"Poems…,"
Arabella had muttered under her breath, but the word did not escape Silas' ears, "Yes, I'd like to hear some poems as I carve the wood tonight," he glanced at her, "Would that be a problem?"
"No! No! Of course not!" she shook her head extensively, "Do you have any preference for particular poems?" she asked after simmering down.
Silas took a deep breath and looked back at the canvas facing him, "I'd say poems written by humans should do. The topics don't matter,"
Arabella's grip around the fabric of her gown had relaxed a tad as she pushed a sigh of relief.
The vampire's reassurance that he wouldn't be drinking her blood that night had just begun to sink in, ushering a wave of solace that soothed her heart and, in her eyes, the world revolved right again.
Though before reciting her first poem, the young woman still felt the need for something the room was greatly missing in her opinion, "May I open the window, please?"
"You may," Silas wiped the tool in his hand as he spoke.
Without any hesitation, a bright smile on her, Arabella sprung up and rushed towards the window in order to invite the fresh air she so immensely yearned for.
On the other side, right underneath that very window stood a figure that stalked every flicker of candle, every shadow that moved and every sound that would emanate from Silas' room.
Edna's contorted features stood testament to her discontent. The maid clutched a hand around her apron until the knuckles on it were drained of blood while the other firmly grasped a small, black pouch.
The content of the bag remained a mystery to the world around, but to herself and the witch she'd commissioned.
Why, oh why would Silas ever summon that wench for a purpose other than feeding? What was a human like her good to him for if not for the blood coursing her veins?
Was it truly their status that made all of the difference? What fault was it of hers if she wasn't born into a noble family?
It was never something to be earned and thus unfair. Why would she settle for less just because of the odds that did not favor her?
Edna squeezed the bag tighter between her fingers as her mind rendered despicable imagery of all the aberrant things those two could be doing in that room together. All of the indecent things he could be doing to her, the unholy ways in which he'd feel her body… That harlot Arabella surely would allow him to. Why would she ever object? After all, the floozie had sold her family and left them for dead. There shouldn't be a line she wouldn't cross to stay in the Master's good graces.
And it seemed to be working well for her benefit as Silas had never invited anyone into his chambers without a set purpose before. Not even his own mother dared approach his space unasked.
All of those thoughts swamped and swirled Edna's mind only to hush in a snap when a click stemmed from the very window she glowered at.
The maid dashed behind the pillar supporting the protruding half of the first floor for cover. She glanced one last time at the pouch in hand, vowing internally to make good use of it before sliding it beneath her apron and scampering back inside the manor.
Arabella pushed the window wide open, taking the deepest of breaths from the fresh air that rushed through the gap as soon as a crack was made. It caressed her skin softly and ruffled her silky hair, heaving its weightless strands along with its whims.
"You've got a view of the garden as well,"
Much like the guest room she occupied and the music room, Silas' window had a full view of the garden too.
As per usual, her mutter was carried by the wind to his ears, "Indeed," was all that he said at first, but then, seeing the beaming face he added, "You do love the gardens," he half asked.
"Yes, I very much do," she whispered, sparing not a peek his way.
"Much like your mother, I suppose,"
By then he'd turned back to his canvas and the little scritchings emanating from the wood chipping had resumed.
Though his words had yanked her attention towards him at once, her smile was replaced by furrowed eyebrows.
"Much like my mother…,"
She had only conversed on that particular topic with one person. That person being Edgar, Arabella wondered if the man had inquired about their conversations. It took her a second to remember that Silas was a vampire and as such, should he ever wish to know what sort of talk went between two people, he needn't ask, only listen instead.
"Something the matter?"
Noting the rise in cadence around her heart, Silas had asked without taking his diamonds off his work.
"No! Nothing,"
Once again, she merely shook her head, grimaced a smile and took another deep breath before walking back towards the lounge chair and sitting down.
All the while flipping questions in her mind; had Silas been listening in on them all along? If not, then when did it start and how much of their conversations was he aware of?
Nevertheless, those were puzzles that weren't going to solve themselves right then and there. She was not summoned to paddle through her own sea of contemplation. She had poems to recite!