Chapter Text
Lily Salvatore screamed. Dark curls of hair plastered to her forehead, everything seemed to cling too close to her as her chest heaved with labored breaths. Between her legs, a midwife and a doctor worked franticly as another painful contraction seized her body. Shouting out, Lily bit off her cries and ground her teeth together with such strength, she feared her teeth would shatter. Nearby, a young nurse fanned Lily while another patted her forehead with a damp towel that wasn’t nearly cool enough to provide any relief.
“Enough!” Lily barked at the useless man between her legs, who called himself a doctor. Men were scarcely allowed into a birth room and Lily was beginning to see why, “I am at my wit’s end. Call for Hagar!” She gasped as the child within her twisted.
“But Madame, that is highly inappropriate, your husband has already provided—”
“I don’t care!” Lily snarled as her pale blue eyes snapped open to glare at the doctor, “Fetch her from the slave quarters; she’s delivered countless children for her sisters, which is more than you can say— !” She cried, before dissolving into another scream as the doctor rushed from the room, reluctantly obedient.
As Lily fell against the pillows propping her up on the bed, she closed her eyes and prayed. Already it had been hours since her labor had started, and she knew she would not last for much longer. Within her womb, raging to get out, was her first child. As the heat of the humid summer outside seeped into the house, Lily wondered if children were always so difficult to have. If she would even live to see if her child would be as just as difficult to raise.
“Please.” She muttered hoarsely, delirious, “Please, my child. Come out for me...”
A flurry of motion outside the room caught her ear as the doctor and a woman hurried inside. When Lily opened her weary eyes, she recognized the old, lined face of Hagar, one of the kitchen servants of her husband’s estate. Watching as the woman rolled up her sleeves and pushed Lily’s thighs father apart, the dark brown of her skin contrasted against the pale white of Lily’s own.
“Mistress Lily,” The woman’s rich, textured voice washed over Lily like warm smoke, “I’m gonna need you to breath steady.” She instructed, her voice casually confident in a way that soothed Lily’s frazzled nerves.
Measuring her breaths, Lily did as she was told, trying to ignore the pain. Focusing on inhaling and exhaling, Lily’s wide eyes looked to Hagar for further instruction.
“Your baby needs air, you are his air.” Hagar soothed, “Now when I say so, Mistress, you gotta push with all you have. Your boy needs you.”
“Boy?” Lily gasped, racked with pain as a thread of her mind wondered how this slave knew she would have a son. Hagar’s rough, callused palm rested like a cool weight on the feverish skin above Lily’s womb. Lily watched as the slave woman closed her dark eyes and concentrated as her lips formed foreign words, whispering strange things under her breath. Lily was about to ask what she was doing before a contraction gripped her insides like an iron vice— stealing all breath from her lungs.
“Push now, Mistress!” Hagar demanded, her brown eyes alight.
And push Lily did, screaming with such primal force, the nurses at her side jumped. Sweat slid from her forehead into her eyes, stinging them as tears escaped the corners and fell down her face. She was splitting in two, she was sure of it. Her husband would have to bury her in halves.
But suddenly, she felt her child shift forward, the large head slip out of her as the rest of the small body followed. Lilly ignored the collective intake of breath at the foot of her bed as she closed her eyes, scarcely able to believe her baby had been delivered. Opening her eyes and blinking the tears from them, her blurred vision cleared as she saw Hagar shushing the young nurses and cleaning her baby off. Someone cut the umbilical cord, yet Lily's eyes could only focus on the small babe in the brown hands of Hagar.
“Is—” Lily gasped, smiling weakly, catching her breathe as the slave woman brought her child closer, “Is it—?”
Within moments, the ear-splitting cries of the baby broke forth. Alive. The cries meant her child was alive.
“He is fine, Mistress.” Hagar reassured, her low voice steady as she handed the child to his mother with a smile on her lined face, “He is well formed and a healthy babe, if I ever saw one.”
“A son.” Lily breathed in gentle awe as she cradled the child to her chest, looking into his small, screaming red face for the first time, “I have a son.”
