Chapter Text
The fog laid upon the valleys of Barovia with an eerie comfort. It would have been beautiful: the rolling hills enveloped in a ghostly embrace, trees older than Sírdhem herself poking out from within their gray blanket, swirling in the valley with an ethereal form. The outline of the villages were dark forms amongst the mist that were barely visible from her balcony. She tried to imagine what life was like for the villagers living within the tyrannical holds of their Lords. Cold, dreary, forced within the confines of their homes, subdued by the dangers that lurked in the darkness.
The scene would have been beautiful, were it not an ever present reminder that this was their prison now. It would not allow them to leave, nor allow her to leave, too. Every single villager was trapped within this mad realm, where the warmth of the sun was cast out by the clouds and death was always present.
A confident knock at the intricately carved door brought the elf out of her pondering, replacing thoughts with a cinder of dread.
Sirdhem was imprisoned by more than just this fog.
The knock again reverberated through her chambers. Sírdhem peeled herself away from the balcony -her only escape- taking a deep breath to steel her will. Facing Strahd von Zarovich always filled her with dread, even with his strangely just treatment. The elf was unsure of why she was here to begin with. Rahadin did not say why, but she could sense he was nervous. He was never nervous.
“Tatiana,” He called authoritatively. She winced at the name, it wasn’t hers. She cracked open the door, enough to peer through at the man towering before her.
“Sírdhem.” She reminded him softly, avoiding his gaze. A gentle push from the other side and she stepped back, watching as the vampire entered the room. Immediately, the cold began to set deep within her bones and she instinctively held herself for warmth. Was the cold from this monstrosity himself, or was it just her? Strahd waved her off, closing the door behind him.
“You are a beauty to behold,” He breathed, taking in her form. Her pale skin was accentuated by the regal burgundy fabrics that clung to her lithe form, her supple breasts emphasized by the low neckline. Rouge outlined the curves of her lips, bringing attention to their lush shape. Strahd took her chin in his chilly hand, his thumb gently brushing against her lip as he admired her. Sírdhem froze, her heartbeat quickening with uncertainty; although his grasp was firm, yet gentle, as if handling a porcelain doll.. She watched his eyes trail over her, before he suddenly drew back, immediately straightening up. He seemed unsure.
“You wear my chosen dress well,” Strahd began, beginning a pace around the room as he spoke. Arms behind his back, hands clasped. Sírdhem’s trained eye watched him as he moved. Confident, unafraid, fitting as the ruler of these lands. Cocky. She wondered how many people had attempted to slay him before, and how many he had killed in retribution.
“The chamberlain will be sent to escort you for the evening dinner. We will dine as one.” He continued, stopping by the balcony and looking out upon the land. “Tonight are your favorites.” Favorites? What could he know about her favorites?
“And what is that?” She asked, rubbing her cold shoulders. He stopped, and she quickly averted her gaze, unsure of his reaction to her bold question and refusing to give the satisfaction of her gaze.. As if it mattered- he did not give away if he even acknowledged her.
“I expect you prepared and on time.” He resumed his stride around her chambers, examining the furniture and decorative items closely.“Do not be late, although we will have plenty of time, it is rude. I have undergone much preparation for your return to my castle.” ..Return? Sírdhem watched him intently, unmoving. The vampire lord suddenly stopped in front of the canopied bed, turning to look at the painted elf. Her blue eyes met his and she felt a chill rise up her spine. She shivered again at his scrutinizing gaze. “Tatiana…. Is this all to your liking?”
The question threw her off guard.
“I am Sírdhem..” She said, unable to pry her eyes away from him. “I am not used to such regal surroundings, so much to say I’d prefer less. ‘Tis what I am used to on the road.” His face seemed to contort in distaste. “However, I am in awe of your efforts and taste, my Liege. Thank you.” She quickly followed up, relieved at the calm returning to his face.
“Good.” Strahd said curtly. A shiver ran through her again, he did not make a remark. Sírdhem could not tell what he thought nor what he was planning beyond the cold mask he wore. “I will see you at dinner, my lady.” He stepped closer to her and admired her once again, reaching out to her face and gently brushing the stray, curly hairs behind her elongated ears. But just like before he stepped away dubiously, and turned to leave without a second thought
“My liege,” Sírdhem piped up. He abruptly stopped.
“What is it?”
“And what of after? What is there to do?” She asked, walking forward to see him out. As she stepped closer, she felt the hairs on her neck stand up. He seemed amused by her question.
“There is always plenty to do here.” Strahd replied plainly. “Of course, if there is something you want, just let the chamberlain know and I will make the necessary arrangements to grant your wishes.”
“And if I were to wish to leave?” She asked, immediately regretting the words as the vampire lord turned to face her. A dark shadow of anger loomed over his face and she felt herself freeze in fear. His heavy steps boomed along with a sudden gust of wind, and in a second they were face to face.
“You are not leaving.” He growled, emphasizing each word with icey malevolence. Sírdhem flinched. She could not help her defensive stance - trembling hands held out to protect her. Just as if she was right back in Rahadin’s manor, facing his seemingly endless anger.
Her movements halted the vampires advance.
Fearfully, she looked up, only to see his face contorted with uncertainty. Strahd von Zarovich stared at the quivering elf, before abruptly turning on his heel and sweeping his cloak over his shoulders.
The door closed behind him, and Sírdhem stumbled to her knees, the thick bear furs cushioning her fall on the marble floor.
Whoever, whatever Strahd was, he radiated immense power. He was terrifying, radiating a cold that cut through her spine. And yet, she was curious.