Heyooo, it’s ya girl back with a new fic. This time it’s not crack, but it is my first crack at serious fic writing.
Summary: Each winter, you’ve made the trip to Castle Dimitrescu to serve as the
family’s tailor. From the constant stench of blood to the disappearing
women, you’ve learned to look past the questionable practices of the
countess of her daughters. It was a well-paying gig and there are worst
things in the world. The Umbrella corporation exists after all. This is
your third year of working with the family, and now, you’re struggling
to keep the relationship between you and your employer, Lady Alcina
Dimitrescu, strictly professional.
Appreciate any feedback and comments or replies! Also read it over on archive if you want to bookmark it. Chapter 2 dropping Saturday 7/17
https://archiveofourown.org/works/32501062
Chapter 1: Call Me Alcina
Your body shudders all over with anticipation as you stand in front of the massive castle doors. Anticipation, and the fact that you were sure the temperature was in the single digits. You snuggle into your fur scarf, it was a gift from the lady of the house. She had given it to you during your first year working for her. Not knowing how cold Romanian winters got, you foolishly thought your parka and tattered scarf would be enough. Needless to say you nearly succumbed to hypothermia on your walk from the village to the castle. She gifted the lush scarf on the last day you worked with her. Lady Dimitrescu was a businesswoman first and foremost. She couldn’t have her only tailor dying on her. Protecting her asset. Or so she claimed. You liked to think that it was more than that, no matter how foolish, or unprofessional it was.
Alcina made an investment to protect her asset nearly three years ago. And here you are again, at her door freezing your asset off because the servants took forever to open doors for guests in the dead of winter.
You hear a loud clink and the door slowly opens. You rush in, happy to finally be in the warm air.
“I was freezing my ass off out there, Evelyn! I didn’t think you’d make it to the door in time.” You gasp, patting your body all over, attempting to bring the warmth of the castle to your person.
“Perhaps you wouldn’t “freeze your ass off” if you wore my scarf the right way.”
Your heart froze with your actions when the smooth and powerful voice vibrated your core. There was one person who could do that to you. And it definitely wasn’t the doormaid. You slowly turn to see the countess towering above you, smirking, eyes glowing in the candle light.
“Lady Dimitrescu! I-I didn’t expect you to be the one answering the door. My apologies.” You turn and straighten yourself up showing the countess the respect she deserved.
“We are low on staff at the moment. And my daughters hate the cold.” She says with a sigh. “So here I am…. Answering the door. Come”
You follow the Lady through the entrance hall, past the life sized portrait of her three daughters and into the corridors. You struggled to keep up with the woman’s strides as she bounded through the main hall, past the massive fireplace and up the grand staircase. It was eerily quiet as you followed her, the only audible sound being the rolling of your trunk, and the clack of the lady’s heels.
You were out of breath by the time you got to the drawing room where you usually worked. Trying to keep up with the strides of a 10 foot tall woman while rolling a 70lb trunk took a lot out of you. The countess motions in and you obliged, lugging your trunk to the center of the room and dropping yourself down onto the ottoman that rested there. A cloud of dust exploded out of the cushion.
The Dimitrescus referred to it as the west drawing room. It was larger than your shop back at home and you felt dwarfed by the towering gilded walls. Three huge windows sat on the wall opposite the door, but were barely recognizable because of the massive ornate curtains that covered them. A worktable was situated on the north wall of the room and a sewing machine that looked like it was manufactured in the late 1800s sat on the opposite wall. A fire crackled in the fireplace on the southern corner of the room. And in the other corners, there were piles of dust covered effects. A bed sat beneath the center window and that is where the lady took her seat.
“Excuse the dust” Alcina says, fanning it out of her face. The bed creaked under her weight as she folded her leg over the other. A sliver of the setting sun peeked through the openings of the thick curtains casting a golden halo around her form. “I trust you find your workspace appropriate, no one has been in here since.”
“I can tell.” You mumble to yourself. You see the Lady cock her head and you quickly change your tone “Thank you, Lady Dimitrescu–the workspace will suit me just fine!” You saunter over to the sewing machine and run your hands along the cold metal. This thing was surely straight out of the industrial revolution. There was a familiar pen sitting on the worktable and when you picked it up, there was a dust free space in its place.
“Good! I’ll have my daughters bring you their garments”
“That sounds just f–”
“CASAAAANDRAA!” Her voice shook your insides and you instinctively covered your ears.
“Yes mother?” You felt your heart skip several beats when the young woman appeared before you from a cloud of flies. This was your third year working with the Dimitrescus, so you knew of the daughters’ peculiar abilities. But familiarity didn’t mean that you’d get used to it any time soon.
“You and your sisters may bring your garments to the Tailor now. Do it soon, so she can get started on her work,” the Countess commanded.
“Of course mother.” As soon as she arrived, she was gone in a cloud of flies.
You began to unpack your equipment when The Countess strode to the door. She stopped just before it.
“I’ll be back soon with my pieces. Outside of the usual repairs and alterations, I have a few other things I’d like to discuss with you.”
“Of course Lady Dimitrescu, whatever you need.” You say with utmost politeness and professionalism.
You hear a sigh as the woman turns, her golden eyes beaming into yours. You could feel the blood pool in your cheeks. “I had hoped by now we’d be familiar enough with each other to skip the pleasantries. Please, call me Alcina.”