He squirmed in his wrappings, like being held in one place was too much to bear, his wide, impossibly blue eyes flitting from one thing to another ceaselessly. Upon his head laid a mop of wet, thick black hair—like her. The child looked so much like herself that Lily’s chest ached to watch him wriggle.
Her blood still stained parts of him, and Lily smiled as she soothed his cries with a gentle voice, wiping away the blood around his mouth with a fingertip. She would have thought it macabre for her son to be stained with so much of her blood, had she not been so full of joy at the sight of him. After all, the little babe had been feeding from her for nine months now, hadn’t he?
“Thank you.” She breathed, looking up at Hagar, the brightness of her smile undimmed by the weariness around her eyes, “I have a son thanks to you.”
Looking upon the elderly slave woman, her skin wrinkled from the harsh Virginia sun and age, Lily’s pretty features were alive with genuine gratitude
The corner of Hagar’s mouth turned upwards as she went to the window and opened it wide, filling the room with white sunshine and a gentle summer breeze that cleared the stale smell of birthing fluids, sweat and blood from the air.
From the corner of the room, the doctor finally surged forward from his silent observation, voice indignant, “No, no. You cannot open the windows, the outside air and the sunshine will make the babe ill!”
Hagar snorted and leveled the man with a disbelieving stare, “Show me a child that ever got sick from fresh air, and I'll eat my apron.”
Sharp disgust filtered across the man’s harried expression as he looked down at the slave woman, “And what medical school certified you, negress?”
“That is quite enough, doctor.” Lily said quietly, but with undeniable authority, “Surely a little fresh air will not damage my son too severely.”
The loud sound of the man’s voice had upset her new son, sending his cries to new heights as Lily Salvatore raised her legs for the nurses to remove the birthing sheets for cleaning. Sending a sharp look the doctor’s way, Lily’s lips thinned.
The doctor turned to face Lily as he regarded her with poorly veiled disdain. Lily recognized that look in most society men. She saw it every time she opened her mouth to give her opinion on matters they thought above her. But most of all, she saw that look every time she looked into the eyes of her husband.
“Madame, this is highly unorthodox—” he began, his tone irritating as it was patronizing.
“I thank you for your services.” Lily cut him off, arching her dark brow as if daring him to question her, “It has been a long and difficult day for all of us, I think. My husband will ensure you are generously compensated for your time. The nurses will be glad to show you to his office.”
It was an order that brooked no complaint, and Lily watched, quietly satisfied, as the doctor's eyes widened behind his spectacles, his face flushing. Her cool eyes followed him as he marched out of the room with as much dignity as he could, summarily dismissed. The young nurses filed out behind him, taking with them the soiled sheets and various instruments the doctor forgot to collect in his embarrassment. Only Hagar lingered behind, a strange kind of peace settling about the room.
Left to deal with her son’s crying, Lily shushed him gently, rocking him against her as she looked down into his angelic little face, contorted in his weeping. Silently, Lily thanked whatever power had granted her the chance to see her son, alive. It was no secret that even here, in proper civilization, motherhood was the most dangerous threat to a woman’s life. Already, Lily had lost many friends to childbirth. If fortunate, sometimes the child survived, sometimes not. Giving life was a risky affair, and it was no small aid Hagar had given to her.
“Hagar,” Lily said quietly, not taking her eyes from her newborn son, even as she spoke, “What can I do to repay you? Name any boon within my power, and I will grant it.”
Wordlessly, the slave woman came from the window and stood up next to the bed beside Lily, looking into the face of her little son. What Lily imagined the woman saw there, she could not say, for Lily would never know what it would be like to look into the face of a child, with the knowledge that one day he would own her.
“I ask nothing.” Hagar said after minutes of ponderous silence, her voice heavy with consideration. Lily opened her mouth to protest when the slave woman held up her calloused palm to quiet her. Her own mouth snapped shut with sheer surprise at the woman’s boldness, but Lily held her peace, waiting.
