Why was I even given the name Melody Fitzwilliams? No one ever calls me that. To everyone in this household, I am bitch, whore, you, girl, slut—and countless other names spat like venom—but never my own. Never Melody.
When I was first born, they called me my name. I remember faint traces of it, like the warmth of sunlight through a cracked window. Back then, when I was still small and fragile, they said it with softness. My mother's voice was sweet, my father's proud. But everything changed as I grew older. Somewhere along the way—maybe around six years old—the warmth froze over, and my name disappeared.
It was the year my sister Jasailee's beauty began to bloom. Blonde hair that gleamed like spun gold, bright brown eyes that sparkled like sunlight over water—she was a treasure, a jewel. Jason, my brother, was not as breathtaking, but even he carried the dark hair and warm brown eyes that reflected our father's strength. My mother's beauty was undeniable too—blonde hair, striking Blue eyes, a charm she never hesitated to flaunt.
And then there was me.
The unwanted one.
Ginger hair that marked me different, Blue eyes like my mother's but dulled by the disdain in her gaze. I resembled her more than Jasailee did, yet somehow, in her eyes, I was nothing but the ugly reflection she despised.
Sometimes I wonder if I am truly my father's child. His eyes hold no recognition when they look at me—only irritation, as though my very existence gnaws at his pride. Perhaps I am not his at all. Perhaps that is why I am treated as a mistake that must be endured rather than a daughter to be cherished.
I pushed those thoughts aside as I rose from the hard wooden floor of my room. A strange thrill sparked in me—because today, my parents and siblings would not be home. They would be at the Changing Festival, a grand celebration the lord of this land held each year. The whole region gathered there, enjoying food, gifts, and laughter. People from distant villages would travel just to be part of it.
And me? I would be left behind.
They wouldn't even bother to make an excuse this year. I simply wasn't invited. But that suited me just fine.
Later on today, I would have the house to myself. I would eat in peace without glares piercing me with every bite. I would lay on Jasailee's bed—the soft, perfumed mattress forbidden to me—and for a few hours, I would pretend I belonged. Before their return, I would slip back into my corner, onto the cold floor of my bare room, and nothing would ever betray my rebellion.
For once, I smiled. Alone, but free.
That fragile peace shattered when I heard my sister's voice cut through the stillness.
"Teresa!" Jasailee called out.
My body stiffened. She dared to call our mother by her name? That was dangerous. Even I wouldn't risk it.
I hurried out of my room, not wanting to be caught hiding while tempers flared. My bare feet whispered against the wooden floor as I crept closer.
The argument struck me before I even rounded the corner.
"Don't you dare call me by my name!" My mother's voice was sharp, seething. "I am your mother. You will address me as such. Do you understand me, you disrespectful child?"
"I was calling you at first," Jasailee defended herself, her voice quivering, though she still tried to sound calm. "But you weren't answering, Momma."
I lingered just out of sight, my chest tightening. I had seen my mother's wrath before. Her punishments came swift and cruel. For once, I wasn't the one standing in its path—but somehow, I knew this would not end well.
I ignored their little spat because I already knew how it would end: somehow, they would eventually turn it back on me. That was the rhythm of this house—arguments passed around like a torch until it finally burned me. So instead of listening, I slipped quietly to the back of the house where the chickens clucked and scratched at the dirt.
The air outside was fresh, far gentler than the suffocating walls inside. The hens fluttered their wings as I scattered feed, their sharp beaks pecking hungrily. I crouched down, collecting the warm eggs from their nests and placing them carefully into my apron.
"Yes… this will be enough. I can make breakfast with this," I whispered to myself, almost smiling.
For a fleeting moment, I could pretend I had some control over this household, at least through food.
I returned inside, deciding to boil the eggs, pair them with slices of bread, and pour hot milk. The kitchen filled with steam as the water bubbled, and I let myself relax for the first time since sunrise. But that peace shattered the moment I heard the creak of the front door and the rush of footsteps.
"Papa!" Jasailee's voice rang like a bell through the house, sweet and adoring. I froze, my stomach twisting.
I peeked out just in time to see her fling herself into his arms. My father laughed, his tired face softening as he hugged her back tightly, planting a kiss on her cheek. An opportunity I would never be given. His arms had never once opened for me.
"I'm exhausted," he sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "I spent the night working with those adventurers, hauling their goods back and forth. But it was worth it—I was compensated generously."
My father, the wandering merchant. His life was more tied to trade routes and caravans than to this family. Often gone for weeks at a time, sometimes months. But even so… whenever he returned, his warmth belonged entirely to my siblings. Never me.
I clenched my apron tighter, snapping myself out of those thoughts. The eggs were finished. I peeled their shells, careful not to crack them too much, and placed them on plates: two for Mother, three for Father, one for each sibling… and finally one for myself. Alongside, I set slices of bread and poured the steaming milk into mugs.
Arranging everything neatly around the round dining table, I straightened my back and smoothed my apron, trying to prepare for the usual dismissive stares.
Walking into the living room, I lowered my head slightly and said softly, "Good morning, Father, Mother, and siblings. Breakfast is ready."
For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then Jason snickered under his breath. My father's gaze flicked toward me, unreadable. Jasailee clung to his sleeve as if to remind him where his attention should be.
My father and siblings stood up from the table and went into the kitchen to eat. As my mother followed behind, she glanced at me, hissed her teeth, and muttered the word "Rubbish" before walking off.
I stayed where I was, refusing to step back into the kitchen. I knew the moment I went in there, they'd find some reason to start an argument with me. It was always like that, so I decided to wait until they were finished.
The hours passed slowly. I counted down every moment, quietly waiting for my parents and siblings to leave for the festival. I didn't want to breathe too loudly in case someone changed their mind and stayed home, but eventually, one by one, they all left.
The festival was an all-day affair, starting early in the morning and lasting until just before midnight. People usually stayed out the entire time, soaking in the food, music, and laughter until the very last spark of celebration faded. Knowing that, I felt my chest loosen. The house was finally mine.
I already knew what I wanted to do. The first thing that came to mind was Jasailee's bed. It was Soft and comfortable and as I've never had a bed this was the perfect opportunity, and not to mention I had always envied her for it. Now that the house was empty, I didn't waste any time.
Pushing open her door, I slipped inside, laid down on her bed, and sank into the sheets as if they were waiting just for me. A sigh of relief escaped my lips as my body relaxed for the first time that day. Maybe tonight, I thought, I'd finally get some proper rest.
It was risky, of course. If they returned early and found me here, there would be no end to their anger. But I knew them well. They wouldn't come back until the festival was over. That gave me plenty of time to do as I pleased.
My eyelids grew heavy, and before I knew it, I was drifting.
---
Within the dream…
I opened my eyes to find myself standing in a place that didn't feel real. Everything around me was dark—so dark that it felt like the world itself had been swallowed whole. There was no ground, no sky, nothing in front of me. Just an endless Place filled with darkness.