The cold droplets soaked through my veil as I scrubbed the floors of the service chambers. The sound of my brush scraping against the tiles blended with the low hum of the manor, forming a silent rhythm that felt almost sacred in its cruelty.
Seiva leaned closer, her veil brushing my shoulder. Her voice was soft, yet carried the quiet authority of someone who had mastered the manor's rules
"Amelia," she whispered, "fifth row means our tasks are lighter. We'll have a short break later. Come to the kitchens then—we'll be waiting. There's a snack."
I nodded, grateful for the small reprieve. A snack, something ordinary, mundane but in this place, even that felt like luxury. We exchanged a few words quietly, voices muffled by our veils, sharing the little warmth of camaraderie we could find amid the silence.
Then it happened.
A sharp crash echoed through the courtyard outside. My heart jumped. I froze mid-swipe of the floor, the wet waterline on my cheek forgotten. Another maid's scream followed—a jagged, terrified sound.
Someone had been struck.
I craned my head just enough to glimpse the chaos outside, a delicate vase or maybe a tray of something equally fragile—thrown to the ground. A maid crouched, trembling, begging for forgiveness.
"Please! I didn't mean it! Forgive me, Lady Liora!"
But the girl standing above her showed no mercy. The little heiress—Liora herself, didn't even flinch at the tears, the cries, the terror she invoked. She hit again, her small hand precise, cruel, a master of fear in miniature form.
The rest of the maids nearby flinched, some lowering their heads, their movements stiff and automatic. Even within the safety of my fifth-row position, I felt their fear like a cold wind brushing against me.
I studied them carefully. These were women who had survived this manor, who knew its rules and endured its discipline. Yet even they shrank from the child. That was Liora—fear distilled into a living being.
Before I could linger on the thought, a shadow crossed the doorway. Natalya appeared, her presence commanding. One sharp gesture of her hand—an unspoken order and the frightened maids scurried away. Even I understood the warning - getout!
I moved, slipping quietly along the corridor. My boots pressed softly against the floor, keeping my steps careful and deliberate. My eyes caught the light of the windows, and through the glass, a small shape struggled in the branches of a tree—a bird, caught and flapping helplessly.
Its faint, distressed chirp tugged at something buried inside me. I wanted to rush forward, to help but my hand froze on the latch of the window. One mistake here, one sudden, reckless action, and everything could unravel. My past—my old life in the shadows, where every misstep could mean death—pressed against me like a weight.
I hesitated. My fingers curled tightly on the frame. Then, with a reluctant sigh, I released the window and stepped back. Not yet. Not like this.
A maid passed me, carrying a large basket full of fruits, tumbling precariously over the edge. The weight was too much for her, and her veil drooped with exhaustion.
"I… I can't manage this alone," she whispered, barely audible above the silence of the corridor.
I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "I can help."
Her eyes widened, relief shining through behind her veil. "Thank you," she murmured, her hands trembling as I lifted the heaviest basket.
Immediately, I felt the weight of it, my arms straining under its bulk. "Damn…" I muttered under my breath, adjusting my grip.
I took a side corridor, the one seldom traveled by the other maids, keeping to shadows and corners where prying eyes would not see me. Every step down the stairwell was careful, calculated—my instincts from another life kicking in.
Finally, I reached the courtyard. I set the heavy load aside, letting my body relax for a moment before sprinting toward the tree where the bird flapped desperately.
I climbed with practiced ease, deliberately casual, as if I were just another maid on routine duty. When I reached the branches, the bird hopped into my hand, its tiny body trembling. Relief washed over me briefly.
A voice, soft and measured, spoke from behind.
"Not many would risk themselves for something so small."
I froze, tilting my head slowly. There, leaning against the trunk of the tree, was a man. He smiled, hands resting casually on his waist, eyes calm but assessing. There was something disarming about the ease of his stance, the subtle strength in his posture.
I held the bird closer to my chest, mask firmly in place, veil covering my features. My pulse quickened—not just from the climb, but from the unexpected encounter.
Carefully, I climbed down, hand over hand, until my boots touched the ground. The bird chirped softly against my chest, safe at last
"Who… are you?" I asked, voice steady despite the flutter of adrenaline.
"Just a passerby," he said, his smile widening slightly. "Though I do wonder about the maid willing to climb trees in the morning for a trapped bird. Quite bold, don't you think?"
I felt a faint, ironic amusement tug at the corner of my lips beneath the veil. Bold… maybe reckless. Perhaps a little bit of both. But I had learned long ago that courage was often a matter of survival and sometimes, curiosity.
I tightened my hold on the bird, keeping my posture casual. "It's nothing," I replied. "Just part of the day's work."
He chuckled softly, and for a brief second, the air between us was lighter, almost normal. But I knew better. In the Vorlachev household, nothing was ever truly ordinary.
And I had only just begun to see the storms that lurked behind its walls.
He straightened slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I suppose an introduction is in order. My name… is Mikhail Orlov," he said, deliberate and calm.
"I'm Amelia," I replied, keeping my voice steady behind the veil.
Mikhail - nodded, as if he'd expected that. "Amelia," he repeated, testing the sound of it, then looked at the bird. "And I see you're kind,… even to the smallest of creatures."