“Only,” the slave woman continued, “that you teach him kindness. Compassion.” She said, swallowing as she looked into the paleness of his blue eyes, his irises ringed with darkness.
Lily frowned, looking up into the face of her husband’s kitchen slave.
“Hagar…” She whispered, hoping her voice would not show the pity she was feeling.
“One day your son will be Master to my grandchildren, Mistress.” Hagar nodded her dark head, her hair half grey.
And Lily understood. Cruelty was not one of her husband’s traits, often, but to the slaves of other households, they were mere playthings to the whims of their owners. Those of higher society turned blind eyes to the things that went on behind the doors of the estates, but change was in the air. Lily could feel it. But it would only begin if the children learned of love. Of kindness.
Rocking her son, Lily turned away from Hagar, her smile slightly sad as she nodded, as if promising herself something.
“Yes.” She whispered, her gentle breathe tickling her son’s nose, “Yes, he will know kindness. As long as I live, he will not mistreat your kin or your kind, Hagar. I promise.”
Satisfied, Hagar nodded as she retreated to the door, “I will fetch Master Giuseppe.”
And then with a rustle of skirts, Lily was left alone with her son. Letting her eyes wander about the richly decorated room, most of the furniture had been moved or relocated to make space for the birthing bed and the various people involved in childbirth. But even without such furnishings, the polished wood floors and the high, arching ceiling gave away the grandeur of the Salvatore Estate. Lily was comforted that her son would want for nothing in this place. Nothing would be denied him.
Except perhaps...
Weary, Lily sighed as she blinked slowly. She was rocking her son when a sudden movement caught her eye, in the shadows near the red drapes of the window. Instantly alert, Lily sat straight, clutching her baby tighter to her as she narrowed her eyes, looking into the shadows.
“Who is there?” she demanded, feeling her heart beat just a bit faster.
Moments passed amidst a tense silence, before Lily saw the intruder reveal herself. Stepping out from behind the corner drapes, Lily’s eyes widened of their own accord as she blinked rapidly, unable to tell if what she was seeing was real—or perhaps just a delirium brought on by the overexertion of childbirth.
For there stood a girl of dark skin, of no more than five years of age—completely naked and uncaring of it. Her dark hair was cut short at an odd length , just above her shoulders, and gently curled in a way Lily had never seen in a slave.
They stared at each other, unspeaking, before Lily regained her footing.
“Child, what are you doing here? Did you follow Hagar in here?” She asked, wondering how she could have missed a naked child hiding near the drapes. Then again, she was giving birth, and little details like that were wont to slip past her attention. Perhaps the girl was a child of one of the household slaves, and had wandered in by mistake. Yet Lily remembered seeing no such girl amongst the Salvatore slave children.
The little girl shook her head, her wide eyes jumping from Lily, to the squalling baby, and back up again. The waves of her hair seemed wet, as if she had been bathing recently.
“Come here, child.” Lily called, watching as the girl hesitated for a brief moment, before curiosity got the better of her and she approached on light steps. The little brown girl walked like the floor might crack and fall through if she stepped too hard, until she came up beside Lily, looking up into her eyes without fear.
Lily was taken aback. Slaves rarely made eye contact with the free men of society, least of all their masters. Even when speaking, Lily had seen them avert their eyes to the side—an act of deference. This little girl, it seemed, had never been taught such fear. Closer now, Lily realized the child’s watchful little eyes were a lovely shade of green, almost luminous with something fey. Her dark skin, a shade or two lighter than that of Hagar’s, was yet unblemished—untouched by the drying sun or the scars of harsh discipline. Idly, Lily wondered about the girl’s parentage.
“He looks like a raisin.”
The child’s voice abruptly brought Lily out of her reverie, and she found herself blinking down at the strange little girl.
“I beg your pardon?” Lily asked, confused as to just what a ‘raisin’ was.
“A raisin.” The little girl repeated, as if Lily were the one who were confusing, her voice light and girlish in the way all children’s were at that age, “You know, like a grape if you leave it out in the sun too long.” The girl clarified, shrugging, bobbing up and down on the balls of her bare feet.
