A Wound, A Reminder

Althea made it back to the estate safely, sneaking in through the back door like she'd done a hundred times before. She exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The tension from the market, from the encounter with the hooded man, had lingered in her bones the entire way back. But now, she was here. Safe.

She hurried up the narrow servant stairs, moving fasther skirt barely making a sound against the wooden steps. The house was silent apart from the occasional creak of the floorboards, and by the time she reached her small, cramped room, the sky outside had turned a deep shade of blue. She closed the door behind her and locked it with a soft click.

Althea placed the basket of fruit carefully on the wooden table beside her bed, then slipped her hand into her pocket to retrieve the remaining coins she had left. Walking to her bed, she knelt beside it and reached toward the edge of her pillow.

There was already a tiny cut, so precise that most people wouldn't even notice it. With delicate fingers, she pulled out a small pouch and opened it, her gaze softening as she counted the small fortune she had saved over time.

After placing the new coins inside, she carefully tucked the pouch back into its hiding spot and smoothed the bedsheet over it. No one would suspect a thing. It was a necessary precaution—here, in this house, even the walls had eyes.

Her gaze drifted to the fruit basket sitting on the table. The sight of it made her lips twitch upward, just a little. She reached out, brushing her fingers lightly over the apples and oranges, the scent of fresh fruit filling the air. The memory of the hooded man surfaced in her mind.

He was kind. Strange, but kind.

With a quiet sigh, she straightened and moved toward the small wooden dresser, pulling out her maid uniform. She needed to change—there was still work to be done. Quickly, she slipped out of her worn dress and into the familiar uniform, tying the apron securely around her waist before smoothing out the fabric. There was no time to dwell on kindness or strangers.

She left her room and headed straight for the kitchen, only to be met with a sharp voice as soon as she stepped inside.

"Where have you been?!" Elda turned on her heel, her wrinkled face twisted in irritation. "You dare slack off while everyone else is working?"

Althea didn't bother replying. There was no point. Instead, she walked to the trays filled with steaming dishes and began arranging them, carefully balancing everything before rolling the serving cart towards the dining hall.

The chandeliers cast a warm glow over the dining room, making the polished silverware and fancy china gleam. The long table was adorned with an extravagant feast—roasted meats, fresh bread, spiced vegetables, and rich sauces, all arranged to perfection. The scents were intoxicating, a stark contrast to the meager meals served to the servants.

As the doors opened, Count Damien, Countess Vivianne, and Evelyne entered the room, their presence commanding. The other maids, including Althea, bowed slightly before moving to leave, but Evelyne's voice halted her in her tracks.

"Althea, stay."

A chill ran down her spine, but she masked it well. With a silent nod, she took her position at the side of the room, hands clasped in front of her, eyes straight ahead.

Dinner commenced, the quiet clinking of utensils and hushed conversation filling the space. Evelyne, dressed in an elegant silk gown, delicately sliced her meal before sighing dramatically.

"The food is wonderful," she mused, her eyes flicking to Althea with a calculated smile. "Too bad not everyone can enjoy such fine meals."

Althea didn't react. She had long grown used to Evelyne's little games, her constant need to belittle her at every opportunity. If Evelyne was waiting for a reaction, she would be waiting forever.

Evelyne's smile wavered at the lack of response. Her grip tightened on her fork as she thought of another way to provoke her. With a quiet clink, she let her spoon fall to the floor.

"Oh dear," she sighed dramatically. "Althea, fetch me another."

Althea nodded and moved forward, kneeling to pick up the fallen spoon. Just as her fingers curled around the utensil, something hot splashed onto her hand.

A sharp, searing pain shot up her arm, and she barely suppressed a yelp. The scalding heat made her skin throb instantly, and she jerked her hand back instinctively.

"Oh my," Evelyne feigned innocence. "How clumsy of me."

Althea swallowed the pain, biting the inside of her cheek as she forced herself to remain composed. The Count's cold voice cut through the air.

"Clean the mess and leave."

No concern. No acknowledgment of what had just happened.

Althea clenched her jaw but obeyed. She picked up the broken pieces of the bowl, ignoring the burning sensation on her skin. Without thinking, she pulled out her usual napkin, quickly wiping the floor before getting up. She walked out of the dining room without a word, keeping her face blank even though her hand still throbbed

Back in the kitchen, she discarded the broken porcelain and turned towards the basin. She ran her hand under the cool stream of water, watching as the redness became more prominent against her pale skin. The pain was sharp, but she welcomed it. It reminded her that she was still standing. Still enduring.

She heard whispers from the other maids behind her.

"She got bullied again."

"Well, what do you expect? She's an illegitimate child."

"She should just accept her fate."

Althea ignored them. She had learned long ago that their words held no power unless she let them.

With her injured hand cradled against her chest, she returned to her room, shutting the door behind her. The solitude was a small comfort.

From beneath her small dresser, she pulled out a small wooden box—the emergency kit she had kept for times like these. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she carefully cleaned the wound, her hands steady despite the pain. She wrapped the bandage snugly around her palm, ensuring it was secure before flexing her fingers slightly. The sting was still there, but it was manageable.

As she stared at her bandaged hand, she exhaled softly.

It will heal.

She had endured worse. This was just another scar to add to the rest. And like always, she would heal. One way or another.