*This scene contains some violence that could view harmful to the reader*
"Marie! What are you doing just sitting there? I told you to wash the dishes!" Silsila's voice, sharp enough to cleave stone, echoed through the vast, hollow halls of my neglected "home."
Here, in the Marquess's sprawling estate, luxury was lavished upon his favored children—grand homes, a retinue of maids, tutors, and endless funds.
Yet, I, the forgotten child, was granted only two maids, Silsila among them, and a pittance of funding that I never saw, funds that, I suspected, disappeared straight into Silsila's grasping hands.
"Hey, don't you hear me, or are you deaf now?" she sneered, her voice dripping with contempt.
My back was still turned, my hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. A tremor ran through me, a silent roar building in my chest. I was done. Done with the endless mistreatment, done with being their convenient punching bag.
Slowly, I turned, my eyes, usually downcast, now blazing with a raw, undiluted hatred. "Why should I wash the dishes?" I challenged, my voice, though soft, held an unyielding steel. "Isn't that your job?"
Her face contorted in a mask of astonishment, then a cruel smile spread across her lips as she produced a whip from behind her back. The leather snaked through the air with a chilling hiss. "Who do you think you are? Did you forget your place?" she cackled, twirling the whip with practiced ease.
"It's you who forgot your place," I retorted, my gaze unwavering. My hand instinctively reached for the nearest object, anything to protect myself. I knew, with a terrifying certainty, that after this defiance, Silsila would show no mercy.
My fingers closed around a heavy, wooden plate from the bedside table, and I hid it behind my back. Silsila crept forward, her grin stretching wide, a predatory gleam in her eyes. "It seems you need to be taught a lesson," she purred, her arm tensing, ready to strike.
In a swift, desperate motion, I drew the plate from behind my back, launching it with all my force directly at her face.
The heavy wood connected with a sickening thud. She staggered back, a choked cry escaping her lips, and then fell, the whip slipping from her grasp. I lunged, snatching it up before she could even register her fall.
"You littl—" Silsila began, her voice choked, but the words died in her throat.
She looked up, her eyes wide with terror, to find my face hovering above hers. There was no remorse, no fear, only the twisted, chilling reflection of a hatred that had brewed for far too long.
"Get up," I commanded, my voice low and dangerous, as I slapped her once, sharply, across her face. Slowly, she scrambled to her feet, her features a canvas of pure terror. "Go get Pera," I ordered, gesturing towards the door leading out of my room. She scuttled away, a pathetic, defeated figure, her usual swagger replaced by a trembling subservience.
This was it. This was what I had planned for far too long, and to think it could end with mere rebellion. But truly, only one emotion can instill fear into anyone, and I had simply found hers a little quicker.
Moments later, Pera, the other maid who had always blindly followed Silsila, entered the room. Her eyes were cast down, avoiding my gaze, a clear sign that Silsila had already informed her of the seismic shift in power.
"Starting today," I announced, my voice stable, clear, and ringing with a newfound authority, "things will be a little different."