In wake of the ball Donna doesn't want to see anyone. She doesn't want to work on anything.

Everything is too loud. The world is too crowded and full of people. People wouldn't be a problem except for the fact that they're all so cruel. Cruel, and loud, and greedy.

Donna had danced. No one knew she could. Of course her parents had taught her, and of course she was a little rusty, but in Natalya's arms the two glided across the floor like swans on a still lake. Light on her feet Natalya had simply followed Donna's lead, as was the normal between the two. It would have been beautiful.

But the people. The envious, jealous people.

All eyes were on them which was enough to make Donna nervous. But what made it unbearable was that everyone was in awe of Natalya. Everyone wanted her, man or woman, for one reason or another. The only one arrogant enough to ask for a dance was Karl. Natalya had promptly spit in his face and nearly started a fight that Miranda had to break up.

Back at home Donna can't stop thinking about it. The lights, the fabric, and the sound all echoes in her head. Like the dance it spins faster and faster and faster until it's a roaring blur of hateful color.

"-onna."

Donna's eyes snap open and she gasps for breath like she's been under water. Sitting bolt upright her hands shake violently and she grabs at her face looking for her veil. Her trembling hands suffice and she turns her face away behind them.

"Donna, it's me."

Very gently Natalya touches Donna's shoulder. When Donna's hands shake less she scoots closer.

"You were murmuring and thrashing in your sleep."

Cold mountain air whips through the room, howling in the cracks. The house has begun to rearrange as the tree roots and branches have started to creep in. As if aware of their intrusion branches and leaves shift to block the wind until the howl is, once again, contained outside.

All around the room stark white moonlight peaks in. The temperature has plummeted to a nice, uncomfortable cold that would be deadly if not for Natalya and the thick blankets.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. It's okay," Natalya rubs Donna's back, "You got overwhelmed. Lay back down."

Donna stands abruptly. She clutches her arms and shudders.

"Don't stay up all night, okay? I'll make something good for breakfast in the morning."

Morning comes both warm and cold at the same time. Natalya is cold in bed, alone. The house is once again warm. Fractures in the walls are molded with a clay paste smeared artistically, almost perfectly over the cracks. Outside the wind is drowned out by the pounding roar of the waterfall.

In the night the cold crept in. Getting dressed is slow and difficult. When Natalya reaches for her legs her hand is stiff. Both hands are which makes her leery of what is hidden beneath the metal exterior and wooden panels Donna so lovingly crafted.

Rather than look for Donna, Natalya goes straight to the kitchen and begins cooking.

After the ball she herself was exhausted. She hadn't realized how low her tolerance for people had become until she was forced to be around them for several hours. As soon as they came home Natalya had undressed, taken off her very heavy limbs, crawled into bed, and fell asleep as soon as Donna was tucked in her arms.

It bothers her that even being in her arms wasn't enough to ward off Donna's nightmares.

In the wake of everything Natalyd figures if her social battery is exhausted then Donna's must be absolutely spent and then some. She figures that if Donna wants company, then she's here. And if not, then she won't die going without Donna for a few hours or a day.

Sure enough the day passes. Crawling into bed again Natalya fears it will be a long, cold, lonely night with just the dolls to keep her company.

"Scoot over bed hog!" Angie shrieks.

"You're one to speak, when I'm not here you're in the middle of everything."

Donna changes in silence and crawls into bed. In the darkness she maps Natalya's features with her fingertips, moving down to trace her muscles and the lines of her scars. Finally she tucks her head under Natalya's chin and snuggles into Natalya's chest. There she's safe and warm.

Even Natalya finds it hard to sleep. A sixth sense that's kept her alive this long is scratching violently at the back of her conscience. It's a vague but persistent worry she can't shake off. It doesn't let her sleep. And soon, she sees why.

"Donna," Natalya murmurs, "Donna wake up."

Around them the house groans and shifts. Things crash in the other rooms as Donna shifts. She punches into Natalya's chest. Her hands grab at Natalya's shirt and her face is dripping sweat.

Dust falls from the cracking ceiling.

"Donna!"

Again Donna launches up, hands shaking and shielding her face. She hides her face in the blanket, soft sobs shaking her whole body. Then she snaps up again.

"Natalya," Donna breathes. She finds Natalya's shirt and clutches it tightly, as though her life depends on it. Even loosening her grip a little will result in her never seeing Natalya again. She'll be all alone.

"It's okay," Natalya murmurs. As Donna wraps her arms around her body and sobs into her chest she swears she sees something move outside the window, but she figures it's just her imagination or a bird or a branch. Things are always moving around the house now.

Miranda isn't sure how Karl can sleep with the grating din of the machinery in his factor running constantly. Sometimes she wonders if he can hear himself think or if it's the strange cacophony that spawns his nightmarish work.

The priestess finds her oldest son sitting in front of his workbench. She snakes her long eldritch limb around the chair leg without him noticing. Suddenly it is flung into hte far wall and Karl is sent flying.

"You didn't take her."

"Hello to you too," Karl mutters as he gets up off the floor, "You say them. Like hell I'm going to take Nat away from her."

"Nat."

"Natalya is too pretty. She's rough and tumble, army. Nat fits her better-"

"I told you to take her. Donna is getting too attached, too reliant-"

"You're afraid."

"Silence!"

"I talked to Alcina," Karl laughs. It's a low, growling chuckle as he walks over to recover his cigar, "Donna scared the shit out of her. And it's not the bitch that she hates. It's you. You're scared that with Natalya, Donna will finally grow a backbone and she'll overthrow you-"

"Enough!" Miranda snarls, "I gave you your chance, I'll hear no complaints about wasting her body when there is nothing left of her but a meal for the scavengers."

Feathers rain to the floor and dissolve into little black puddles in Miranda's wake. Her refusal to say a word isn't uncommon, but Karl knows he's close to the truth.

Going to the phone he dials the Beneviento household. Nevermind the fact that it's the small hours of the morning. He sees the light of day so infrequently he's rarely aware of the time much less the cycle of day or not.

The line responds with static.

"Probably unplugged it after the ball. Or ripped it out of the wall again," He tosses the receiver back and makes a note to check on Donna soon. Maybe not tomorrow, it would be too soon, but before Miranda kills Natalya.