up to about 18. So for e.g. in 1483 Edward V (one of the Prince's in the Tower) was 12 when he became king, but was considered underage, but had he been allowed to reach 14 as king he could have begun to rule. By the 1509 when Henry VIII became king he was just a few month off his 18th birthday and his grandmother was regent for about a month until he turned 18. His younger brother Prince Arthur was married off at 15 to his 16 year old wife Catherine of Aragon (who would later marry Henry). Later Henry in his 40s would marry a 15 year old girl. Again, for the time none of this was illegal or even really frowned upon.

So in conclusion, yes we see what Drogo did to Dany as rape, and we should because in today's society it absolutely is! But, George R. R. Martin did not set his story in today's society, it set in a medieval society and to understand the depth of what's going on we need to a point look at it through medieval eyes and not 20th century ones.

It's not unlike watching a show set in ancient Rome and seeing slaves, they were a part of society and to understand the show and the time it's presenting you have to look at it from that point of view.

Just some food for thought, of course it's rape, Dany, Sansa, Jeyne Poole, even Cersei with Jaime. In some society women would get their revenge on the men who treated them badly, history is littered with them biding their time. But unfortunately, for the time the show is based on it wasn't actually a crime to be forced to have sex with your husband.

Forced marriage was am everyday occurrence, marriage wasn't for love at least not on high society. Marriage was for alliances, wealth, position, the continuation of a blood line. Even in the show this happens, Ned marries Catelyn because his brother dies. Robert marries Cersei for alliances with the richest house, Sansa is promised to Joffrey, Margery is married off to Renly, Joffrey and Tommen! Robb has to swear to marry a Frey girl, any one he chooses, she doesn't get a say, but he gets himself killed for love. Tywin tells Cersei she has to marry Loras and she has no say. Tyrion has no say in marrying Sansa.

Robert wasn't great to Cersei, he even hit her on occasion, but for the time this wasn't considered a crime. Walder Frey was lecherous pervert but again frowned upon in the show but not a crime. Joffrey had he married Sansa probably would had been horrific to her, again not a crime but people would have been disgusted.

The major issue I think is with the show, it has all of these things in it but it presents the view points of other characters from a 20th century point of view. The "good guys" like the Starks would be horrified to learn that the girls had been married off without their consent , but at the same time Robb gets to choose whichever Frey girl he wants like he's picking out a jumper. Even Edmure will later get to pick a Frey girl. Tyrion arranges a marriage for Myrcella but is horrified to learn he's had one arranged for him. Catleyn even agrees to marry off Arya to a Frey boy, she isn't even there and has no say and she's fully aware she will hate it!

So I looked at this from a historians point of view to understand the story not a woman living in 2020, so don't attack me. ✌

[mermaidmafia-official]

{ PART I: THE BLOODMOTHER }

written by: @bebemoon​

outfit ref: for the party .

tag list: @ayzrules @interluxetumbra @vampirkaninchen & @blubbingbeautifully​

The Bloodmother of Bilitis House was preoccupied with the floors.

As evening was settling in and the house was beginning to stir and creep with her sisters and daughters, she discovered that the petals still needed to be strewn in the foyer, over the newly-refurbished wood flooring, and there was nary a helpful cherub in sight.

The Bloodmother- called "Ysabelle" familiarly- stood on the bottom step of the wide foyer stairs pondering the naked floors. The house held the aroma of blood almost romantically, and the rose petals were necessary to somewhat hide it from the historical society mortals who would be arriving soon- along with (and utterly unbeknownst to them) some...prominent underworld figures.

Ysabelle clutched the banister with one hand, her bony hip with the other. A disaster was inevitable, but she still wanted those roses strewn.

"Vavassour." A velvety voice from above.

Ysabelle tipped her face up to see a ghostly figure in a curtain of inky hair leaning on the staircase banister overhead- someone spying with a scarlet eye.

"Zhang," Ysa said in lieu of a fitting evening greeting, and dropped her gaze once again to the foyer. "Have you seen either of the cherubs? Tonight of all nights, they decide to shirk duties when I gave them the strictest order to-"

She paused her tirade, feeling something light touch the top of her head.

