Part 3: Blissful Decadence

Isolde: ... Ha.
Isolde quietly closes the door and sits on the side of her bed. She falls back and stares at the ceiling.
Her body aches, her hands and feet feel like lead, and her eyes are swollen from fatigue. Her headache worsens at night, so she rarely sleeps well.
Isolde: The cotton pads didn't help. The heels still rubbed my feet ...
Isolde: The vocal lesson's over, and my literature class is canceled because Mr. Karl was invited to a banquet ...
Isolde: ... Looks like I can rest early today. Wonderful.
She turns her head to the side, and her eyes meet another's. A young girl lies beside her, with features that resemble her own.
Their foreheads press against each other. The girl's eyes are hollow, only filled with golden tears. Her lips open and close as she mutters a question—one that has been asked many times before.
???: ——, ——————, ——?
Isolde: No, sister, I won't ...
???: ——? —!
Isolde trembles from the cold, just as she did as a frightened baby in her cradle.
???: ——, —————? ——!!
The girl giggles, curling her arms around Isolde's neck and clutching at her like a vine wrapped around a tree.
Her little body swells, becoming cold and heavy like a piece of iron.
Isolde: Urrh ...
Here she goes again with her usual games. Whenever Isolde is tired and weary, Trista seeks her out to "play" like this.
Isolde: Please, sister, you're hurting me ...
Isolde's breathing becomes short and violent. She can feel her insides being squeezed.
Tears flood her eyes, her face swollen and wet as she silently weeps. Only in moments like this does she let out her true emotions.
Isolde: Urh ... vomits
The pressure makes her nauseous.
Trista giggles, her laughter lingering in the room.
More and more spirits start to gather. They whisper to each other, laughing and teasing Isolde, curiously awaiting her next move.
Isolde manages to grab the back of one of her sister's hands with her trembling fingers.
Isolde: Sis ... Ma ... coughs Mama ...
Isolde: Mama ... asked for me ... I promised her ...
The girl straddling her waist gives a slow blink. She lets go of Isolde's hands and dissipates into thin air.
This always works. They are both, or at least once were, their mother's closest supporters.
Isolde: Um ... Ha ...
Isolde climbs out of bed, wiping the tears and specks of vomit from her cheeks with a corner of her bed sheet. She mumbles.
Isolde: Mama ...
Isolde: Mama.
Her mother looks up from the two rabbits cradled in her arms—one white, the other yellow—and her pale face radiates a smile.
Evangeline: Isolde, my sweet girl, come!
Evangeline: See, I have Apfelstrudel and Blume here. Oh, and the nightingale your father just bought ... I was hoping to take the swan in here too, but it was swimming on the lake, so we couldn't get close to it.
This mother is sometimes more of a child than her own daughter.
She is cheerful and innocent. Simple as a blank canvas. She is always a pleasure to spend time with.
Isolde closes her eyes, erasing her sister's decayed face and the vomit-stained sheet from her mind.
Isolde: We can meet in the garden, Mama. You don't have to bring them all inside ...
Evangeline: Nonsense. I'm happy to do this for you.
Evangeline: You always get dizzy under the sun. How can you attend your lessons if you're unwell?
Evangeline: The lounge is much better. We can enjoy a bit of sunshine through the windows and listen to music.
Her mother pats the cushion next to her. Isolde sits on it, taking Apfelstrudel, the pale yellow rabbit, into her arms.
Isolde: Hello, little Apfelstrudel ... How're you feeling?
Isolde: You're so fluffy and soft! Like the cooked apple in a real strudel ...
She holds the rabbit, stroking its fur and looking into its eyes.
Evangeline: She has the softest fur—and such adorable coloring.
Evangeline: Do you remember when your father first brought them home? You were eleven—a bit shorter than you are now. It wasn't long after you started your vocal lessons.
Isolde: Of course, Mama. Apfelstrudel and Blume are the only rabbits who've joined the family.
Isolde: We've had plenty of birds and ponies before, as well as white rabbits for use in the seances, but none of them ever had a name.
Isolde: It wasn't until the doctor recommended a new method of therapy that Father brought these two home, and we named them.
Evangeline: chuckles Yes. It was fun.
Evangeline: With these adorable little things around, I don't faint as often as I used to. You were so small back then. I can scarcely believe that that little girl is the same person as the fifteen-year-old young lady sitting before me. And for her to be so beautiful a singer, too!
The sun shines through the window, enveloping Evangeline. With a peaceful smile on her face, she continues to stroke the rabbit in her arms.
