Such an idea brought a distressing chill through her, the stomach lining in her lurching in displeasure. The experience of someone’s company after so long had made her never want to go back. Just having someone to talk to caused the desolation etched into her to evaporate, even for just the moment alone. With each minute she spent in this estate she could feel every piece of ice in her hardened exterior chip away. Wasn’t that just how lonely she was?

Hunched over, she cradled her head in her palms. She needed to be stronger than this.

A click of a door shutting brought her back from her reverie. Lady Beneviento shuffled her way back to the sofa, a silver tray with a full tea set balanced in her grasp. Under her arm was a discreet box that Carmilla couldn’t pinpoint the purpose of. She set the platter down onto the table along with the box. The Red Cross on it now making sense. Visibly relaxing, Carmilla sighed. At least she could leave with one less problem.

Hot liquid steamed into a beautiful black tea cup, the Lady taking great care with not spilling a drop. Handing the cup and its serving plate to Carmilla, she nodded in gratitude, tentatively taking it from her. Lady Beneviento prepared her own and settled back into her spot, far from Carmilla. She pushed down the disappointment, instead busing herself with the aroma of tea, the porcelain resting on her lips. It smelled like her, the scent registering in her mind. She looked up to the lady, trying to come up with something to say. Then it hit her. She never even introduced her self.

Removing the cup from her lips, she looked to her lap. “It’s a pleasure to be here my lady.” She hushed out. Lady Beneviento halted in drinking her tea to look at her, her head tilting in confusion. She lowered her own drink to rest on her knees.

“It’s Donna…”

Carmilla chuckled a little, “I was starting to think your name was Don-Don.”

“Angie insists that it is,” Donna said, this time her words more steady but yet still reserved.

“It’s cute, the nickname,” Carmilla looked at her with a smile, unknowingly shifting to face her. Donna just nodded, not too eager to speak. Carmilla's smile faltered a smidge, but she stayed optimistic.

“I’m Carmilla.”

The reaction pulled from Donna was unexpected. She had her cup under her veil, but as Carmilla said those words her hands slipped. The hot tea spilling over her chest. She flinched as her pain hissed through her teeth. Carmilla jumped into action, taking the cup from her hand. But Donna cowered away and stood up.

“Are you alright?’

She nodded with bated breath, leaving the room just as fast as the beating of Carmilla's heart.

What was that about? Had she finally scared her away?

She eyed the spilt tea now soaking up into brown leather. The Lady was so skittish, but in the same way she bore such a powerful aura. Given the way she reacted to her name meant she had some hidden secret, but would that explain her spilling tea over herself?

A few minutes had passed, Carmilla was found busy trying her best to soak up the spilt liquid when she heard footsteps enter the room again. Looking up, Donna stood almost hugging the wall. She didn’t look any different other than the dry blouse that looked identical to her last one.

“I tried to clean up most of the tea, but some had already absorbed into the couch,” Carmilla explained as she sat back down with her hand rubbing timidly at her neck. And that was that for the next moment, Carmilla sitting awkwardly as she eyed Donna, and she doing the same.

“Lycan bite your tongue?” She asked jokingly. No words were exchanged on Donna’s part as she finally stalked back to her spot, her demeanor showing off her trepidation. Hands once again moved together as she looked to her lap.

“You’re bleeding,” Her words were so quiet Carmilla almost missed them entirely.

“Huh?” She glanced to her abdomen, seeing that her bandages were now soiled in red. “Oh, I forgot about that.” She said, prodding it with a finger, the wrap stiff as a strong miasma wafted from it. She winced, the pain now registering in her brain.

“What happened?” Donna asked, her head now slightly tilted to me.

“Angie didn’t tell you?” Carmilla spied the finger war on her lap. She had assumed Angie would have informed Donna of her previous dilemma. Donna shook her head, her veil shifting to show a sliver of alabaster skin and coal colored hair. The painting flashed through Carmilla's mind once again.

“I was ambushed,” Her words came out like a strained rubber band about to snap. Donna shot her head up.

“By who?” Her voice hardened, the rasp of it dark and sinister. It didn’t go unnoticed by Carmilla.

“Don’t worry,” She said, her hands up in defense. “I handled it. It was just a couple Lycan who caught me by surprise.” She explained with a reassuring smile. It looked to satisfy Donna as she relaxed further in her seat. Nodding her head she reached for the medical kit on the table.

“Angie told me you were familiar with medicine,” Carmilla said to fill the silence, Donna nodded as she popped open the lid. “Anything else you do around here?”

“Doll making,” Donna said. Carmilla frowned, thwarted that she didn’t elaborate.

“That’s all?”

