Chapter Text
It was a well known fact that Karl Heisenberg wasn’t all that picky about his specimens. Unlike Lady Dimitrescu and Lord Moreau, he held no qualms as to whether his subjects were man or woman, old or young. Living or deceased.
(In fact, Heisenberg preferred the dead ones—said that it was easier to deal with his experiments when they couldn’t talk back.)
It was also known, at least to his fellow Lords, that Heisenberg went through the so-called “material” that Mother Miranda provided to each of them at a much, much faster rate than the others. He was practically burning through them.
Thus, he was often in need of additional supplies, and he had little reservation as to where or how he obtained them.
It wouldn’t require a very large leap of logic to realize, then, that Lord Heisenberg often frequented the village cemetery in order to procure new fodder for his experiments. Neutral ground aside, Heisenberg found that the villagers were far more likely to acquiesce to his demands than, say, Lady Dimitrescu or Beneviento. Fear probably played a sizable role in their agreeableness—though Heisenberg preferred to call it respect.
The townspeople had learned to avoid the place in the years since he had begun his visits, exchanging whispers of upturned graves and mysterious noises made at midnight. Torn apart bodies and crushed caskets that hadn’t been there the night before.
The few brave souls who dared venture the area after dark returned with accounts of roaming wolf-men with spades in hand, unceasingly digging in the darkness. In the recent months, new rumors had joined the fray. They spoke of other creatures—abominations whose vacant countenances lay somewhere in the divide between machine and man. Devils of twisted metal and flesh that breathed steam and smoke, hearts glowing a dull red in the dark.
Though no matter who told the story, no matter how the details differed, the one thing everyone could agree upon was that Lord Heisenberg had always been the one to oversee them, barely visible from his place in the shadows but for the bright orange glow of his smoldering cigar.
Heisenberg never lifted a finger during the excavation. He’d only step forward once the digging was complete and the caskets dragged to the surface, smashing through wooden lids with his hammer to appraise the unearthed remains.
At times, he would poke and prod at the cadavers with a gloved finger, muttering curses if he found something displeasing. Whether he had some sort of criteria for his judgments, the villagers were unsure. All they knew was that if Lord Heisenberg had found something he liked in those rotting corpses, all he needed to do was gesture to one of his underlings and the bodies would swiftly be wrapped and taken away to who knows where.
Those that were deemed unsatisfactory, however, suffered the unfortunate fate of being unceremoniously kicked back into one of the several emptied graves, shattered coffin and all. (Witnesses to this spectacle doubted those were even the same graves the corpses had started in.)
As the years passed and his visits continued, the villagers began to wonder just how few of their loved ones continued to rest underground. How many had been spirited away into that far-away factory.
They wondered what he was doing with them—and sometimes they wondered if they were just better off not knowing.
Even Donna, cloistered away in her manor as she often was, had heard enough of these rumors to know not to linger too close to the cemetery at dusk. It was better to visit in the daytime, when the sun still hung at a safe height in the sky.
During her rare visits to the village and her even rarer visits to its cemetery, Donna stuck to this rule, and she had yet to see hide nor hat of Lord Heisenberg—a streak she was proud that she had yet to break.
And so, under this illusion of security, Donna had dared to stay longer and later. After all, there were no prying eyes here, no villagers with their judgemental stares. No loud arguments with the other Lords nor the silent scorn of Mother Miranda. Just the quiet and familiar company of the dead.
And at the moment, likelihood of running into Lord Heisenberg was slim to none, regardless of the time—Donna had always timed her visits to coincide with the meeting dates of their periodic congregation under Mother Miranda.
Lord Heisenberg always made sure to make himself scarce after these meetings, immediately shutting himself up in his factory for weeks on end. Sulking, Lady Dimitrescu had said.
Later and later, Donna would stay on these days, and months passed and seasons changed. Still, nothing happened.
She had grown confident (a feeling she rarely held towards anything) in her safety. Confident that even within the village, which had always been far too bright and loud and scary for her liking, there existed a place that Donna could have all to herself.
(Now—her back pressed to a gravestone and her hands clamped tightly over Angie’s mouth—Donna realized she had grown far too complacent.)
-
The meeting that day had been decidedly uninteresting.
The other three Lords had talked—and argued—about the current state of affairs in the village. Something about an insufficient harvest, and the occasional small rebellions that had been swiftly quashed. Donna hadn’t really been paying attention.
As always, Mother Miranda seemed to have already come up with a solution to whatever issue was at hand, only paying the barest amount of attention to any other ideas presented by the Lords—though Donna always had to wonder why Mother Miranda bothered gathering the Four Lords for meetings like this in the first place. She had already made it quite clear that nothing they said was going to have any sway on her decisions.