Looking up, she could see Zhang was now holding a fistful of rose petals, as if her palm was slit and bleeding. "Chatham passed his rose chore off to me," she said languidly, and dropped a few more petals from her hand directly onto Ysabelle's dark head. She rested the side of her lovely, clear face against her free hand. "He said he did not have the time."

Ysabelle swiped the petals from her hair and turned to head back up the steps, trailing loose hair and billows of dark blue velvet robes and sleeves. "Did he say what was so pressing that he could not obey his mistress?" she asked.

The most Chatham would ever get from Ysabelle was sucked teeth or perhaps a drawn-out sigh if he was being particularly vexing. He, like his brother, was too childlike in mien, as most cherubs were, for Ysa to ever muster any sort of genuine dislike towards him.

Yinmei Zhang listlessly lifted herself from the banister as Ysabelle approached. A basket of rose petals sat on the landing at her feet.

"I did ask," said Zhang, "but he told me I ought to mind my own business." She then gestured at the basket as if there was nothing for it. “It’s really not a bother. They smell lovely.”

Ysabelle reached out to lightly flick her old friend's bare collarbone- a ridge of ice beneath pristine snow. "You shouldn't allow him to boss you," Ysa said as she began to move away. "After all, frail and aged as you are, you're hardly suited to labour- your bones could turn to dust at any moment. Do let one of the younger girls handle it."

"Yes, why not have your new little friend do it?" said Zhang, her tone less playful than Ysabelle's had been. She turned her head just enough to sharply eye the other woman. "It seems the least she could do after keeping the entire house up all day long."

Ysa paused, and after a beat, turned back to Yinmei. She wanted to ask...but thought better of it.

They weren't usually at odds. However, since Amaelia had come into the house, there had been the occasional bite to Zhang's retorts. Her feelings were not unshared by others in the Coven, but she was the only one who ever dared to openly second-guess Ysabelle's actions. Yinmei's disapproval was already well-noted, and Ysabelle was resolute in her decision to take Amaelia into the Coven.

And so, the two old friends were at an impasse, making their usual shared preoccupations...strained.

Ysabelle stood for a moment, wondering. Then, finally: "I hate to think Lia is disturbing your peace, my dear. I will see what I can do."

With that, the Bloodmother turned back into the corridor, leaving Yinmei to her rose petal chore.

-

[AN INTERLUDE WITH A CHERUB]

Ysabelle did not have to wonder where Chatham had gone for much longer than it took her to return to her room.

She stepped into the private parlour, golden-lit by firelight, to find him planted on a tasseled foot pillow on the floor, looking very like a horrific dog show contestant with his small gargoylish figure, gnarled digits, and fleshy little wings. Not to mention the rancid rat he was enjoying. Ysabelle understood immediately that the cherub must've hidden it from his brother, forgotten where he stowed it for a few days, and only just remembered it-

Hence the shirking of his rose petal chore.

"Here you are," said Ysabelle, closing the black bedroom door behind her. She pointed at the cherub seated and merrily devouring his foul treat. "What do you mean giving your chore to Grandmother Zhang? Her bones are older than yours and mine."

Chatham swallowed and adopted the expression of a distressed demonic toddler. "Mistress," he complained, clutching the half-eaten rat to his chest. "Well, I hate the Granny, and you know I do. Besides. Besides, I found my rat and I was hungry, and I hate chores like I hate Granny."

Ysabelle hummed. "I should've punished you more when you first came to me," she remarked. "You'd behave better. What have you against Yinmei?"

The cherub bounced his goblin feet, thinking. "She said I'm rotten. And I think she's ugly," he replied, pulling a face. "The ugliest woman I've ever, ever seen, I think."

"She's right, though," said Ysabelle, folding her arms. "You are unforgivably rotten. You and your brother. In any other house you'd be beaten with a fire poker for being a layabout."

Chatham appeared scandalised. "Mistress!" he wailed.

Ysabelle waved the creature off. He went into hysterics at any criticism, no matter how small or harmless- and since positively no one in the house found him the least bit pleasant, he was hysterical most of the time.

"Be silent, Chatham," Ysa chided, turning away. She flicked aside the heavy drape dividing her private parlour from the bedroom. "Amaelia still sleeps."  