“Hmm…” She hummed out, not leaving much room for questions. Carmilla huffed, falling back into the couch. Her attempt at knowing Lady Beneviento deemed slightly unsuccessful. At least that confirmed who made all the dolls habiting the home.

“Remove your shirt,” Donna said bluntly, her hands busy carding through different supplies. Carmilla looked at her dumbfounded, her face feeling warmer than she would have liked. The inclination of Donna’s words feeling more intimate than Carmilla would’ve liked to admit. She ignored it as she slipped off the silk button-up, the cuts and bruises not covered by the bandage visible in the dim light. Finally, Donna shifted her attention back to her, hands shakily moving to Carmilla.

“May I?” She asked.

Carmilla nodded, slightly tense to have her so close. She tried to avoid the act of gawking at Donna’s hands. A shameful guilt puddling up in her navel. She undressed her stomach with ease, Donna’s movements gentle and slow. Finally finished with the last strip, a small intake of air sounded between them.

“Its infected,” She breathed out, “I can’t do much…”

Carmilla looked back and forth between her macabre stomach and the black mesh of her veil. “It’s fine, it’ll heal.”

She shook her head, “It needs intervention,” She leaned back and set the bloodied cover beside her. “Antibiotics and frequent care will help.” She said, picking up a container of sorts.

“And you can’t just stitch it up?” She asked, slightly weary of the mention of needles.

Donna shook her head again, “It needs to drain.” Relief washed over Carmilla, there was no way she could endure a procedure with needles. Donna opened the container and applied the contents onto her finger. It was vibrant orangish yellow, a strong odor of spice pricked Carmilla's nose as she brought her finger closer.

“What is that?” She asked, inching away from Donna’s hand.

“Tumeric and Oregano,” Donna explained, “It’s an anti-inflammatory and antioxidant.”

Carmilla softened her stiff shoulders, “You make stuff like that?” Donna nodded, spreading the salve on her wound before she could flinch away. A sting shot through the cut, making Carmilla cringe away.

“Fuck, that burns,” She hissed through her teeth.

“Hold still,” Donna said, her composer patient as she writhed in pain. Not listening to her, Carmilla managed to wiggle away from her. But just as she thought she was safe, Donna wasted no time in tugging her back by her wrist.

“Hold. Still,” She said, impatience growing in her tone. Carmilla tensed in her spot, Donna’s strength once again startling her. Instantly that faded, anger replacing that ghosted feeling. That acrimony directed at herself. She was stronger, she shouldn’t be feeling so frail in front of this woman.

Carmilla glowered up at her, resentment dripping out of her in waves. “Fine.”

The rest of the time that Donna spread the salve, she stayed silent. Eager to keep her pain and contempt to herself. But no matter how many times she tried to sizzle out her displeasure, her eyes flickered back to the black veil. Carmilla's stomach jumped with a new batch of butterflies. She wanted to slap her hands away and call it good. She didn’t want her help, she’s managed decades with worse. All because of this woman’s humanity to care for her brought on a new fear.

“Here,” Donna said as she held out a handkerchief. That brought Carmilla out of her vexations, but instead confusion was replaced. She curled a brow as she took it from her.

“Why are you giving me this?”

“For the next part,” She said with finality.

“What next part?” The obscurity of her words brought on a cold sweat to wash over Carmilla. Donna clipped the cap back onto the balm container, placing it on the table and cast her a look. A sense of dread rooted in Carmilla's chest, bringing on the beginning of a panic.

“I need to ensure your laceration doesn’t tear,” Donna’s explanation was vague, and did nothing to ease her horror.

“The hell does that mean?” Her heart palpated harder as she watched Donna reach for something in the medical stock.

“You need a few stitches to avoid any more damage,” She said flatly as she pulled out a small square package and thread.

“W-wait hold on, I-ca–”

“It won’t hurt, just a pinch,” She said, cutting off her rumbling.

“You d-don’t understand,” Carmilla said, pleading in a way a child would for their mother when something had frightened them. She hitched higher up onto the couch, watching Donna intensively as she opened the needle pouch. It probably seemed comedic to watch a monster cower at the sight of a needle, but Donna showed some empathy as she set a cool hand on her knee.

“Just relax,” She whispered, a simple demand. But the way she said it had an effect on Carmilla like a lavender sedative. Or it could’ve been the actual scent of lavender that surrounded her out of nowhere. It began to weave its way into her clothes, and lay weight to her eyelids. Her vision blurred in and out of comprehension, her whole body becoming lead. She should’ve felt fear in that very moment, but something soothed the distress like a warm hug on a cool night. A hug of a long forgotten person.