Nonetheless, Lady Dimitrescu and Lord Moreau were always quite adamant on providing their insight to Mother Miranda, practically bending over backwards over each other in a vain attempt to curry favor with her. Even Lord Heisenberg, perhaps swept up by the chance to one-up Lady Dimitrescu and the others, did not hesitate to share his own two cents on the situation given the first opportunity.
Donna would have to pass on participating in this farce, however.
All she needed was to be a useful child to Mother Miranda, nothing less and nothing more. She preferred to keep quiet, anyway. In the end, Angie always said whatever it was that Donna needed said.
(Although. . . her delivery often left much to be desired.)
That day, the meeting had lasted much longer than usual. The sky was already more purple than orange by the time Donna had finally emerged from that underground cathedral, the red glint of the setting sun barely visible between the distant mountain peaks. It would only be a matter of minutes before the moon and the stars came out to play.
Donna could tolerate walking through the village at times like these. While most kept a more than respectful distance from her, some in the town believed the Four Lords to be a holy existence on par with Mother Miranda, and approached them as such, with a fervor to match. But no one—no one—dared draw close to her after dark.
She hadn’t needed to remind them why in a while, though, as she rarely came here and never stayed for long. As Mother Miranda made sure to provide Donna with a steady shipment of food and supplies, there was little reason for her to visit the village—outside of boredom.
It was rare, but there were times that Donna desired to see more than the walls and windows of her house. It wasn’t just Donna—experiencing the sight and sounds of the village entertained Angie, the doll hopping out of Donna’s arms to run a few paces ahead after loudly declaring Donna to be a “slow-poke”.
Donna’s arms felt empty without the familiar weight of the doll, but she tried to shake off her discomfort. No matter where Angie wandered, the two of them were intrinsically linked. She had nothing to worry about.
Still, Donna did her best to distract herself from Angie’s temporary absence. She tried to turn her thoughts to the village around her, admiring the scenery of the quaint buildings. It lacked the majesty of the waterfall and the organized elegance of the manor, but the town was a breath of fresh air in its own way.
The houses, with their doors and shutters tightly locked and drawn, reminded Donna of pretty little dollhouses lined up in a row. They were so small and twee, filled with warmth to each brick. Yellow flowers grew cheerfully in the window boxes, their presence reassuring to Donna.
Donna made a mental note to bring some drafting paper and pencils for the next meeting—these cottages would make nice abodes for her smaller friends, especially that dazzling house behind the wooden gate.
But was there enough material to build a house at that scale? Angie was a little larger than most of her dolls, but they weren’t exactly small, either. Perhaps Donna could write Mother Miranda a letter requesting some extra wood and screws for her projects be delivered. And she was more than willing to pay the Duke extra if he could get his hands on some high quality paint. Something from outside of the village, perhaps?
There was a hard thump as dirt abruptly switched to stone beneath her feet. Donna turned to look at the flat grey rock she’d stepped on. Her eyes slowly traced the letters and numbers chiseled into a familiar looking slab of granite. A gravestone.
Had she somehow found her way into the cemetery? Donna was certain that she had been heading away from Lady Dimitrescu’s castle, not towards it.
But Donna still felt a tug in her mind, beckoning her deeper into the forest of stone slabs.
Angie must have wandered off here, then. Donna turned to the cemetery, straining her eyes to find her familiar ivory veil. The sun had set completely by then, and it was even more difficult to find Angie through the white dusting of yesterday’s snowfall.
Still, Donna could sense she was nearby. The rustling and quiet laughter only reinforced her certainty.
“. . . Angie, are you there?” Donna whispered, looking around for the doll. There was a rattle behind one of the headstones as a small, lace-covered head popped out from behind a crumbling angel.
“Donna,” Angie sang, cradling something in her arms. “Look what I picked up!” She offered up the grey lump to Donna, who picked it up and turned it around. The dismembered head of the granite cherub smiled sweetly back at her. The angel must have looked stunning when it was first carved, though time had long since taken its cruel toll on the figure.
How pretty, Donna thought, though it was such a shame for it to have fallen off like this. Breaks like these were permanent. Irreparable.
She offered a silent nod to Angie, handing the head back to the doll. Angie took it with a childlike laugh, skipping away to carry it off into the darkness.
A hopeful part of Donna liked to think she was finding the angel a quiet place to lay its head. Putting it to rest somewhere deep in the forest.
(In actuality, Angie was throwing it as far and as hard as her little wooden body could handle. Still, an end was an end.)
There was a distant thunk, and then the sound of crumbling rock. Angie raced back into Donna’s waiting arms, her small hands empty once again. The doll’s weight was comforting as she landed in Donna’s embrace with practiced ease. Thoughts of what became of the cherub’s head, lying among the tangled trees, left her mind.
The two of them headed deeper into the graveyard, down a familiar path. The farther they walked, the older the inscriptions on the headstones grew, until the path around them was littered with stones so worn that Donna couldn’t tell if something had even been carved in them in the first place.
This was her favorite part of the graveyard.
