The realization that she is, in fact, a small child, hadn't truly hit her until she had begun the process of rehabilitation. The world had always been large to the old Lavinia, so large that it seemed to swallow her up, to take her voice and thoughts away. The adults looking down at her didn't help.
They looked at her, so far down, mocking her silently without saying anything at all. Perhaps she had undiagnosed social anxiety, but people truly did mock her that way. The old Lavinia kept her little mouth shut, her few thoughts to herself, and let those numerous drilling eyes burn away at any chance she had to break out of her shell. A sad and desolate truth. And perhaps she had thought it would be easy, to become the new, better, version of Lavinia. She truly had that naive thought run through her head while sitting comfortably in her bed reading her small picture books and being treated so well, without reminders of what others thought.
While she wobbled on her small legs to get to one of the maids assigned to help, falling when the young woman had moved back, just out of reach. The other two maids in the room made no move to help, merely watching in distaste, as the woman hissed under her breath with venom meant for no child, no person, who had done nothing to insight this ire.
"How can this be a princess?" The question seemed as genuine as it was rhetorical, "Look at her, she causes a fuss because of her fangs coming in and she doesn't even have the decency to move on her own."
From the side, she could hear the faintest mutter of, "The King and Queen must be ashamed." And truly, she was shocked. She had memories, of course, she did, but Lavinia is a child, perhaps in Ms. Taylor's mind that had put the treatment in a separate light. Perhaps she had thought the toddler had simply imagined some things, that they were hauntings inside her mind, illusions caused by negligence.
This was not an illusion. This was not imagined, or false, or even a hopeful ploy that maybe Lavinia had a break in her mind from the fever leading to psychosis in both old and new Lavinia. These people, these maids, these servants who openly and willingly treated their own lives like nothing simply to serve those with eyes the same shade as herself were doing this to a child who had just come out of a coma.
The final maid in the room spoke up, not as quiet as the second, nor as loud as the first, but jittery.
"Her f-fangs have awoken alr-ready, d-don't you think we should be careful?"
Of course, this one didn't care that Lavinia was laid on the floor, arms struggling to push herself up and trembling. This maid didn't care about the small child that's supposed to be a princess struggling, she cared for keeping her head. Lavinia couldn't even find it within herself to pity this one, in fact, she most certainly craved for her demise now. Caring only for your life when it suits you when you no longer think the weak will obey you. If she had the ground and the attitude, she would have spat at all of their legs.
They conversed like she didn't exist like she wasn't a living being on the floor. They chatted and talked while she finally caught her bearings somewhat, sitting straight on her knees and glaring. Her eyes glowing as she looked at them, small hands fisting into the childish light blue of her dress, the white accents smugged slightly by the fall. Her anger reached alarming height as she lost herself, she wasn't able to notice the maids chatter ceasing, as they began to glance wildly at one another.
Fear saturated the atmosphere that surrounded the woman, they quickly realized what was happening, two catching sights of the little girl who seemed almost demonic as she glared, small fangs elongated and bared in the universal sign of aggression. Perhaps they caught on a bit late, but that didn't matter, Lavinia was too lost in hatred now, and no matter how much they may pray for licks of forgiveness or mercy in there immovable bodies, the little one could do nothing for them.
Karma was cold and haunting, always looming in the background, readying its hand, laughing in glee at ones every abhorrent action. Because it knows as well as everyone else should, to fear when it catches up to each move made.
Today was a day that Karma laughed in vile glee.
~~~
Unknown to them, the palace had become heavy, the air thinning by the moment, the King who was sitting in a once peaceful if boring meeting rose from his seat quickly to get to the one causing the issue. He disappeared into shadow, maneuvering swiftly around various entities that had fallen from lack of air, slipping under the door to her room, casting no glances to the suffering maids on the floor having fainted due to lack of air, and swiftly held his small and fragile girl.
Her complete lack of response brought a wave of panic so strong that he trembled. He attempted to think rationally, but it was far too soon after her coma, while being the King must always come first and parenting second he had hidden the panic from then well. He had been concerned, the doctor knew, the nurse knew, his beloved wife was more than aware of his true feelings. To everyone else, he had been the pinnacle of calm, as though he didn't care, as if everything was fine and his three-year-old little one wasn't at high risk of dying. Like he wasn't told to prepare to bury the tiny body that was still so small.
Her whole body still fit in the crook of his one arm! Her entire hand still encased around his pointer finger with room to spare!
But he must keep his head, he told himself that over and over. He is the King, he is the ruler of this land, he was named Keiran Bellemare by his father, who told him to be forever strong, to keep his people and family safe. Yet here he was, clutching his baby, hardly able to notice that the air had calmed, her tiny eyes closing, her features relaxing, going completely limp. But he could feel her life, she was breathing a bit heavy but the doctor would look at it later.
The maids had woken, kneeling with their heads to the ground. Good.
"How did this happen?" His voice was calm and cool, just as he was taught. To those who didn't know him, he sounded careless, as though this had been an errand for him. It made it so easy for them to think they had an upper hand, but they didn't see the way he held Lavinia in his arms, playing with her little hand, bleeding energy into her body.
They explained the little princess's anger at the inability to walk, her tantrum, refusal to receive help and when they went into a quiet discussion of what to do, wanting to get the king, they found themselves unable to move and the air quickly slipping away from them. What they didn't understand was that the King, the only pureblood in the room, knew what it took for that kind of outburst of power. A mere tantrum would have caused broken furniture and windows, perhaps one of the women dying, not the air slipping away and possible death of all weaker staff.
He could sniff out the lies as soon as they were uttered from the treacherous mouths of those he'd stationed to care for his daughter. His heir, his little vampiric princess. His one and the only child, set to perhaps take over his kingdom and maybe more if she was so pleased. If anything were to happen to himself or her mother, the only trace of the eternal love between them was her. The little one whose mind was put under enough stress that she had unconsciously attempted to murder three maids and everyone else in the palace.
He would take care of it, clean house, break as many bridges as necessary if it meant her smooth recovery, and darling smile directed at him forevermore.
He is King Keiran Bellemare, his wife Queen Celosia Bellemare, and he is the pureblood King of the Akrea Kingdom. No one would stop him, and as putrid blood-stained once beautiful marble walls. As screams and pleas welled up from mouths of creatures worth less than a single gold. He chuckled and held his daughter close, preparing himself for a talk with his wife once she was back and his daughter once she woke.
Hopefully, he would be praised a lot.