I allowed myself a small, wry smile. " I told you, It's… part of the day's work."
He chuckled softly. "Work that involves climbing trees, apparently. Most would hesitate."
"I've learned hesitation can be costly," I replied, my voice low, careful, as if speaking too loudly might summon trouble.
Before we could linger in conversation, a sharp voice cut through the courtyard.
"Amelia!"
Seiva's presence was immediate, like a sudden gust of wind. She strode forward, her veil fluttering, and her eyes locked onto mine.
I looked back at her, hesitating. "I—"
No words escaped me. Seiva's hands grasped mine firmly, and without a second thought, she yanked me away from the tree. My pulse raced as we ran down the corridor, shadowed and swift.
We turned a corner, the kitchen now in sight. Tara, busy with dishes, looked up immediately.
"Amelia!" she called. "You were summoned by Ma'am Natalya."
I instinctively began to step forward, ready to rush, but Tara intercepted me with a quick gesture.
"Wait. You must eat something first," she said, handing me eight of pastries. "Don't let them keep you from your duties - but you can't go running empty-handed."
I felt a flicker of gratitude, but also caution. As Tara's hand passed them to me, I quickly slipped the pastries into my uniform, hiding them against my chest. No one could see they couldn't know
"Thank you," I whispered,
As i moved through the corridors, I spotted ma'am Natalya by a window, her gaze fixed outward. My heart quickened. I approached cautiously.
"Amelia," she said softly, without turning. "Clean the room."
I nodded quickly. "Yes, ma'am. I… I will clean it properly."
"Good," she replied, still gazing out.
She handed me a small, ornate key. I took it with trembling fingers, feeling the weight of responsibility and perhaps danger—in the cool metal.
The door to the room loomed ahead. It was large, imposing, and dark, but not so much that the faint light revealed nothing. I slid the key into the lock, turned it slowly, and pushed the heavy door open.
A quiet draft escaped from the room as it creaked, and the dim light inside revealed shadows dancing along the walls. The air was thick, carrying the scent of something long untouched.
I stepped inside, my heart steadying as I allowed my eyes to adjust. This room… it was more than a challenge—it felt like a secret waiting to be uncovered.
Outside, the faint sound of the manor hummed, reminding me that while I was alone here, the world outside still watched, still waited.
And I knew… whatever lay ahead, I had only
The door to the room loomed ahead. It was large, imposing, and dark, but not so much
A quiet draft escaped from the room as it creaked, and the dim light inside revealed shadows dancing along the walls. The air
I set to work, wiping down the marble surfaces, straightening scattered papers, dusting shelves, and brushing away the fine layer of grime that had settled over time. Each motion was deliberate, almost meditative, a small act of order in a household built on fear and cruelty.
As I cleaned, a melody slipped past my lips, soft and hesitant at first, then growing more confident as I moved
"Lavender's blue, dilly dilly, lavender's green…
When I am king, dilly dilly, you shall be queen…
Call up your men, dilly dilly, set them to work;
Some to the plough, dilly dilly, some to the cart…"
The song sounded strange in this place, sweet and impossibly bright. I let it carry me, my movements growing lighter, freer.
The sunlight drew me toward the window. I opened it slowly, letting the warm air sweep inside. The wind tugged gently at my veil and dress, brushing against my face. I lifted my arms, letting it wash over me, and I began to dance.
I spun in circles, moving as if the room were my private ballroom. My eyes closed, I lost myself in the rhythm of the song and the gentle sway of the curtains, which fluttered like living things in the breeze. I twirled, danced in arcs, and felt the rare exhilaration of freedom, my heart light despite the ever-present shadow of the manor.
The wind lifted the curtains higher, making them swirl around me. I didn't notice. I kept spinning, my toes gliding across the smooth marble, my voice ringing freely.
Then, as I completed a circle, my foot slipped. I stumbled, catching myself barely in time, my toes flipping in a precarious balance. My eyes opened, and I froze.
At the far wall hung a painting, large and imposing in a gilded frame. I blinked, hardly believing it. The woman in the painting… she looked exactly like me. Every curve of her face, the sharpness of her eyes, the tilt of her chin—it was as if I were staring at a reflection, painted in oil centuries before.
My hands trembled slightly. The song faltered on my lips, the wind tugging at my hair, brushing across my face. I stepped closer, each marble step echoing softly, my pulse hammering in my ears.
How could this be?
The room seemed heavier now, charged with an unspoken presence. I could feel it in my chest, in the way the sunlight hit the frame, making her eyes shimmer as if alive. For the first time, the manor felt less like a prison and more like a place of hidden secrets, waiting for someone daring enough to uncover them.
I swallowed hard. A shiver ran down my spine. Who was she? Why did she look like me? And what did it mean that I had danced freely just moments ago, only to find myself caught in the gaze of this mysterious woman?
The curtains settled slowly, the wind quieting. The marble beneath my boots felt colder now, sharper somehow. And yet, despite the shock and the questions racing through my mind, a strange pull anchored me to the painting. It was as if she were waiting—for me, for something I was only beginning to understand.