Unbidden, Lily laughed at loud. The wholly unexpected comparison brought her a kind of strange delight. All of this was so odd.
“Yes.” Lily agreed, sparing a glance at her child, who had paused in his crying, as if to hear to sound of his mother’s laughter in its purity, “Yes I suppose he does look like a little prune.” She giggled, willing to overlook what could be seen as rudeness.
The little girl continued to stare down at her son, her eyes wide and her small nose wrinkled in childlike disgust. Meanwhile, her son had managed to take his eyes off his mother and turned them to the naked girl by the bed, distracted, when he suddenly sneezed.
The unexpected sound startled a small squeak from the brown girl, which startled Lily’s son into fits of crying once more. As he screamed his displeasure, Lily had to admit that her son had a strong pair of lungs on him. Yet Lily could not find it within herself to mind, just yet. She suspected she would tire of his powerful squalling soon, but that time had not yet come. Now, Lily was still glowing with the joy of new motherhood.
Still smiling, Lily rocked her son and looked down at girl, “He is a prune now, but all newborns are like this. One day, he will be a little boy—and then a man.”
The little girl only stared on, dubious at best, as she idly chewed on a finger. It struck Lily then, that she did not know who she was.
“Child, what is your name?”
Instantly, the girl’s expression brightened, as if Lily had finally said something she knew how to answer.
“Bonnie.” She said in a rush, her little heart-shaped face flushing with pride, “Bonnie Bennett.”
Bennett? Lily knew of no Bennetts that resided in Mystic Falls. A furrow formed between Lily’s dark brows as things grew increasingly curious.
“Are you…” Lily paused, lips thinning as she looked over the naked little girl, who looked less and less like an escapee from the Richmond slave market, and more like strange woodland sprite from the stories Lilly had heard as a child.
“Are you a ghost?” Lily asked.
At that, the little girl giggled, the sound like the bubbling of a small brook in the forest, before she raised a small brown hand to cover the charming little gap in her front teeth.
And just as suddenly as she had appeared, the girl vanished, leaving only her laughter behind.
Lily was still staring at the space the girl—Bonnie—had stood, when her husband rushed in through the door, the heels of his boots clicking hurriedly against the wood floor.
“How is he, how is my son?” Giuseppe’s deep voice shot through Lily’s surprised daze, his tone edging on almost nervous, if she had ever heard him. A part of her newly filled heart sank, just a bit, knowing that her husband did not care enough to ask of her own health.
Her husband arrived at her bedside in a flurry of motion, his arms outstretched—wordlessly demanding his son. Lily shook her head to clear away any images of little girls, before she looked up at his imposing figure, her blue eyes taking in his grey, fitted sack coat, not even unfastened in the summer heat. Looking upon his stern but handsome face, Lily searched for a trace of affection in his expression, as she reluctantly parted with her newborn son. She had hoped a child, a son, would help crack Giuseppe’s hard exterior, and melt his unyielding heart.
But as she watched the man hold his newborn son in his large hands, with clinical delicacy, lifting the babe’s wrappings here and there to see with his own eyes the fruits of his investments, Lily knew her hopes had been for naught. Inside, she felt a part of her heart crack, just a little.
If the summer heat could not even get to Giuseppe, what chance did a naked babe have? Gathering her voice, Lily’s matched the stern tone of her husband. And if she blinked rapidly to clear any sign of weakness from her eyes, well…the breeze often brought dirt and dust to the eyes, did it not?
“Damon. Is fine, Giuseppe. Our son is healthy.”
Giuseppe’s green-brown eyes glanced down at his wife, her hair in disarray and sweat still shining upon her forehead. Still, tired as she no doubt was, Lily met his gaze head on.
“You have chosen a name for him? Without consulting me?” He asked, tone level as he handed the babe back to his wife. Bending low, a lock of his brown hair fell loose from his pomade slicked style, hanging in his eyes until he pushed it aside with a swift hand.