Isolde: Mama ...
Isolde: Do you not wish to go back on stage? Singing used to be so important to you ...
Evangeline: ... No.
She maintains the smile on her face.
Evangeline: You're mistaken, my child. I never really loved performing. It was just an ordinary part of my life.
Evangeline: Besides, they were making me emotional, which worsened my condition. I shouldn't be performing anymore. It's no good for me.
Isolde: But ...
Evangeline: I'll be fine. As the doctor said, caring for animals brings me peace.
Evangeline: Keeping a calm atmosphere is the foremost goal of this treatment ... Isolde, my child, we must carry on.
Beneath her mother's hopeful gaze, Isolde lowers her head and meekly snuggles up to her.
Isolde: Yes, Mama. We must carry on.
Evangeline: Things will be different for you, Isolde. You're luckier than I. You've received treatment much earlier in life, and times are better now. There's more than one way to improve your situation ...
Evangeline: You'll be cured. And you have the talent to sing.
Her mother's voice seems to come from above her head. For no clear reason, Isolde feels as though she is speaking from somewhere even higher.
Evangeline: You will become the star of Vienna. You must keep on.
Isolde: Yes, Mama. I'll continue with the treatment. I'll keep on singing.
Isolde: I'll—Hm?
Apfelstrudel has started to nibble on her young master's gloves.
Isolde: Apfelstrudel? Are you hungry?
Evangeline: How could she be? The maids have already fed them today.
Isolde: No, you're confused again, Mama. In March, the doctor suggested that you start feeding them.
Isolde: He said it would help you bond with them.
Evangeline: Is that so ...? Oh yes, I remember ...
Isolde puts down the rabbit and cups her mother's face. She gently pushes her hair aside and softly presses her forehead against her mother's.
Isolde: Don't worry, Mama. We all forget things sometimes. Leave it to me.
Isolde: I'll get them something to eat.
She gets to her feet and makes her way to the other room. But before she leaves, she stops by the door and looks back.
Isolde: Mama, have the rabbits recovered? I noticed they were a little out of spirits earlier.
Isolde: If they're still unwell, I'll go get some medicine, too.
Evangeline: Mm? Were they really?
Evangeline raises the rabbits in her hands so that their faces are level with hers. Their noses are wet, and their eyes are clear. They look as healthy as any rabbit she has seen. A few nameless white rabbits are chasing each other around her feet, each looking as energetic as ever.
Evangeline: They seem ... fine to me.
Isolde: Alright Mama. I'll be back shortly.
Out of the lounge and through the hall, past the many doorways, down the stairs, and finally to a small room with two maids working inside. The Dittarsdorf house is well-known for its staggering size.
Maid I: Sheets, sheets, and more sheets—I ain't gone a single day without washing these bloody things!
Maid I: When I worked for the Mayers, we only had one or two washing days a week!
Maid II: But you're paid better here, ain't ya? Quit your complainin' and come help, eh?
Maid II: My God, there's blood on the sheets again. How on Earth is there so much of it? Even for that time of the month, this is a lot ...
Maid I: There's no way this is blood from her time of the month.
The red-haired maid crinkles up her nose in disgust.
Maid I: There's been blood on the sheets once a week for the last three weeks now.
Maid I: I'd say it comes from those dead rabbits and birds.
Maid I: Lucas threw away another load of dead animals yesterday. I saw birds, ponies, but mostly rabbits—the yellow and white ones.
Maid I: I've lost count of the number of Apfelstrudels and Blumes we've had. They got two new ones just today ...
Maid II: Poor things. What happened to 'em? They didn't die nearly so often last year. Is there somethin' wrong with the fodder?
Maid I: No, it weren't because of the bloody fodder! It weren't any natural cause of death!
As the maid soaks the sheet in the water, she lowers her voice.
Maid I: Lucas told me that every one of the animals suffered a miserable death. Some vomited blood; others had their heads cracked open. Most strange of all is that a few of 'em had a hole in their neck with a golden key jammed inside.
Maid I: ... He said Lady Evangeline did it.
Maid II: Oh, come off it! Lady Evangeline loves those animals. She's always carryin' those rabbits around in her arms.
Maid I: Well you didn't see her crush that poor nightingale with her bare hands when she was having an episode!
Maid I: She's ill. So is Lady Isolde. It runs in the family, like a curse.
Maid I: The doctor said it was hysteria. Somethin' to do with their "wanderin' wombs." Drives 'em mad and makes 'em bleed and all.
