The transition from the garden's adrenaline to the stifling heat of the kitchen was jarring. As I stepped over the threshold, I was met by the imposing figure of Sinel, the head cook. She didn't waste time with pleasantries.
"Miera, do the dishes. I'll be cooking the dinner service tonight, and I need the stations cleared," she commanded,
Sinel gestured toward a mountain of porcelain that looked like it had been salvaged from a shipwreck.
I followed her into the heart of the kitchen. I blinked, momentarily disoriented. Despite having lived in the manor for what felt like an eternity as Roxy, I realized I had never actually stepped foot in the kitchen's inner sanctum. It was a labyrinth of copper pans, heavy iron pots, and steam-filled air that felt entirely different from the manicured gardens or the quiet library.
Sinel pointed at the basin, her brow furrowed.
"It's a lot, I know. Take your time."
I didn't say a word. I just rolled up the sleeves of the maid's uniform. With both hands restored and the reflexes honed by years of surviving the wilderness, and, admittedly, the high-speed intensity of the morning's dodgeball… I approached the mountain.
I didn't scrub; I danced. My hands moved in a blurred rhythm, washing, rinsing, and drying with a precision that bordered on the mechanical. I treated the plates like targets and the soap like a tactical weapon. The clatter of ceramic was a rapid-fire symphony. In less than five minutes, the entire stack was gleaming, stacked, and put away.
I turned around, wiping my hands on my apron, only to find Sinel standing there, a ladle frozen in her hand. Her mouth was slightly agape.
"What in the...? Miera? That usually takes you half an hour, and even then, you leave half the grease behind." She stared at the empty basin, then back at me.
I shrugged, affecting a casual, Miera-esque indifference, though I couldn't help the smirk that tugged at my lips.
"I've been training. Dodgeball, you know? It helps with... coordination."
Sinel looked at me as if I had suddenly sprouted a second head, but the shock in her eyes slowly melted into a look of genuine, grudging respect.
"Well, whatever you've been doing, keep doing it. You're a different person today, girl. Sharper."
"I've become stronger," I said simply, leaning into the persona.
Sinel chuckled, her skepticism replaced by a new, opportunistic gleam in her eye.
"Stronger, huh? Then let's see if you can handle the market. I need fresh pork for the stew. Head to the Merchant District. Find the 'Rynd Meat Shop', don't let him overcharge you, and get me the best cuts."
She shoved a small leather pouch into my hand. It was heavy with the weight of ten silver coins.
"Roger that," I said, the phrase sounding foreign in Miera's polite voice, but I gave a sharp, confident nod.
I didn't wait for her to question my choice of words. I took the coin pouch, secured it in my apron pocket, and stepped out of the sweltering heat of the kitchen and into the cool, crisp air of the manor courtyard.
The Rynd Meat Shop was where I, the real me… had worked before. It would be an interesting experience to walk into the shop as Miera, carrying the weight of a secret I was now tasked with playing out on every level of my life.
The trek to the Merchant District felt surreal. Walking through the crowded streets of Town Allure as Miera, feeling the unfamiliar sway of a maid's skirt and the unaccustomed dexterity of two hands, was a bizarre exercise in discipline. I kept my head low, adopting the practiced, unobtrusive gait that Miera used when she was on errands.
When I finally reached the Rynd Meat Shop, the queue was winding halfway down the block. I joined the line, leaning against the cool stone wall and waiting with the patience I'd learned in my former life… and the one I'd perfected as a maid.
After a minute, the line surged forward, and I found myself at the counter. My breath hitched for a second when I looked up.
It was Mya.
My best friend. Mya, the energetic, feline beastkin with ears that twitched with every sale and a tail that gave away her mood faster than any expression.
She was handling the rush with the poise I'd spent months teaching her before I'd moved into the manor. Seeing her there, in the shop I'd basically built my reputation in, felt like looking at a ghost of my old life.
Mya looked up, her golden cat-eyes scanning me with professional efficiency.
"Next! What can I get for you, miss?"
I suppressed the urge to greet her by name. Instead, I channeled Miera's polite, soft-spoken demeanor.
"A kilogram of fresh pork, please ,and could you slice it into pieces for a stew?" I said, keeping my voice melodic.
Mya's tail flicked in recognition of the request.
"Coming right up."
She went to work, her hands moving with the precise, rhythmic efficiency I had personally drilled into her. It was strange, and strangely touching, to see her use the exact butchery techniques I had taught her before I left.
She sliced through the meat like a master, the knife dancing in her hand, cleaning and preparing the cut with the flair of a true artisan.
Within moments, she was back at the counter, a heavy, wrapped kilogram of pork nestled in a wicker basket. She set it down and looked at me, a friendly, professional smile on her face.
"That'll be eight silver coins, please."
I reached into my apron pocket and pulled out the coins Sinel had given me. As I handed them over, our fingers brushed. For a heartbeat, Mya paused, her ears swiveling forward as if she were trying to pick up a scent she couldn't quite place.