Lily did not look at him as she embraced her son once more, his soft gurgling pure music to her ears.
“Damon is a good name.” She asserted gently, “It means tame.” Lily explained as she ran caressed his soft cheek with a fingertip. Damon’s face did strange jumps as his little fists flailed about before, by chance, his little hand caught Lily’s slender finger, gripping it tight in his frail fist. Lily beamed down at him, before she bothered to look back up at Giuseppe, who watched the exchange with a careful eye. Lily’s voice was soft, but laced with steel.
“Your firstborn will be what you teach him to be, Giuseppe, tame and clay at your fingers. Is that not what you have always dreamed of?”
Lily watched as her husband looked down upon her, swallowing his words before they would form. After a moment, Lily watched him nod in silent approval, her victory sealed. Appealing to the Salvatore ideal of a dutiful, responsible, code of conduct never ceased to bear fruit, for Lily. Her husband was far too attached to that dream to ever deny it.
“Then, I will leave you and…Damon to rest.” Giuseppe said, almost haltingly as he tried the name, before he bowed shallowly at the waist, “I will send for the wet nurse.”
And then he was gone, but Lily had already turned all her attention back to her son—her Damon. She rocked him gently, his pale skin showing the healthy flush of his cheeks. Leaning down, she pressed her lips to his forehead in a gentle kiss. When she closed her eyes, her lashes fanning low to tickle his skin, Lily inhaled the scent of her child. It was feather light and barely there, but lingered in her nose nonetheless. Breathing, she let Damon’s newborn scent replace what guilt was left in her lungs, for the small lie she had told her husband.
“You, my son,” Lily whispered lowly, just for his ears, “You will tame the world.” She promised, turning her face to rest her cheek lightly on his dark head of hair.
“No one will tame you, until you wish it, my son. My Damon.”
Briefly, Lily’s mind turned to the strange little creature that had appeared at the hour of her son’s birth and wondered what the strange visit meant.
Bonnie found herself back in the little, blue kiddie pool, sitting atop her pink swimsuit. As a green, rubber alligator floated past her, Bonnie blinked. One moment she had been looking into the water, playing with her toys, and the next she had been standing naked in a big, strange room, where a woman had screamed and screamed until a wrinkly baby had appeared. Now she was back in her pool.
And she was naked again.
Behind her, the sound of the sliding door opening startled Bonnie into turning, her butt squeaking loudly on the wet vinyl of the pool. In the doorway, Bonnie spotted her mother, and her green eyes bugged.
“Bonnie Bennett!” Her mother shouted, exasperated, “What have I told you about taking off your bathing suit and swimming without it?”
In her head, Bonnie swore she would never daydream weird things again.
Lily Salvatore walked up the steps with precise movements, letting her loose grip of her powder blue skirts fall from her hands when she reached the top of the staircase. She had long put the distant memory away of that odd little, fey girl who had visited on the day of her son’s birth. The dark curls of the woman’s hair were piled atop her head in a fashionable bun, secured by a clip Giuseppe had commissioned for her from France. It was a charming little gift that Lily wore when she went to town, and as she made her way to the nursery, the little lacquer roses upon it glinted in the sunlight, streaming in through the large windows of the house. Her steps were almost silent as she walked across the Persian carpet lining the floor, turning the knob to the nursery door.
“Bilhah, darling, is Damon finished?” Lily questioned lightly as she stepped into the room, her skirts rustling softly as she closed the door behind her with a click. At the window stood the slave, Bilhah, Damon’s wet nurse. In her thin, brown arms, she held Damon close to her as the boy, now a toddler, suckled at her teat
The slave girl turned and dropped a small curtsy, a polite smile on her young face as she readjusted Damon’s weight upon her hip, half of her chest uncovered for the young master to drink from.
“Just finishing up, Mistress.” She said, looking down fondly at the round, little boy in her arms. He wore a little green dress that was made for him, amongst others, to be worn until Damon was old enough to be breeched. Until he was toilet-trained, Damon would wear his dresses.
