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The announcement came during the morning staff assembly, which sounded more formal than it was—really just everyone half-conscious in the servant hall, clutching cups of over-boiled tea and trying not to pass out standing up.
Eva sat on a fractured bench, chewing a piece of bread so dry it could've been a weapon in a past life. Her muscles ached from the previous night's endless running, and her feet, still sore from too many hours in shoes that pinched, were threatening rebellion. The room smelled like sweat, mop water, and shared trauma, the kind that only a ballroom full of arrogant nobles and half-wit servants could foster. She could feel the weight of the silence pressing down—no one was talking, too tired or too defeated to engage in idle chatter. The only sound was the quiet scraping of chairs, the occasional sip of tea, and the distant muttering of the steward's voice as he read from a list of names.
"Berra—kitchen duty. Second shift."
The steward's voice was flat and detached, the words falling into the room like lead, causing no ripples, no reaction.
"Salla—chamber pots. West wing."
The scent of the bread in Eva's mouth grew more unbearable by the second, but she swallowed it anyway, chewing the last of it in an effort to focus on something other than the heaviness in her chest. The fatigue was starting to feel like a weight, a thing that could press her down into the very floorboards if she let it.
"Mira. Laundry rotation. East wing. Report to Mistress Naelle."
Mira, sitting next to Eva, exhaled a deep breath of relief. The girl didn't smile, not exactly, but Eva could see the release in her shoulders. She was probably grateful to not be facing something more unpleasant. After all, Mistress Naelle was a quiet tyrant, but she was predictable.
Mira glanced over at Eva who offered a lopsided smile. "Congratulations. You'll smell like lavender and bad decisions."
Mira smirked back, doing her best to shake off the heaviness pressing in. "You'll smell like singed silk and anxiety," she shot back, only half-joking. "Where are they assigning you?"
Before Eva could answer, the steward's dull voice interrupted, still reading from his list like he was addressing a group of children about their chores.
"Eva. Reassigned to Lady Valeria Blackthorn. Noble quarters. Effective immediately."
The room fell into a stunned silence. Heads swiveled toward Eva like she'd just been sentenced to public execution. Even the steward looked uncomfortable for a brief moment, as if he regretted the announcement as soon as the words left his mouth.
Eva blinked, caught off guard. "Maybe it's a different Eva?" she offered weakly, hoping for some relief. "There are at least—what—two of us? Very common for tragic heroines."
No one laughed. Not even the steward. The air was thick with disbelief, but no one dared to voice it.
Mira's expression turned into something resembling sympathy, her lips twisting slightly in concern. "Oh no." She didn't need to say more—Eva could already feel the weight of her fate settling on her shoulders like a dark cloak.
"I'm going to die," Eva muttered, standing as if she were being led to be beheaded. "Tell the mop I loved him."
"You hated the mop," Mira pointed out, trying to keep the situation light, but even her voice wavered with the tension that had suddenly built up.
Eva sighed. "Tell him anyway."
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Later that morning.
Packing her meager belongings took less than a minute. There wasn't much to pack—just a few spare shifts, a cracked comb, and an old book she'd stolen from the library when she first arrived at Blackthorn Manor. Everything else she'd acquired over the weeks had been borrowed from the manor itself, never truly hers. She shoved the few things she owned into a bag with the quiet resignation of someone who had learned long ago not to get too attached to things.
Her new quarters, as expected, were closer to the noble wing, where the halls reeked of expensive perfume. She made her way through the hall, her steps echoing against the marble floors. Each footfall seemed louder than the last, as though the manor itself was reminding her of her new, unwanted place within it.
She pushed open the door to her assigned quarters with an air of quiet dread. The room was small, though not unpleasant. A narrow cot, a single window overlooking a courtyard, and a small vanity that had probably been antique when it was new—none of it mattered, really. It was the silence of the room that overwhelmed her. It felt…wrong. Like a stage set for something terrible, and she was waiting for the curtains to rise.
Her shift went into the drawer with the faintest of creaks, as if the wood itself was protesting the intrusion. Eva couldn't stop the fleeting image of Lady Valeria's cold, sharp eyes, or the way she carried herself with such disdain that it seemed to settle into the very air around her.
This was fine. This was great.
She'd survived worse. She'd survived the long days of cleaning after balls, the endless gossip of the other servants, the cold, judgmental stares from the nobles. She was a professional, she reminded herself. A ghost, just another invisible part of the machine.
A broom with legs. A bystander in a noblewoman's favorite cautionary tale.
Perfect for a maid.
Especially one who had mastered the art of staying in the wrong place at the most narratively convenient time.
Her reflection in the mirror was soft and blurry. She stood there for a moment, studying it, her face a mix of exhaustion and resignation. She hardly recognized herself sometimes. A maid with no future beyond cleaning the messes of the privileged. She was no different than the dust she wiped away.
"You've survived worse," she told herself, voice barely more than a whisper.
A long pause.
"…Have I?"
The mirror didn't answer.
There was something more to the silence in this room—something that gnawed at the edges of Eva's thoughts. She wasn't just afraid of Lady Valeria. She was afraid of what this meant for her future at Blackthorn Manor.
But more than that, she was afraid of what would happen if she didn't survive this.
And she wasn't sure if she had the strength to survive it all.
ravyne✨✨