The cemetery in front of the House Beneviento was old, yes, but not even the oldest grave Donna had seen there was nearly as old as some of these slabs—these graves were as old as the village itself. Older still.
This might have been the quietest place in the mountain range—House Beneviento’s basement was built to be a space of perfect silence, but Donna could still hear the faint rumble of the nearby waterfall through the walls if she held her breath. Feel the quiver of the floorboards underneath her feet as she tried (and failed) to concentrate on threading through the impossibly small eye of a needle.
Here, in this ancient nook of the cemetery where the living dared not tread, Donna had a moment to herself. A moment of true peace and quiet.
She wandered through the ruined monuments and malformed shapes of stone that may once have been human in form, carved with love and tender care—and then left to contend with the elements.
Donna had no idea how long she had lingered there, glancing at the graves here and there and letting her mind stray.
She had been rubbing the fingertips of her free hand against a worn out carving, trying to discern its appearance in the darkness, when she first heard the footsteps crunching through the snow. She froze.
Donna had stayed here for too long.
She turned to look at where the sounds were coming from, at the far end of the cemetery. For a second, there was only the rippling of figures in the shade. And then—
—pale yellow spots of lantern-light flickered on in the far away haze. First one, then two, then three, then more came swarming into the graveyard.
In the center of it all was Heisenberg, barking orders at several snarling lycans. He carried no lantern, the glow of his burning cigar lighting his face harshly instead.
Angie tightened her grip on Donna’s arms, a reflection of her master’s discomfort. She wouldn’t have said anything, not unless Donna allowed her to, but Donna still held a hand over Angie’s mouth. Just in case.
Heisenberg and his lackeys were still at the mouth of the cemetery, far from where Donna stood; maybe if she was quiet enough, they would do whatever it is they came here to do and leave, and she could slip away unnoticed.
But then again, it was a rather small graveyard. And it wasn’t like she could just hide here all night, not in this weather. They would find her, sooner or later.
Silently, Donna cursed herself for staying out so long. While the people in the village kept their rightful distance, Heisenberg had no reason whatsoever to hesitate in approaching her if he caught sight of her. He never shied away from a chance to impose upon his fellow Lords, as if reinforcing his claim that he was the best of them.
. . .This strange power struggle the rest of her new siblings so eagerly engaged in. . . Donna still couldn’t see the appeal of it. She was happy enough to stay in her house with her dolls and her garden.
Mother Miranda’s requests were easy enough to meet, and Donna was more happy to repay her for the gift she had bestowed, but it seemed almost sanctimonious to desire a place as Miranda’s “favorite”. Weren’t they all supposed to be equals?
There were so many things she just couldn’t wrap her mind around when it came to this new group she had joined. So much confusing posturing and blustering when they were all supposed to be working together. Perhaps that was why Lady Dimitrescu had called Donna a child the one and only time she had brought it up.
Now in the graveyard, curled up in the shadows, Donna really did feel like a child—helpless and alone.
It was only her and Angie—the rest of her dolls were tucked away, safe at home—and the power that Mother Miranda had bestowed upon her was utterly useless in the barren soil of the cemetery. There were no yellow flowers to protect herself with, not this far out from the village.
She was a sitting duck.
Treading lightly across the clearing, Donna headed to the edge of the cemetery. The shadows were thick here, even the palest of headstones disappearing in the murky darkness. If she was lucky, and she stayed very, very still, they might just walk past her.
Donna shifted slowly, painfully aware of the dried branches and leaves that covered the ground here. She was so close to the forest—if only she could get past the treeline—
A twig snapped underfoot, and Donna stopped.
“—hear that?” Donna heard one of the lycans growl to another, ” . . . Somebody’s out here. We gotta tell the boss.“ She shifted closer to a tall granite pillar, hoping to blend into the darkness behind it. Her heart beat rapidly as she held her breath.
“Are you sure it’s not a rabbit? If we bother the boss over something stupid, it’ll be our skins—”
Please, Donna hoped, please keep on walking. Walk right past me.
In the past, such pleas would have worked by sheer virtue of her abilities. Back when she had first received this gift from Mother Miranda, it seemed that all Donna needed to do was to simply will it, and reality itself would shift to suit her whims.
Of course, later experiments found the limits to these newfound powers of hers. Situations that she couldn’t escape as easily.
Just like now.
“—doesn’t smell like a rabbit.”
“Yeah, but that sure doesn’t smell like human either. Smells a bit off, y'know? Like it's gone stale.”
Angie opened her mouth to protest, but Donna tightened her grip. It would do no good to draw their attention even more.
The voices began to fade away as the two lycan moved past her. The lanterns at the mouth of the graveyard still glowed, but they had moved no closer. Adrenaline was pounding through her veins, her heart thumping with each passing second.
After waiting what seemed an eternity–though in truth, it must have only been a couple minutes at the most—Donna released the breath she had been holding. They should be gone by now.