As the dark haired boy spotted his mother, he smiled, his nurse’s breast dropping from his mouth as he laughed.
“Mother!” He squealed, his pale eyes brightening as he held out his arms. Lily swept him from Bilhah’s arms and into her own embrace as she pressed her nose into the crook neck , smiling as she did so.
“Damon, my son, have you been good while I was away?” she asked, pulling back to look at him, her voice warm and full of doting affection.
Damon nodded proudly, his mop of black hair curling at his ear. Lily watched him blink, his thick lashes as long as a cow’s. And that he was—Lily’s little calf.
Bilhah watched mother and son as she always did, quiet like and off to the side. With Bilhah, Mister Damon acted like the world was ending every time his mother left with his father to go into town for business. He would scream and cry, and pound his fists into the wooden floor until they were red. Bilhah would stand and watch him, as she always did, to make sure his tantrums never went too far. And in her pocket, she’d taken to secreting away soft butterscotch squares, to reward him for good behavior—but only if he was very good.
And every time his mother came home, Mister Damon would laugh and smile like he hadn’t seen Mistress Lily in years.
“Mister Damon used the toilet today, Mistress.” Bilhah informed Lily, watching as Mister Damon flung his arms around his mother’s neck and refused to let go as she spun him around.
The smile his beautiful mother turned on Mister Damon was breath-taking, and it was a smile Bilhah knew Mistress Lily seldom took outside this room.
“Really now?” Lily asked her son as he touched her lightly rouged cheeks with his fat fingers, “Your father will be pleased.”
Lily patted Damon’s round bottom and indeed, the cotton diaper was dry.
“Little Mister Damon also—” Bilhah started to say, but stopped, abruptly.
Lily glanced over at the wet nurse, confused as to why she had stopped talking, before she noticed the slave girl’s wide, brown eyes were riveted to the opposite end of the room, her face drained of all color.
“What is it…?” Lily asked, eyes narrowed as she turned to look at what could render the girl speechless.
Near the door, the little brown girl had appeared, naked as she had been before. She sat on the rug, as if she had always been there, her little hands raised above the ground, as if she had been grasping something. Like flowers.
Lily blinked, “Child. Bonnie Bennett.” She breathed quietly as Damon held unnaturally still in her arms, “You are returned.”
Sparing a glance at Bilhah, the poor girl looked like she was about to faint from fear, trembling like a leaf. Lily leaned towards her, pressing a calming hand to the girl’s shoulder.
“Calm now, Bilhah. It is just a child.” She whispered, turning her blue gaze back to the girl—Bonnie.
The little girl was sitting on the rug, looking around her before her green eyes met Lily’s gaze. Bonnie’s brows jerked upwards.
“It’s my daydream, again. From two weeks ago.” She said, musing aloud.
Damon shifted in her arms but Lily paid him no mind.
“It has been nearly three years in Mystic Falls, Bonnie.” Said Lily, so many questions in her eyes. Where was this girl from? Did she come from a place where time did not move? Bonnie still looked as she had when Lily had first laid eyes on her, the glossy waves of her hair still cut at a strange length that was not fashionable amongst free-women or slave women.
Her thin legs unfurling from beneath her, Bonnie knelt and stood, her arms swinging idly at her sides as she looked from Lily to Damon on her hip.
“Is that the raisin?” Bonnie asked, seeming to recognize the little boy—though she seemed to be confused as to why he was wearing a dress.
Despite herself, Lily smiled as she stepped nearer to Bonnie, “Yes, this is him. His name is Damon.”
“Damon.” Bonnie said, her little mouth forming the words like it was a strange, new sweet to try, “He’s a lot bigger.”
Lily nodded, “As I once said, babes grow to be little boys. Much time has passed since you were last here, child.”
Bonnie seemed to think that over as she wandered closer, her gaze still wary of the other girl in the room, Bilhah. Yet she did not let it bother her too much, Bonnie's gaze positively aglow in it's open curiosity. More than anything, she seemed to be quite taken with the blue lace gown Lily wore, that flared dramatically at her hips.