Maid I: Which explains these blood stains.
Maid II: Do you think Lady Isolde will one day lose her mind like her mother?
Maid I: Why do you care?
Maid II: She's been awfully kind to me. She helped me settle in ...
The maid with short, dark hair looks down at the dirty bed sheet in her hands. It is covered in vomit and sweat.
Maid II: She's still young, but she's already such a perfect little lady. Gentle, polite, beautiful, kind ...
Maid II: She's got so many lessons to attend, bless her. Etiquette, literature, history, paintin', music, dance ... And on top of all that, she has to go to the seances with her mother twice a month ...
Maid II: Poor girl ...
She slowly folds up the bed sheet, as if to save Isolde the embarrassment.
Maid II: She don't faint often, and she ain't havin' any manic episodes like her mother does now. But she does vomit and feel dizzy at times ... Oh I do hope she don't end up like her mother ...
Maid I: Yes, yes, enough of the worryin'. It's none of our concern. You done with the sheets? Come on then.
With the laundry baskets stowed under their arms, the maids walk out into the corridor.
Isolde: ...
Isolde: ... Yes, now I remember. I left it in this drawer. Ah, there it is.
She fumbles in the dark until her fingers come across a familiar shape.
She looks at her palm, then into the dimly lit corridor. The maids are long gone by now, but their conversation still lingers in her ears.
Isolde: Father once told me ...
She shuts her eyes in calm determination.
Isolde: Be graceful, be self-restrained, and be kind to others.
Isolde: Be compassionate, especially towards the less privileged.
Isolde: We ... must be an example for our people, we—
Theophil: We must be virtuous and dignified, as befits our status.
Isolde: ... Theophil! I didn't know you were home today.
She opens her eyes. Her brother, two years her senior, is standing next to her.
Theophil: I won't be staying long. Mother told me you were here, so I came.
Theophil: It's been a while! I brought you this.
He pulls a little velvet box and a pocket watch from his jacket pocket.
Theophil: The box is from Heinrich. There's a brooch inside—for your fifteenth birthday.
Isolde: And this watch?
Theophil: That's from me.
Isolde: But you already gave me a present on my birthday, Theophil.
Theophil: No, it's not for your birthday. I just want you to have it. Look, it's not just a watch. It has a timer, and here ...
He presses the little knob on the pocket watch, and, with a quiet click, it flips open.
Theophil: See? It's white crystal. It works like an amulet to help you stay calm. And here, see the slot? It can hold enough smelling salts for twenty uses.
Theophil: You need a watch to keep track of the time in all those lessons, and the amulet and smelling salts will help you, too. It's perfect.
He presses the watch into his sister's hand. There is a beat of silence. He speaks again.
Theophil: I also have news for you: I'm renting a studio. It's amazing how much it's helped me gain inspiration!
Theophil: It also has space for the young models to stay the night when the weather becomes dreadful. It simply broke my heart to see them walking all the way back home in the rain.
Theophil: So, all is well with me, but I won't be returning home very frequently. I hope you'll continue your treatment along with Mother. Remember, I'm thinking of you all the time. You are my beloved little sister, after all.
Isolde: ... Did Father agree to this?
Theophil: Of course! You can ask him if you like. He even helped pick the studio.
He turns around and waves to their father, a bright, beautiful smile on his face. For a moment, he looks like the herald of spring.
Isolde: I see. Then I'm relieved. I wish only the best for you, Theophil.
The spring's favored son leaves as briskly as the wind. He crosses the lounge, passes through the doors, and goes out into the boundless world.
Dittarsdorf stands next to his daughter, a hand on her shoulder. He shakes his head.
Dittarsdorf: I have a blundering artist for a son. A wild spirit. Look at him. Who would think that he's almost seventeen?
Dittarsdorf: You're nothing like him, for which I'm very grateful. You spend your days perfecting yourself, while he wastes time chasing after those models in his—
Dittarsdorf: sighs What I'm trying to say is that you're a comfort to me, child.
Isolde: Thank you, Father. How generous of you to say such nice things about me.
She smiles with an adorable shyness and looks down at the floor, as most young daughters would after making their father proud.
But her eyes flicker towards the door. With Theophil gone, it is shut again. Only a thin beam of light shines through the gap.
Isolde: Theophil didn't inherit Mother's musical talents. He doesn't even sing.
Isolde: Mother passed that talent down to me instead of her firstborn son. I suppose it's unfair to him.
Under her father's silent gaze, Isolde turns and makes her way to the other end of the house.