Still, she had to move quickly; the longer she stayed here, the more likely she’d be seen.
If it had only been lycans, Donna has little to worry about. Even though she was without her powers, her station gave her authority second only to Mother Miranda—even the most savage of lycans knew when to defer, and to whom. But Heisenberg’s presence was a dangerous wild card. Hierarchy was of no concern to him.
Yes, there was something about the way he looked at everyone, like a hungry wolf scouring a flock for its frailest members, looking for just a single flaw that he could target and exploit. It made Donna uneasy on the few occasions he locked eyes with her through those smoky shades. She had no desire to know what would happen if he caught any weakness—especially one so glaring—within her.
With this worry in mind, Donna took a careful step forwards, mindful of Angie’s squirming in her hold, and—
—a clawed hand seized her arm.
Donna felt a soundless whimper tear from her throat.
The lycans must have reached the end of the graveyard and turned around—and like a fool, she must have waited too long.
“What do we have here?” The lycan growled to his compatriot, dragging Donna into the moonlight. “—looks like a mourner. Freaky looking doll she’s holding, though. Gives me the creeps.”
Donna felt tears prickle at the corners of her eyes from under the thick veil that covered her head. She could only imagine the expression she was making. Her face must have been even uglier than usual, her skin undoubtedly sweaty and pallid in her terror.
Under layers of thick scar tissue, her cadou squirmed and throbbed painfully, as if it shared her distress and was trying to crawl its way out of her face in a blind panic. Her limbs were locked stiff, one arm at her side and the other gripping onto Angie for dear life. Outwardly, of course, her stillness could be mistaken for confident tranquility. Her struck silence mistaken for an air of quiet confidence.
Ironically, in all her fear and panic, Donna must have looked the picture of perfect calm.
She could—She could use this.
Donna turned her head towards them slowly, steeling herself. Even in her panic, she didn’t miss the look of uncertainty that flickered across one of the lycan’s malformed faces.
(Donna had never been more thankful for the veil that shielded her face than she was now.)
“—Should we get rid of her? Boss told us to make sure no one was out here peeping,” One of the lycans grunted.
His partner seemed more uneasy about that, muttering, “No, wait. Something about the doll looks strange—kinda familiar—”
Ignoring him, the lycan pulled Angie out of Donna’s hands roughly, turning the doll around to examine it. “What, this stupid thing?”
Oh no. That was a mistake he’d pay dearly for.
“Get your filthy hands off me—” Angie came alive in his hands, screeching loudly as she kicked and scratched at the offending lycan. “—or I’ll tear them off myself!”
And she proceeded to attempt just that.
Donna learned—as she looked on at the spectacle in morbid curiosity—that little wooden fingers were unexpectedly efficient at ripping and gouging. And that lycans, resilient and uncontrollable as they often were, could still recognize when it was a good time to tuck their tail between their legs and run away.
“L-lady Beneviento! Forgive us, please, we didn’t r-recognize you,” One lycan whimpered, scrambling to prostrate himself before her while his injured friend ran off to the cluster of lights—to inform Heisenberg, Donna realized with a chill of dread.
She tried to pull away, to run, but the lycan held a vice grip on her arm.
“. . .don’t. . .”
Donna backed away, looking pleadingly at the edge of the graveyard—she was so close, only ten or twenty steps away—and the lycan was still holding onto her arm and she had to get out of here now—
Desperately, she struggled to yank her arm away, ignoring the profuse apologies the lycan continued to spout. It was disconcerting, seeing a creature who’d gladly attack his former neighbors and kin now grovel and beg at the feet of someone as pitiful as Donna.
Was this sort of behavior a remnant of the adoration the villagers held for Mother Miranda and her kin, or had Heisenberg merely beat enough fear into his subordinates that it had transferred to the other lords by association? Either way, Donna cared little for reverence like this. Though Dimitrescu might puff up at the praise, and even Moreau and Heisenberg accept the villager’s worship as it was, to Donna, this was far more embarrassing than flattering—scary, even.
“Ah—“
With a strong tug, her hand had slipped free from the lycan’s vice grip, the other pulling along an unfortunately messy Angie—and Donna balked at the thought of cleaning her up later, blood took forever to scrub out of that skirt—when a familiar chuckle rang out, far too close for comfort. She was too slow.
“Well, well, well. . . I didn’t expect to see your cloth-covered mug so soon, dollmaker. What, miss me already? I’m flattered.” Heisenberg turned to the lycan, his lazy grin dropping. “Get your ass back to work.”
The lycan gladly obliged, scampering back to join the others.
Donna trembled, fighting the urge to sweep into a polite bow as she had been taught to by her parents ages ago. But etiquette like that no longer applied to her, not when she stood as a fellow lord—as an equal. She had to behave as such, if she wanted to remain.
So Donna stood silently instead, acknowledging Heisenberg’s words with a rigid tilt of her head and nothing more.