The air in the shop suddenly felt like a vice tightening around my throat. I had played the role of Miera perfectly, the posture, the cadence, the humble subservience, but I had forgotten the one thing I couldn't shape-shift: my scent.
Even though the shapeshifting ability covered my body from Miera's scent, parts of my body contained my very own scent, Roxy's scent.
Mya's head snapped up, her ears flattening against her skull as she inhaled deeply, her nose twitching with feline intensity. Her golden eyes widened, dilating until they were almost entirely black.
"Roxy! Is that you? I'd know that scent anywhere, even if you're hiding behind that maid's outfit!"
Mya shouted, the sound echoing against the wooden shelves of the shop.
The customers in the queue behind me went silent, their gazes darting between us.
My heart hammered against my ribs, the Miera-mask was threatening to crack. I didn't let my expression falter, though. I kept my face blank, my eyes wide with the genuine, confused innocence of a stranger.
"Roxy?"
I repeated, tilting my head just enough to convey polite bewilderment. I let a small, tight smile touch my lips, the polite smile of a maid addressing a customer who had clearly lost their marbles.
"I'm afraid I don't know who that is. My name is Miera. Are you quite alright, miss?"
Mya stood frozen, her claws digging slightly into the wooden countertop. She searched my face, her cat-like ears quivering as she tried to reconcile the undeniable scent of her best friend with the visual data of the maid standing before her. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, punctuated only by the distant clatter of meat cleavers and the restless shifting of the crowd behind me.
Slowly, Mya's ears dipped. Her tail gave a tentative, uncertain flick. She let out a long, shuddering breath, her professional mask sliding back into place, though her eyes still held a lingering spark of doubt.
"Oh... sorry. I... I think you're just a friend of mine. You look so much like her, it's uncanny. Please, forgive me. I've been working since dawn."
Mya muttered, her voice dropping, her ears drooping slightly.
"It's quite alright," I replied,
My voice smooth and devoid of any recognition. I gave her a curt, respectful nod, gripped the basket of pork, and stepped away from the counter.
I held my breath, praying my glamour would hold. I smiled a shy, Miera-like smile and tucked the basket under my arm.
"Thank you," I said, offering a small, formal bob of my head.
"You're welcome!" Mya chirped, her tail giving a happy, singular flick.
"Come back soon!"
I turned and walked away, the weight of the pork in the basket feeling oddly heavy. Leaving Mya there, in the shop that used to be my sanctuary, felt like a painful reminder of how far I had come, and how much of my old self I had to hide away in this performance.
I hurried back toward the manor, the mission accomplished, but my heart a little heavier than it had been when I left.
The kitchen air was thick with the scent of simmering stock and the frantic energy of dinner prep, but as I stepped through the swinging doors with the basket of pork, the room seemed to hold its breath. Sinel turned, her eyes widening as she took in the sight of the basket, then shifted to the grandfather clock near the pantry.
"Miera? You're... back already? It's been barely an hour. It normally takes you three, maybe four, to navigate the district and get back." Sinel blinked, her brow furrowed in genuine disbelief.
I set the basket down on the heavy oak workstation with a solid thud. I had navigated the Town Allure shortcuts, vaulting over the low-slung garden walls of the merchant district and darting through the narrowest alleyways I had spent years traversing as an adventurer. I knew every brick that offered a foothold and every path that shaved minutes off the trek.
"Must have been my lucky day, the streets were clearer than usual."
I said, offering a small, modest smile that didn't quite reach my eyes.
Sinel paced around me, her gaze tracing the lines of my uniform, which, despite the rapid travel, was still pristine. She looked at me, not with the casual dismissal she usually reserved for the house staff, but with a sharp, probing intensity. The sluggish, unremarkable maid who had been here yesterday had seemingly vanished, replaced by someone who moved with purpose and lethal efficiency.
"Lucky day huh? You've changed, Miera. There's a... a sharpness to you today. You're not just fast; you're resourceful. It's like watching a different woman entirely."
She repeated, her tone skeptical. She grabbed the basket, inspecting the quality of the meat.
I shrugged, turning my attention to the stack of unpolished cutlery nearby.
"I just wanted to be useful, Sinel."
She paused, seemingly deciding not to press the issue, perhaps because the pork was high-quality and the work was getting done at record speeds. She gestured toward the dining hall with a flick of her head.
"Fine. If you're feeling so energetic, I have more for you. The dining room needs to be set and the final preparations for the table service need to be handled before the evening rush. It's a mountain of work, but I suppose if you can handle that basket, you can handle the silverware."
"I'll get it done," I promised, already moving toward the racks of polished silver.
As I left her standing there, I felt her gaze burning into my back. I was playing a dangerous game, by being too efficient, I was making myself visible in a way Miera never was. But for now, the dinner service was the only horizon that mattered. I set to work, my movements fluid and precise, transforming the dining room into a work of art as the sun began to dip below the manor walls, casting long, golden shadows across the table I was destined to serve.
"Lets get this job done."