Once again, I'd been abandoned.
Hana scrubbed the cold floor as if there were no tomorrow. Her small hands were rough and calloused, like a laborer's. Would it ever end?
I hate this, she thought, attacking the next stubborn stain. They keep dumping everything on me everything they don't want to do themselves. And of course, I do it.
She gritted her teeth and pressed the brush harder into the grout. But what choice did she have?
Those stupid maids were just following the orders of their witch of a stepmother. They were probably scared of losing their jobs if they didn't.
I'm so tired, a voice whispered in her head. So broken.
How she wished she could just sit down for a moment, close her eyes, forget she was here. Just a minute just one breath without fear.
But she knew what would happen then: one wrong look, one small moment of weakness, and they'd kick her again. Hit her. Laugh at her. Simply because they could.
I have to stay strong, she told herself. Keep working. Always working. No breaks. No mistakes. No glances. No tears.
Hana wiped the last streak of water from the large bathroom floor. Phew.
Finally done. Only two more bathrooms to go, then at least today would be over.
She longed for her bed hard, narrow, uncomfortable but it was her tiny refuge. Even though she often lay there trembling, unsure what the next day would bring.
She hurried to the next bathroom, near the grand entrance hall. Tiles, grout, sink she scrubbed everything with practiced precision. Every movement automatic.
Don't think. Just do.
Suddenly, the door opened.
Hana froze.
One of the maids stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes full of disdain.
"What? Still not done? You're absolutely useless, you little bitch.
Before Hana could lift her head, the maid advanced. Hana was kneeling over the grout, brush in hand.
A hard kick struck her from behind. A small cry escaped her, more from shock than pain.
For a brief moment, the maid looked at her with what almost seemed like pity. She whispered, barely audible, "I'm sorry, Hana," and then slammed the door shut.
Hana stared at the grout, fingers clutching the brush so tightly her knuckles went white.
I hate my life. Why me? Why always me? I haven't done anything to anyone. I hate them all nobles, mages, these walls… everything. If only
When she finally finished the last bathroom, the door burst open again, abruptly this time. Hana flinched as the brush clattered to the tiles.
Her stepsister stood there.
Hana's heart skipped a beat. Her hands shook as she wiped them quickly on her apron.
"Well, crawling on the floor again, little bug?" Her voice cut through the room like a knife.
Please, no. Just leave me alone. I'm already done. Please.
"Hey! I'm talking to you. Get up. Father wants to see you. He has something important to tell you."
Hana tried to rise. Quickly, Hana, quickly! Don't make a mistake! But her legs felt like lead. She wanted to stand, but she couldn't. Her knees stayed glued to the floor.
Please, move! Stand up!
Her stepsister approached. Each step sounded like a hammer on the tiles. She bent down and roughly grabbed Hana by the hair, yanking her up as if she were nothing but dirt.
Hana screamed a short, sharp sound she could no longer hold back.
"Bitch! I said get up! Are you deaf?!" A slap landed across her cheek. Heat. Pain.
I can't cry. I can't…
Her stepsister shoved her toward the door. Hana stumbled, catching herself on the wall just in time.
"Move. Father's study. Now."
Hana had barely started to breathe when her stepsister turned back, a cruel grin spreading across her face.
"Oh, by the way… I heard you're engaged. To a woman. Congratulations."
Hana froze. Her lips trembled. Her cheek throbbed painfully. Her head was spinning.
Engaged? To a woman? Why? Why me?
Hana followed, trembling like a shadow. Her thoughts were racing.
What will she do to me? Who is this woman? Old? Young? Kind? Brutal? Is she cruel too?
Please, no. I don't want this.
Her stepsister stopped suddenly, eyes cold and sharp.
"Before we go to Father, you're crawling into my room first." Her tone was icy. "Vacuum, mop, dust. My friends are coming soon, so everything has to shine. If not…" She raised her hand threateningly and let it hang in the air.
Hana nodded silently. Her voice was long gone. In her head, she whispered over and over:
Stay strong. No mistakes. Just do it. No mistakes.
She lowered her head and opened her stepsister's door.
The smell of expensive perfume, soft pillows, warm carpet all of it felt like another world. A world that wasn't meant for her.
On the huge, plush box-spring bed lay her stepsister, one leg bent, phone in hand. A show flickered quietly on the screen; someone laughed somewhere. But the laughter felt far away, like any sense of safety.
Don't look. Don't stumble. Don't breathe unless she allows it, Hana thought.
Her hands trembled as she fetched the vacuum. The carpet was spotless, but she went over it carefully, stripe by stripe, as quietly as possible.
I can't make a mistake, pounded through her head. If I miss something if she finds even a speck then…
The vacuum's steady hum filled the room. Hana clung to the sound it was at least familiar.
Her fingers burned. Her knees ached. But she didn't dare slow down.
Engaged, she thought. The word tasted bitter. To a woman. Just like that. Without asking me. Without any choice. Decided for me. Given away like a broken piece of furniture.
She swallowed hard.
Maybe she's old. Ugly. Or worse. Maybe she'll hit me. Maybe she'll throw me out for one mistake.
A shiver ran down her spine. She wiped a secret tear from her cheek.
Her stepsister laughed at the show, at Hana, it didn't matter. Hana put the vacuum away and took the dust cloth instead.
She swept over tables, shelves, picture frames each movement precise.
Every motion rehearsed. Every doubt suppressed.
I don't want this. I don't want to go to her. But what can I do? No mother to protect me. No one. I'm alone. Always alone.
A lump pressed her throat. For a moment, her vision blurred, the dust cloth swirling into a haze.
I wish I could just disappear. Be invisible. Forever.
Suddenly, a sharp, cold, mocking voice cut through her thoughts.
"Stop. You're not done yet."
Hana flinched. The cloth nearly slipped from her hand. She turned around, lowering her gaze, not daring to meet her stepsister's eyes.
"Kneel."
Hana obeyed. Her knees sank into the soft carpet, smelling of perfume and a life that wasn't hers.
"I want to tell you something funny," her stepsister said, grinning down at her. "Your lovely fiancée? She's thrown out every bride she's had within a few days. Five at most. Apparently very impulsive. Violent, I've heard. But you're used to that, aren't you? You like getting hit, don't you?"
A low, ugly laugh. Hana didn't dare breathe.
"Maybe you'll be lucky. You're pretty, little sister. Maybe she'll keep you. You could serve her another way. Be her toy girl. A cute little plaything."
Her stepsister laughed shrill and cruel.
Hana swallowed hard. Her stomach twisted. Toy girl. A plaything. I don't want this. Please no.
Her fingers clawed at the carpet. I want out. I don't want this.
"So," her stepsister said, as if she'd just shared a small anecdote, "that's all I wanted to say. Now go. Father's waiting."
Hana stumbled forward. Her legs felt like lead. Her lungs burned. Tears pressed behind her eyes.
Each step toward the study echoed like a sentence being passed.
Please, if there's a God, someone get me out of here.
But no one answered. Only the creaking floorboards, her muffled steps, and the weight of fear like a stone in her chest.