The hallway outside my room was colder than I expected.
Stone floors. Marble walls. Tall windows framed by thick velvet curtains. Every step echoed like I didn't belong.
I kept my head down. I didn't know where to look, or what expression to wear.
The maid hadn't said anything else, just shoved the door open and told me to come to breakfast. No directions. No kindness.
But this place...
It was massive. A mansion? No. A castle pretending to be a home.
Arched ceilings so high they disappeared into shadow. Gold-lined paintings I didn't recognize. Carved pillars. Polished floors. Chandeliers like frozen stars.
It looked like something out of a novel.
And I looked like an outcast dressed for exile.
My reflection in one of the glass panels showed a girl in faded, oversized linen. Wrinkled. Dusty. Completely out of place.
I didn't know who I was supposed to be, but whoever Aurenne was... she wasn't part of this world. Not truly.
I followed the faint clatter of silverware and voices, turning corners with caution until I found the dining hall.
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The room was wide and sunlit. Everything sparkled ,the silverware, the crystal glasses, the polished floor beneath the long mahogany table.
Four people sat there.
No one looked at me.
At the head of the table was a man with sharp eyes and a colder expression. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. The air around him said enough.
Beside him, in rose silk and layered jewelry, sat a woman with lips too quick to smile.
"How late," she said smoothly. "You must not be used to proper hours."
A boy, maybe a year or two older than me, sat to their right. Broad-shouldered, pristine, polished. His gaze brushed past me like I wasn't worth registering.
And then
"Sister!"
A chirping, sweet voice rang out. A girl in blue chiffon, her hair curled into perfect ribbons, rose with theatrical delight.
"Oh, look at you!" she clapped her hands like she meant it.
"Poor thing," she cooed. "Did no one give you something proper to wear?"
Her voice was soft, airy and full of knives.
I didn't respond. I couldn't.
I stood in the doorway like a forgotten servant, though even servants seem to have places here.
"You're dripping dirt on the floor," the woman in rose silk said casually, sipping her tea.
Lady Meriste, my mind whispered.
The name surfaced like a ripple in still water. I didn't remember learning it. I just... knew.
My lips parted slightly, but no one seemed to expect an answer.
"She doesn't speak now?" the boy said without looking up.
His fork clinked against his plate with neat, precise movements.
Calyx.
Arrogance was stitched into the way he held his knife. He cut his eggs like he was dissecting a lesson.
"She's always been odd," Lady Meriste replied, feigning concern. "Perhaps that's to be expected."
"Is she even eating with us?" Calyx asked. "She looks like she'd stain the chair."
Laughter. Not from everyone. Just Evangeline, a sweet, sugary trill that scraped like glass.
I felt my fists clench around the fabric of my dress.
My stomach was empty. My throat dry.
But I wasn't sure I could sit at that table without shattering.
I stepped into the room, careful not to drag my feet across the polished floor. My bare soles made no sound, but every second felt loud.
I didn't speak. Didn't defend myself.
I watched.
Lady Meriste poured tea like she was born doing it. No tremor in her wrist, no warmth in her eyes. Everything about her was practiced, from her painted smile to the tilt of her head when she looked at me like I was something she stepped over.
Calyx, kept eating. He didn't glance my way again. He didn't need to. He'd already made his judgment.
And Evangeline...
She smiled with her mouth. But her eyes glittered with triumph, like my silence was her reward.
I didn't remember them fully. Not yet. But I could already tell who they were.
Roles were easy to read when you weren't trying to belong.
A maid placed an empty plate in front of the last seat at the table. No utensils. No food. Just the message.
I didn't sit.
"You'll stand now too?" Calyx muttered, not bothering to look up. "How dramatic."
A beat of silence.
I said nothing. Just pulled out the chair, the empty one, the one meant to shame me and lowered myself into it with deliberate care.
The scrape of the chair against the marble rang through the quiet like a crack.
I folded my hands in my lap.
The plate in front of me was bare. The silverware absent.
My stomach ached. A slow, hollow burn twisted beneath my ribs.
The smell of food,roasted meat, warm bread, herbs, it was thick in the air. Enough to make me dizzy.
But I sat straight.
"Where's my food?" I asked, calmly.
The room stilled.
Lady Meriste's smile didn't flicker. "I wasn't aware you'd earned breakfast."
"She can have my scraps," Evangeline said sweetly, slicing her fruit with a silver knife that sparkled in the light. "I hardly touched the toast."
"That won't be necessary," I replied.
My voice was soft, even.
Then I glanced toward the wall, where the maid from earlier lingered, half-hidden behind a marble column, pretending not to listen.
"Bring me something to eat," I said calmly. "I'm hungry."
Her eyes flicked to Lady Meriste, silently asking for permission.
None came.
She hesitated, then crossed the room with tight, deliberate steps. Leaning in close, she muttered under her breath, "You eat what you deserve."
I met her gaze but said nothing, holding the silence until she pulled away.
Lady Meriste sipped her tea, voice light but sharp. "You shouldn't provoke the maid. It's unbecoming."
I stayed silent, feeling the ache in my stomach twist sharper.
Minutes passed, heavy and slow.
Finally, the maid returned, setting a plate down in front of me, not gently, but with a graceless thud, like tossing scraps to a stray.
The bread was stale, the meat dry and overcooked, and a smear of wilted greens lay limp beside it.
Around the table, others ate poached eggs, roasted mushrooms, flaky salmon, and vibrant fruit.
I stared at the meager plate, then picked up the dull fork beside it. Hunger clawed through me stronger than pride.
Slowly, I took a bite of the dry bread. It cracked in my mouth like old paper, but I swallowed anyway.
The overcooked meat was tough, but I chewed it carefully, my eyes never leaving the table.
Around me, they ate with ease, laughter, murmurs and the clink of silverware.
I stayed silent, piecing together the roles laid out so clearly before me.
I finished the dry bread and chewed the last tough bite of meat.
The food barely filled the emptiness twisting in my stomach.
I shifted uncomfortably in the chair, feeling the weight of their gazes, some curious, most dismissive.
Without a word, I stood, the scrape of my chair louder than I expected.
Their eyes followed me, but no one stopped me.
I moved toward the door, footsteps careful on the polished floor.
My mind raced, trying to understand how I'd even come to be here, in this vast, cold castle filled with strangers wearing faces that felt like masks.
I traced the path back, counting steps and turns, memorizing the faded tapestries and towering pillars.
The hallway outside my room greeted me like a cold breath, dark, empty, silent, and strangely comforting.
I slipped inside and closed the heavy wooden door behind me.
Alone.
And for the first time since waking, the weight on my chest lightened, just a little.