(( Apologies all! I was without internet service until now and unable to update. Here it is now. Monday will resume normal updates. Enjoy! ))

Between gardening, cooking, sitting for measurements, and trying prototypes for Donna, time flies.

It still kills Natalya inside that she can't lift or run anymore but given the events of the last couple of months she's glad every morning to wake up and get up on her feet. She's still building up scar tissue and stamina.

Winter is fading into spring and the cold is starting to ebb a little. Natalya tries not to let Donna see how she stares longingly out the window. She sees how Donna's shoulders draw up worriedly and how she makes it harder and harder to reach the windows and barricades all but the front door.

There are so many books sitting around the house Natalya wishes she could find a cookbook. Her food preparation skills are limited to making it palatable with salt and butter and preventing food poisoning. Military survival training at its most basic.

"Donna," Natalya asks as the Beneviento woman uses a pen and ink to draw on the stump of her arm. Donna's head shifts slightly, "What?"

"Do you have any cookbooks?"

This strikes the woman as odd. Donna pauses in her musing about Natalya's arm and sits up. She sets her quill aside and stretches.

Natalya moves slowly. Reaching over she takes Donna's hand and begins massaging her fingers into specific points. At first Donna stiffens uncomfortably but given just a few moments she sags with relief.

"Thank you."

"Of course," Natalya sits with Donna's hand held in hers like a delicate flower, "Cookbooks?"

"Why do you want, that?"

Donna's voice has gotten stronger and her strange speech pattern seems to be ironing itself out. Sometimes Natalya will hear her whimpering in pain, hands clutching at her veil. She wishes she knew how to help. More than anything she wishes she could see Donna's whole face.

"Because the food I make is always salty. If I had a recipe book and just a few spices I could make something much better-"

"No," Donna shakes her head, "Your food, is good."

Biting her lip beneath the veil Donna gently takes Natalya's hand in hers. Natalya's hand is bigger and calloused and brutish beside Donna's. She likes the contrat as she traces her delicate nails across the lines in Natalya's palm.

Usually Natalya would argue, but they've been in a good place recently. And she has a more dangerous request in mind that will use up all of Donna's good grace either way.

Natalya decides she'll keep searching the mansion for a stray cookbook. She just hoped for something from the Beneviento family might be a warm touch for her new mistress. She's still adjusting to the very real fact that she is a servant to Donna at best. She doesn't like to think what she is at worst.

Digging deep Natalya ventures. When the Dimitrescu maid arrives with food Natalya greets her. The woman is terrified at the sight of her. Admittedly she is a fright with her gnarled arm still exposed by the short sleeves of her old shirt, her only shirt, and she walks with a hunch to balance on her legs. Not to mention her towering height which is now only exacerbated by her new legs.

"Hi," Natalya whispers, "Hi. Do-Do you speak English?"

The young woman nods nervously.

"It's okay, I'm fine. I need your help. Can you get me these things? I don't know who gives you the money or how-" Natalya hands the young woman a scrawled list. After glancing at it she nods, "I-I can try."

"Thank you."

With her dolls everywhere Donna watches from deep within the house, frozen in horror until the maid is gone. Something hot and aggravating is raging in her chest.

Jealousy.

Jealousy like Donna had never experienced before. She's never been jealous like this before. She's been jealous of Karl for his mind and his power. Jealous of Alcina for her beauty. Donna even envies Moreau for his love of Miranda. If she loved Miranda she wouldn't live in constant fear.

Natalya.

Natalya is the one thing that she has complete control over. She isn't afraid of Donna and she almost seems to like her. She will not lose her. But what is she doing?

With anger driving her quick pace Donna hurries down with Angie in tow to confront Natalya. Her sudden appearance startles the woman, momentarily. Then Natalya is as calm as ever. Like all liars.

"Why were you talking to the maid?"

The only time Donna's voice is normal is when she's angry. Natalya knows that from the few times she's made mistakes.

"I was going to surprise you with something nice, a fancy dinner. At least as fancy as I can make but-"

"Never talk to the maids," Donna rages, daring to take another half step toward Natalya.

"I won't. I'm sorry I upset you," Natalya speaks as softly as she can, "The maid might come back with some food. She may not."

In her mind Donna will make sure she doesn't.

There is no dinner. Donna doesn't appear and Natalya can't find any food. She gets the sinking feeling she's made a much bigger error than anticipated. However it makes her thankful she learned on this mistake rather than asking to see Donna's face.

Come morning Natalya wakes hungry and sore. When she reaches for her legs, they're gone. Where she leans them against the side of the headboard is empty.

"Shit-!"

Cackling laughter fills the room as Natalya whips her head looking around. Angie floats above the dresser grinning. Anger boils up in her blood. Natalya glares, "What's so funny?"

"You should have listened to Donna."

"I do listen to Donna!" Natalya shouts. She struggles and growls and sighs. The next time she speaks it is much quieter. "Where are my legs?"

Instead of answering Angie flies out laughing. Her usual voice is fine. But her laughter. Her laughter sets Natalya's blood to boiling.

Several hours later Donna appears. Before Natalya can say a word, mother Miranda appears in the doorway.

"Good morning," Natalya manages through clenched teeth.

"Don't waste breath on niceties, especially if you don't mean them," Miranda says, "Take off your shirt."