“Quiet as usual, I see. So what brings you to this stodgy little place? I could have sworn you had a perfectly good graveyard to haunt at home—did you get bored of it or something?” Heisenberg said, carelessly picking at the edge of a worn headstone. Donna tried to ignore how the centuries-old stone crumbled under his gloved hand.
“Why do you care?” Angie shrieked. “And what are you doing here, huh? Shouldn’t you still be holed up in that factory of yours? You’re never here so soon, you know, so you must be up to something. What are you up to, huh? Digging up more bodies, are you? Are you?”
Lord Heisenberg only chuckled at Angie’s incessant questioning, but Donna couldn’t bring herself to ignore the hard edge to his laugh. It made her antsy.
“What a. . . well-informed. . . question from such a dumb-as-rocks puppet. Hate to break it to you, doll, but the only answer I can give to that is—” Heisenberg said, blowing a puff of acrid smoke into Angie’s (and, as it drifted upwards, Donna’s) face, “It’s my fucking business, so stick your wooden nose somewhere else, Pinnochio. You seem pretty good at minding yourself, unlike those two nosy assholes, so keep up the good work. How do you even know—Oh, don’t tell me—” he paused, taking a drag from his cigar. “—that super-sized bitch must have told you.”
Donna couldn’t help but nod dumbly, still taken aback to the casual rudeness of the manner he addressed their fellow Lords.
“It’s Lady Dimitrescu to you,” Angie piped up for her, always happy to be rude in her stead. (Then again Angie was only being rude to be polite and did it matter that she was rude if Lord Heisenberg had been rude first or—no, she was probably overthinking it.)
“Yeah, yeah, Lady Super-Sized Bitch or whatever. A goddamn tattletale is what she is.”
. . .there were worse things to call her, Donna supposed tiredly, letting the comment slide by. These Lords, her new “siblings”, were far cruder than the larger-than-life, almost divine beings she had been told they were as a child.
He wasn’t wrong, though.
The last time the lords had gathered, Lord Heisenberg had locked himself up in his factory for weeks—is what Donna had gotten out of Lady Dimitrescu during one of the occasional tea parties she threw.
Whether Dimitrescu arranged these troublesome and overly fussy gatherings at her castle simply out of relief that she wasn’t the only woman in their fold now or out of a desire to flaunt her wealth and power over the newcomer, Donna had yet to decide. It was a rather nice and easy way of gaining information about her new family, however, as Donna didn’t have to say a word. Lady Dimitrescu did all the talking for her.
(Now, of course, Donna was beginning to rethink the accuracy of Dimitrecu’s various statements.)
“. . .Well, was I right?” Angie voiced Donna’s confusion out loud with an impatient huff.
“About? Oh, yeah, that,” Lord Heisenberg turned his attention away from what looked like a motor-oil stain on his cuff he’d been rubbing at. On closer inspection, it might have been blood. “Am I digging up more bodies, is that what you said?” Donna nodded, wishing he’d just get to the point and let her leave. “Well, use your damn eyes and look around, dollface, what’s your guess? You do have working eyes under that drab black sack, I have to assume.” He waved a hand in front of Donna’s face mockingly, and Angie snarled and snapped at it with her little teeth.
Donna knew she packed a far worse bark than her bite, but Heisenberg didn’t. And it seemed he wasn’t taking any chances—the hand was swiftly shoved back into his coat pocket.
“Goddamn little—You should invest in a muzzle for that creepy-ass little puppet of yours. Or I’ll shut it up myself.”
“You still haven’t answered me,” Angie hissed at Heisenberg, before turning back to whisper loudly at Donna, “He’s dancing around the question, isn’t he? I bet he’s hiding something. I know he's hiding something. He’s doing a horrible job of it, though.”
Donna felt the same, of course.
“. . .I can hear that, you know,” Heisenberg said. “Control your fucking doll, Beneviento. It’s being extremely rude.” Donna noted that he didn’t even bother denying Angie’s accusations.
She cocked her head, studying Heisenberg. His hesitancy was unusual; after all, Lord Heisenberg was incredibly open with his plans and his opinions, to the point of being painfully frank. He would even badmouth Mother Miranda and her great plan. . . not to her face, of course, but Lady Dimitrescu and Lord Moreau must have informed Mother Miranda about his statements at some point, surely.
If he of all people were to actually be hiding something, it was probably something of immense importance and secrecy. Had Heisenberg found some sort of breakthrough in his experiments? A weakness or a weapon to use against Mother Miranda?
Donna wanted to pry further, feeling Angie wiggle in her arms with anticipation, but she hesitated.
Perhaps she was overthinking it—curiosity killed the cat, after all.
With a quiet sigh, Donna cast her curiosity aside, avoiding his gaze by staring pointedly at a gravestone in the distance. Whatever it was that Lord Heisenberg was dancing around wasn’t Donna’s problem at all. And if it was, then she’d rather not know anything about it.
