Chapter 8: Welcome to the Crystal Palace

GOLD CAGE

The sound of her father's footsteps walking away echoed in Anne's mind even as the door closed behind him. Her chest rose and fell with difficulty, as if the air in the mansion was heavier than in the outside world. The maids holding her led her down the grand hall without a word, and she felt as if her legs could barely support her.

The white marble beneath her feet reflected the lights of the huge chandelier, but instead of looking beautiful, everything had an icy, impersonal glow. As if this place was not made for people, but for displaying riches.

-Don't stay behind," one of the women ordered with a tug on her arm.

Anne had no choice but to follow them, as the woman in the black dress - the same one who had greeted her with hurtful disdain - walked steadily through the endless corridors of the mansion.

-You will learn quickly here," said the woman, without turning around, "and you had better, because we do not tolerate mistakes.

Ana did not answer. Her mind was too foggy. Everything had happened too fast: her father selling her as if she were an object, the coldness of those strangers who were now her masters, the weight of loneliness sinking into her chest. She wanted to cry, to scream, but she had no strength. Do not cry. Do not show fear. Be obedient.

They reached a stone staircase that descended to what seemed like another world inside the mansion: the service area. There, the air smelled musty, of cheap soap and food in process. There was a murmur of voices, hurried footsteps, the echo of orders given and carried out without hesitation.

An old woman with a stern face and sharp eyes stopped in front of her.

-So this is the new one," she said, squinting. It doesn't look like much.

-It'll do," the woman in black repeated with the same indifference with which the man in the lobby had spoken of her.

The old woman sighed and held out a shabby apron.

-Put it on and stop wasting time. No one is going to pity you here.

Anne took the apron with trembling hands and put it on over the clothes she was wearing. It was not the first time she had worked. Her childhood had taught her the meaning of effort, of sacrifice. But never like this. Never with the weight of slavery hidden behind the word "servitude".

She was assigned a corner in a small room shared with three other maids. There was no bed of her own, only a pallet on the floor and a tiny space for her meager belongings.

That night, lying in the dark, she heard the echoes of the luxurious life upstairs in the mansion: muffled laughter, soft music, the clinking of crystal glasses. Her world, on the other hand, was silent and cold.

The Crystal Palace was beautiful on the outside, but inside there were only shadows.