Orton's Grand Kitchen
Vanessa stood frozen, still shaking to her core, replaying what had just happened in her mind like a scene stuck on loop. She had watched the dish slip with her own two eyes and still hadn't moved fast enough to catch it. Maybe if she had been a little quicker — a little more present — none of this would have happened.
"Ugh... Vanessa, you're so stupid," she muttered under her breath. "How is it that you can't get anything right? If holding a dish is too much for you, then what exactly can you do?"
Then a quieter voice cut through the self-pity.
This isn't the time. You've got a mess to clean up before someone walks in and sees it.
Right.
Vanessa sobered up fast. "I need to deal with this first," she said to herself, shaking her head. "What was I even thinking?"
She crouched down and began picking up the broken pieces as quickly and carefully as she could — but not carefully enough. A sharp shard sliced clean through her finger.
"Ouch!" The yelp escaped before she could stop it, louder than she intended. She froze, wincing, then shot a nervous glance toward the kitchen entrance to see if anyone had heard.
Nothing yet.
She exhaled slowly, pressed her finger against her apron to slow the bleeding, then grabbed a broom and dustpan to sweep up the rest of the mess. Once the floor was clear, she rummaged through the first aid kit and wrapped a plaster around the cut — small wound, but it stung more than she wanted to admit.
There. Done.
She straightened up and let out a quiet breath of relief.
"You piece of trash." The voice came sharp from the doorway. "What have you broken this time?"
Vanessa rolled her eyes slowly, deliberately — not even bothering to hide it.
It's just a dish, she thought, watching Stella storm in with all the energy of someone who had been personally wronged. One dish. The drama this woman can conjure over nothing.
"I'm talking to you and you're just standing there staring at me like that?" Stella's chest heaved with indignation. "How dare you. I have told you — countless times — stop looking at me with those ugly eyes of yours!"
She raised her hand.
Vanessa caught it.
Mid-air. Clean.
"Ah—! Let go!" Stella shrieked, recoiling from Vanessa's grip.
Vanessa released her slowly, deliberately, and met her eyes without blinking. "That," she said, her voice quiet and even, "is the last time you try something like that."
Stella stared at her.
The room felt smaller somehow.
What happened to the timid little girl I used to know? Stella thought, caught off guard in a way she would never admit out loud.
From behind the corner just inside the kitchen entrance, Vigil pressed herself flat against the wall, barely breathing. She had made it just in time — and from where she was standing, she had a perfect view of everything. Her eyes were wide. Her heart was somewhere near her throat.
The tension between the two women thickened. Words flew back and forth — sharp, pointed, neither one backing down. Stella looked genuinely rattled, though her pride wouldn't let her show it fully. Her face had gone red from yelling so much, her voice climbing higher with every exchange.
Vanessa, on the other hand, barely raised hers.
That was the thing about her. People who didn't know better mistook her stillness for weakness — for that same quiet, mousy girl who used to flinch at raised voices. But Vanessa was more like slow poison. Calm on the surface. Patient. She didn't strike often, but when she did, she had already chosen her moment. A small, almost imperceptible smile played at the corner of her lips as she held Stella's gaze.
Stella, still red-faced and fuming, was only now beginning to realize — this one was going to be a problem.