“. . . W-we didn’t mean to intrude, Lord Heisenberg,” Donna said, fighting the urge to apologize in place of Angie. “Angie and I were only. . . we were just taking a walk.”
It was a flimsy excuse, but Donna stood firm. She had to. If she dared to cower or showed the slightest signs of uncertainty—she’d snapped up in a second. Thrown to the wolves, quite literally.
After a long moment, Heisenberg sighed. “Drop the—Don’t fucking call me ‘Lord’.”
“What?” Donna tilted her head, confused.
“You heard me, it sounds stupid. I mean look, am I going around calling you Lady Beneviento?” Heisenberg barreled on without waiting for Donna to reply. “Of course not. We’re both fellow Lords now—siblings, co-workers, whatever it is Miranda’s calling her little slaves these days. It’s a fucking waste of air to go around calling each other ‘Lord’ this and ‘Lord’ that. Save yourself the trouble and just lose the damn formalities.”
Donna didn’t respond, merely filing the information away for the next time she’d need to directly address Heisenberg (though she expected the opportunity never presented itself, if she had anything to say about it.) But Angie, still wrapped up in Donna’s arms, laughed.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Karl.”
There was a moment of silence in the graveyard, and then Heisenberg inhaled sharply. Donna felt the back of her neck prickle in anticipation of his retaliation. The only person who had ever called him that and lived to tell the tale was Mother Miranda; even then, Donna had only heard her call him that once.
(Though personally, Donna had no idea why Heisenberg found it so distasteful to be referred to by his given name. A name was just a name, wasn’t it? But she knew better than to swing at a hornet’s nest, no matter how innocuous it looked.)
“. . .Okay. I’ll be a nice guy and pretend I didn’t just hear that,” Heisenberg said in a low voice, looking past Angie to sharply glare at Donna, “—but next time? There won’t be a next time. Got it?”
Once again, Donna could only nod rapidly in response, silently willing Angie to please be quiet, just this once, please.
In the beginning, it had taken quite a bit of time and energy to get Angie to talk properly. Now, it took just as much to get her to stop.
“Very good! Now, get the fuck out of here if you know what’s good for you, Beneviento.” Seemingly placated by her responses so far, Heisenberg sent her off with a flippant wave. Donna made a careful retreat, keeping her eyes on Heisenberg’s slowly shrinking figure as she backed away.
The growls of the lycans and the painfully bright glow of the lanterns had never been so comforting. Donna was practically out the gate, her steps increasing in speed.
“. . .Beneviento.”
Just as she thought she was finally free, Heisenberg’s voice rang out once again through the graveyard.
“Wait a second,” he said, considering something as he idly blew a ribbon of smoke into the air. “I need to ask you something.”
Whatever idea had just popped into his head, Donna wanted no part in it. She only wanted to leave. To go home. The longer she lingered here, the more likely it was that he’d figure out she was almost completely defenseless—and that was all but a guaranteed death sentence. She couldn’t afford to stay a second longer.
Donna had only taken another step in the opposite direction when something rough and metallic burst out of the earth, colliding with her feet and cutting at the skin of her ankles. She tumbled to the ground, groaning softly.
“Goddamnit, I said wait.”
Limbs frozen in terror, Donna had no choice but to sit there shivering, tense with anticipation, as Heisenberg slowly drew closer, his heavy boots crushing dead leaves underfoot loudly, each tromping step he took towards her drowned out by the loud noise of her heartbeat in her ears and the shallow breaths tearing out of her throat.
Taking a desperate gulp of air, Donna forced herself to calm down, digging her fingers sharply into the flesh of her palm. The pain kept her lucid as she quickly saved face, straightening her posture and relaxing her grip on Angie until her position down there—sprawled out on the uneven turf—was as natural as she could get. Still, her shoulders trembled.
“. . . What do you want?” Donna muttered, speaking before Angie could interject.
“Don’t look so serious, I’m not stupid enough to try and pick a fight with you or your ugly-ass doll,” Heisenberg drawled as he circled round to face her, “I’m just going to—I just need to ask you a quick question.”
He held out a gloved hand, implicitly telling her to take it.
“Give me a good answer, and I promise you’ll get back to your dollhouse in one piece.”
Cautiously, Donna allowed him to help her up, snatching her hand back the moment she was back on her two feet. She scrubbed it against the fabric of her skirt, trying to scrape away her prickling goosebumps from the unwanted contact.
“And what if we don’t? What will you do, hm?” Angie asked, challenging. She peered at Heisenberg in suspicion, clambering over Donna’s arms to meet his gaze. “Ask your wolfies over there to tear us apart? Mother Miranda won’t like this, you know.”
“Oh, come on. All you have to do is answer my damn question and I’ll let you go home.”
“How could we? You haven’t even asked us anything yet!”