“Are you a princess?” the girl asked, a dark finger playing with the little point of her chin. Whatever was running through her bright little mind, the girl seemed to think that dresses made royalty.
Lily laughed, “Not quite.” She replied warmly, stepping closer to the little girl, “My name is Lily Salvatore.”
“Like the flower.” The girl responded, her words phrased almost like a question.
“Like the flower.” Lily confirmed, finally close enough to Bonnie that the girl stood at her skirts, her dark head only coming up to Lily’s thigh, “Would you like to see Damon, now?”
Bonnie nodded, her wavy locks bouncing.
Kneeling, Lily gently placed her son onto the floor, before the little girl. He was utterly unwilling to let go of his mother, so Lily allowed him to cling to her dress with one fist as he wobbled on his feet—clearly uncomfortable with the strange girl that had just popped into his nursery. His face scrunched up like he didn't know whether to cry or to shout.
“Hello, Damon.” Bonnie greeted, polite.
“I am…” Damon muttered, his blue eyes confused as he fixated on what he had first heard the girl say, “I am not raisin.” He protested weakly, unable to care that the girl had no clothes.
Bonnie tilted her head down, to look eye-level with the toddler. He wasn’t wrinkly anymore like she remembered.
“No. You’re just fat, now.” She said, honestly.
“I am not fat!” Damon shouted as he pushed off his mother and lost balance, toppling into the girl. She fell back with a squawk as Lily rushed forward to pull her son off her, frowning at her son's unusual behavior.
What had gotten into him? He was normally such a gentle-mannered, little boy. As she straightened her son’s dress, Lily heard his breaths come quickly, his blue eyes bright with childish anger. It was likely Damon not even know what ‘fat’ meant, but in the way that all children were, any word he had not accepted for himself simply did not exist.
Bonnie crouched onto her feet, her bruised elbows throbbing. She drew her tiny brows together and frowned at his clumsy assault.
“You’re fat and mean.” She hissed at him, her green eyes brimming with unshed tears.
Staring, Damon seemed to notice the wetness in her eyes, but before he could do anything more than blink, the girl was gone.
Lily watched as her son whipped his head back and forth, trying to find where Bonnie had disappeared to, unable to yet understand that she was not hiding from him. She was simply gone. It was so strange, her appearances and disappearances. Like magic…
As her son started to cry at her knees, Lily turned to look at Bilhah from over her shoulder. The slave nurse looked even more confused than her little son, and a great deal more terrified. Slumping to sit upon the ground, Bilhah’s muslin skirts crumpled in a disorderly fashion, but she looked like she hardly cared.
“Bilhah.” Lily said, her tone of voice gentle but determined, watching as the girl’s attention shifted back to her Mistress, “My husband will not hear of this, understood?”
There was no need to bother her husband with the supernatural visits she'd had, thus far, with the girl called "Bonnie Bennett".Giuseppe would only meddle needlessly, or worse yet, call in a fleet of priests to exorcise the house of demonic possession.
The girl nodded mutely, the wrap around her head slightly damp with nervous sweat, "Y-yes, Mistress." Bilhah answered in a tremulous voice. Yet, after a beat of silence, the wet-nurse braved a hesitant question.
"Is it..is it a spirit?" She whispered, voice cracking.
Lily gave her a small smile that she hoped was comforting.
“Just a girl.” Lily reassured her, “A very odd girl.” She said quietly, almost to herself, before she turned her attention to Damon, who was still crying—for what, she could not imagine.
“Come now, Damon dear.” Lily cooed gently as she lifted him up into her arms, only to notice that his bottom was surprisingly, damp and warm.
Lily sighed.
When Bonnie got back, she was sitting in the field of flowers she had been taken from, atop the crumpled folds of her yellow, polka dot dress. On the ground next to her, laid the half-eaten sandwich she had been holding when she had left.
Across from her, Grams dropped her picnic plate and said a bad word.
Bonnie giggled.