-

[OVERHEARD AT THE HOUSE WARMING]

"A truly skilled Blood-Weaver can portal through a living being."

"I don't follow."

"It's just as I said. Crack a chest, step in, and come through another warm body-"

"In...spirit?"

"No, in flesh."

"Sounds messy."

"Oh, it's ghastly."

-

It was much later, well into the house-warming, before Ysabelle laid eyes Yinmei again.

They were supposed to be posturing as wives for the benefit of the mortals from the Halacre Historical Society. A Vampire undetected is well-fed, after all- and the very last thing she wanted was to alarm the entire town. These days, people employed the Wolves to take care of their Vampire problems-

They couldn't be too careful, as far as Ysabelle was concerned.

Yinmei was being interrogated in the drawing room by the Historical Society's head- a squat woman clutching a black bag beneath her tweedy arm. She was quite out-of-place among the other attendees. Yinmei rather looked like a tall, benevolent alien in contrast with the woman.  

"Ah, there you are!" said Zhang over the little woman's head. She had spotted Ysabelle passing through the foyer. Zhang raised her dark brows pointedly, an S.O.S., and beckoned delicately with her fingers for Ysa to come join her.

Ysa slipped her free hand into the pocket of her tailored trousers and stepped across the drawing room threshold, thumping her walking cane on the refurbished wood floors as she went.

"Dear," Zhang began with false cheer, "this Paulette Maminot, the head of the Halacre Historical Society." She introduced the small, be-wigged woman before her. She continued, "Paulette, this is my wife Ysabelle."

Paulette offered her hand to Ysa, palm down, like a duchess. "How do you do?" she said sourly. Her face somehow became even more lined while regarding the women together. "You two are married, then? My, my. How modern."

Only the mannerless insulted their host right away- she didn't even wait until the end of the night. Ysabelle leaned on her cane and grinned. "Oh, yes," she said, "for several, blissful years now. Have you met the children? They should be-"

"Actually, we were hoping for a tour of the house," the old woman interposed. "My father used to own this property- it's been in my family for ages. I was disappointed to know that my brother sold it. I see you've...taken the liberty of changing a few things. Thank goodness you kept the original flooring."

"Oh, what a shame," Zhang said, her tone light but her posture rigid. "The floors are the last thing to be dealt with. We just cannot agree on what to cover that old wood with. I say grey cork or perhaps vinyl."

"But I just adore shag carpet," Ysa put in. "It speaks of luxury."

Zhang lifted a shoulder covered in white lace. "You are right about that."

Maminot's face crumpled with displeasure and her colourless lips became a thin line. Eventually, she cleared her throat of bile and readjusted her pocketbook under her arm. "Well," she sighed, the notion of Bilitis House covered in shag having cost her both mental and spiritual strength, "burn it down for all I care. Shall I gather the others for the tour?"

Ysabelle held her free hand out, indicating the foyer filled with milling guests in black with leering eyes. A pulse, a warm perfume, would never go unnoticed in that crowd. One only hoped the other elders had not been lured away somewhere.

Maminot stalked out of the drawing room without another word, but /not without giving her disapproving gaze to Egon Schiele's "Two women embracing" as she went.

"Paper, scissors, stone," Ysabelle said once the old woman had gone. "The loser plays tour-guide."

Zhang pulled a face but nonetheless held her right fist out.

-

An hour past midnight, the house was filled with the voices of the damned and fiddle-cry from the dimly-lit ballroom- sounding like a shadowy thing hidden in fog, just out of view.

Zhang was still leading her tour (having lost the best two out of three) while Ysa continued holding court in the drawing room, but Maminot's griping was still audible to the ears of the undead.

(She did not care for the overly-ornate moulding in the corridors, nor was she happy with the "funerary" black doors. Even more incensing was the fact that Zhang was barring her from entering most of the rooms. The fact was, it was for her own good. Poppy ["The Devourer"] was locked in her rooms to avoid staining the walls red. Amaelia, in the throes of fledgling bloodlust, was under lock and key for the same reason. What the little fool didn't know was that some of those black doors kept a nasty end at bay.)