“I’d have already given it to you if you’d just shut the hell up for once!”
“Talk, talk, talk. Maybe you’re the one who should—”
As the two of them argued, Donna considered her next steps.
. . .Heisenberg had said he wanted a good answer, she thought as she skimmed the perimeter for an escape route. And knowing him, good could mean just about anything.
Judging from their interactions with each other, the Lords clearly had no sort of armistice between them—but Heisenberg would undoubtedly find himself in trouble with Mother Miranda if he were to go too far. Donna could only hope that Miranda considered her valuable enough to do that.
Right now, there were two paths before her: either she would stay and answer him—a gamble she wasn’t willing to risk quite yet—or Donna could run through the throng of lycans at the entrance, out to the relative safety of the village. Escape was tantalizingly close, if she was quick enough.
But would she be quick enough?
Out here in the frozen earth of the cemetery, she was little more than human, and Heisenberg had a sizable group of lycans at his beck and call. Her odds were slim to none.
Donna glanced around again. Maybe if Angie could cause a distraction and—No, Donna couldn’t find it in herself to just leave her here.
But what was she supposed to do?
“Are you even paying attention?”
—Heisenberg snapped his fingers loudly, startling Donna out of her internal debate.
“Wakey, wakey, Beneviento. I don’t have all night, so hurry up—I’m still waiting for an answer.”
“. . . I’m sorry. . .” Donna began, her hands fidgeting with the fabric of Angie’s dress, “I’m sorry. . . but I didn’t. . .”
Angie crossed her arms, piping up to answer for Donna. “You know, I don’t think I heard what you said, Mr. Tin-Man. I got so dreadfully bored, you see, having to listen to you go on and on and on.” She giggled. “You’ll have to say that again!”
“Why you little—” Heisenberg reached out to grab Angie, only stopping himself when she snarled back at him. Sighing in frustration, he bit down on the cigar in his mouth. “—Fine. But I’m not going to explain everything all over again, okay?”
Donna nodded, happy enough that he hadn’t immediately decided to sic the lycans on the two of them for this. She’d heard stories of villagers who’d been killed over less.
“All you need to know is that I’m working on a project. Not like those stupid little experiments that Moreau or that pasty bitch think are oh so amazing, no, this is something important. Earthshaking, really—when I’m finished, that bitch Miranda won’t even know what hit her—” Heisenberg laughed, low and confident, slamming his fist into his palm with a loud smack. “—But I’m not finished. Not yet, that is. And that’s where you come in, dollface.”
Heisenberg pointed at her, ribbons of smoke curling off the lit cigar in his fingers. Under her veil, Donna wrinkled her nose at the acrid smell. Trying not to cough, she slowly replied.
“I don’t follow.”
“Of course you don’t,” Heisenberg sneered. “Maybe if you’d been paying attention to me earlier—but it’s too late for that. I’ll make it snappy and just ask you this: what do you know about human anatomy? The, uh, brain, specifically,” He tapped a finger to the brim of his hat. “Look, I wasn’t exactly paying attention to Mother Miranda when she was introducing you and all that, but I do know that you can do funny things to people’s minds. Oh, and some weird shit about plants—wasn’t paying attention to that part, sorry. But screw the plants, surely you’ve gotta know something about brains, don’t you? Anything about how those wrinkled pieces of garbage work?”
Donna did not. Not to mention the fact that it seemed Heisenberg was grossly misconstruing how her abilities worked.
But Donna didn’t say that. She wanted to pretend, for once, that she was just as competent as the other Lords—as competent as Lord Moreau, at least. As she was, Donna was more weaknesses than strengths, her grip on the place she held in her new family tentative at best. No one—especially Heisenberg, with his constant talk of the strong and the weak—could ever find out just how useless she was. He would show Mother Miranda. Donna would be discarded.
. . .Not to mention the fact that she had a feeling that a truthful answer wasn’t exactly the “good answer” Heisenberg was looking for.
So, sparing barely a thought to her decision, Donna hurriedly agreed with him.
“Obviously,” Angie said, always happy to escalate the situation. “Donna knows all about that stuff! More than you, at least.”
“You do?” Heiseberg was surprised. He almost seemed excited. “Fantastic. Maybe you’ll be of some actual use to me after all. More than Moreau and that big-headed bimbo, at least!”
He took her hand in his, gripping it in a painfully firm handshake.
“Drop by my factory tomorrow. You know how to get there, don’t you? And don’t worry about the gate—I’ll tell ‘em that if a veil-wearing freak with a spooky little puppet shows up, unlock it and show her to the workroom. Come in at whatever time you’d like, I’m an accommodating host.”
“—W-wait, what do you—” Donna stammered as Heisenberg continued to talk at her.
“Oh, and make sure to bring some surgical tools with you. Scalpels, sutures, anything you’ve got; most of the crap I’ve got is dull or rusty. Or both. And I’d tell you to wear something you’re fine with getting blood on, among other things, but—” He gestured to her dark attire, “—no need to worry about that.”
“Whose. . . blood?” Donna asked, feeling her stomach twist into even tighter knots of anxiety. She just had to keep digging herself a deeper and deeper grave, didn’t she?
“You’ll find out tomorrow,” Heisenberg said dismissively. “Now go home and get some shut-eye. If you fall asleep in the middle of things, don’t get angry when I toss your shitty looking doll into the grinder. You sure you can’t just leave the thing at home? It creeps me out.”
Donna did not find that very amusing, and took a step back. Heisenberg was one to make good on his promises. She was ending this conversation now, before he got any ideas.
“Goodnight, Lord Heisenberg, ” Donna said, too busy fighting the urge to sweep into a polite curtsey to notice her slip-up. Angie, however, noticed, appending a loud, “Karl,” to Donna’s embarrassment and Heisenberg’s irritation.
“It’s Heisenberg, damn it. Just Heisenberg—what do you need me to do to drill it into your thick skull, spell it out for you?”
Donna shook her head, shrinking behind Angie. Heisenberg sounded more exasperated than truly angered at her, but those opaque shades did quite a good job of hiding his expression from the world. Behind those glasses, he could be thinking just about anything.
Best not to tempt fate.
Bidding him goodnight and farewell once again—and tacking on an awkward and stilted “Heisenberg” to the end, receiving a grunt of approval in return—Donna hurriedly stepped away to the warm lights of the village.
She turned around, stealing one last glance at the lycans mulling about the gravestones, spades in hand. Heisenberg had joined them, lingering several paces away as he oversaw their work. He turned to look at her.
“I’ll be seeing you,” Donna heard him say, his rather loud voice not the least bit muted by the distance between them.
She watched as Heisenberg extinguished his cigar on a nearby headstone, crushing the blazing embers into ash with one rough movement, plunging himself into darkness. Under the dull light of the moon, Donna mused, he struck a far less imposing figure. Compared to the almost monstrous figures of Dimitresu and Moreau, and even Mother Miranda, Heisenberg looked like an ordinary man. Angry and on edge, yes, but human all the same.
Maybe it was just the change in perspective—like this, Donna could safely step away and observe everything and everyone at once.
Donna much prefered observing, anyway. She noted the way he carried himself, the way he leaned against the worn tombstones and ordered the lycans about in short, barking words. She saw the way he cursed and kicked petulantly at the ground when an unearthed coffin came up rotting, rubbing a gloved hand at his eyes in frustration.
“Huh. He sure looks tired,” Angie said, her wooden face twisted into a close approximation of a grimace, “And he thinks you’re the one who needs to get some shut eye? What a weirdo.”
Donna couldn’t help but agree.
-
Still on edge, Donna walked quickly and quietly through the village, only slowing down as she reached the gate. The metal creaked loudly as she pushed through—hopefully, the noise would be lost in the whipping gales of the mountain wind. It would do her no good to wake anyone up, be they a villager or something else entirely.
As if in response to her thoughts, a faint howling sounded in the distance.
Her heart skipping a beat, Donna felt her feet move faster, unceasingly onward through the vines and rocks that scattered the mountain pass into her domain.
She only slowed as she hit the familiar mists of the Potter’s Field, feeling the flowers winding through the grass and pollen hanging in the air like an extension of her own fingertips. Donna took a deep breath, finally setting Angie down to walk with her own two feet.
She was safe.
Safe for now, at least. Safe for the night. Heisenberg still expected her at his factory, and though she could take her sweet time getting there, he didn’t strike her to be the patient type.
Donna wanted to play it safe; whatever Heisenberg expected her to do for his project, she would do as swiftly and simply as possible. And then she would leave.
There were medical atlases in the study, Donna remembered, and while she had never cut up a human body in the quite same way Heisenberg seemed to expect of her, she could puzzle it out. Probably. Possibly.
Hopefully.
Donna wrapped her arms around herself and breathed slowly, trapping all of her panicked thoughts somewhere deep and dark. A little coffin that she buried in the pit of her mind.
“Come here,” Donna held her hand out to Angie, gently pulling her faster along the path. “We don’t have long.”
There was only so much time in the world to teach herself rudimentary neuroscience. The books could only take her so far, but hopefully, she could at least seem like she knew what she was doing. And if that didn’t work. . . Donna wasn’t going to be caught defenceless like that ever again.
The two walked, hand in hand, down the path towards House Beneviento. The same worn path that had been walked by her parents and her parents’ parents, having stood there ages before her, sure to stand there for ages after her.
Donna fought back a yawn as she stepped back into the warmth of the foyer.
Heisenberg’s warning about getting some sleep echoed through Donna’s head. It wasn’t out of genuine concern for her wellbeing, that much she was aware. And for that, Donna felt no guilt in waving it away.
She had no time to waste. She had to prepare.