"I think I would have eaten her by now," ["A Collar of Spikes"] commented. She was leaning against the drawing room wall in head-to-toe black leather with a chalice of Rosenblut in one hand. Her dark eyes were rolled upwards, listening to the conversation taking place two stories above them.

Angelika ["ЛЕДЯНАЯ ЖЕНЩИНА"], seated on the arm of the dark velvet sofa, took a sip of her own chalice and came away catching her bottom lip in her bloody teeth. (Ysa wondered if Rosenblut gave her memories of her life as a human- or if it was only human blood that caused the flashbacks?) "Truthfully," she said in her small, tinkling-bell voice, "I don't like the black doors either. Makes me think of...decay, rot. Nasty things."

"You're drinking animal blood, 'Lika," ["A Collar of Spikes"] reminded her on a smirk. "You are a nasty thing. What difference does it make, anyway, what colour the damn doors are? We should all be out flying, driving- not stuck here with these stodgy, old elites and mortals."

[”A Collar of Spikes”] was at her best when leaned over a dimly-lit pool table, pool-stick against her ribcage. 

Ysa slowly released the tension in her spine and let herself sit back in her chair, expelling the ineffable pressure of the evening. Lately, she had been experiencing small spells of fatigue that she couldn’t recall ever feeling before. It felt like being wrung out, pain included. And she suddenly wanted to be alone.  

She dismissed [ACoS] with a flick of her hand. “I release you, dear. Go enjoy the night- someone ought to.” 

[ACoS] didn’t tary. She drew away from the wall, put her chalice down and righted her black leather jacket. “Thank you, Mother, dear,” she said, and about-faced to the window, which she threw open and promptly jumped out of- taking wing on the night air. Gone. 

Only a moment later, the sounds of discord resounded through the house, coming from upstairs. At once, Ysabelle drew to her feet.

- 

[THE SCENE]

Zhang was shouting over someone else’s distraught shrieking. And the smell was unmistakable, luring throngs of party-goers to pack the stairs- 

When Ysabelle arrived on the steps leading to the third storey corridor, it was as horrific as the over-powering smell led her to believe it would be. 

“I tried to stop her, Ysabelle!” Zhang was frantically saying over the screaming. Her cheeks were speckled red- like gory, little freckles. “It happened so quickly!” 

Her arms were full of a red-headed girl with thrilled eyes bright as pomegranate jewels. Her emerald velvet dress was soaked in dark fluid from neck to belly. The white lace collar was turned crimson. A pair of matching coral hair combs hung loosely in her hair, having come loose in all the tumult. 

Poppy. She was screaming and raking at Zhang’s pretty white gown, catching at the lace and tearing the beads away. Her fangs were extended to needles and there was hardly a speck of pale skin to be seen- it was slick with blood. 

And it wasn’t one or two or even three, but all of the Halacre Historical Society strewn in the corridor. Poppy still had a hold of Maminot’s wrist, clutched in a death grip. 

Ysabelle wanted to know how this had come about. She had put Poppy away in her rooms, knowing something like this would happen if she was permitted to roam. Ysa had even struck the door with a Blood-Bind to keep her safely within- not even another Blood-Weaver could have undone the Bind.

The scene was confusing, but Ysa didn’t have time to ask questions or feel her bones brim with dread-

They would have to hide this. 

She and Angelika flew to Zhang’s side, helping her wrest the girl back into her rooms for the time being.

Ysabelle slit her palm, left to right, using her thumb nail and raised her hand to the black door as Poppy threw herself against the wood on the other side, jolting it. Ysa struck the wood at the same time and felt a heavy energy, like thick chains snaking about her arms and into the very wood of the door, locking it fast against the girl within. Instantly, the violent banging from inside ceased. 

Finally, the corridor fell silent...save the murmuring crowd of on-lookers packing the staircase. 

Ysa felt weak, light. She went to her knees at Poppy’s door and placed her forehead in her hands. Something wasn’t right.

“Mother?” Angelika said softly.

“Send for Chatham and Weep-not,” Ysabelle sighed as she lifted her face. “Have them clean this up.” 

“And the bodies?” Zhang inquired. 

Ysa rose to her feet slowly and pressed her healed hand over her stomach. “Burn them.”