"Katrina! Katrina, I love you." The little girl's voice floated through a sunlit meadow, sweet and melodic. I watched as she smiled gently, fingers deftly plucking bits of grass from the side of a winding stone path. Each strand she collected seemed to sparkle in the golden light, as if the world itself was enchanted.
"I made you a bouquet," she said, her arm extending toward me, revealing a delicate collection of green stems and tiny, wild flowers. Her laughter danced on the breeze, a sound that filled me with warmth. But as I reached for her, she began to fade, the colors of the world around us blurring into shadows.
"No, don't go! Just tell me your name. I feel like I know you, but I can't remember! I don't want to wake up!" Panic clawed at my chest, tightening like a vise as the familiar warmth of her presence slipped away, leaving only the cold grasp of emptiness behind.
The meadow faded, dissolving into nothingness, and I gasped, waking with a sharp breath. The air in my tiny room felt heavy and stale, thick with the scent of dust and damp stone. Faint light trickled through the small window, barely reaching the corner where I lay, tangled in a thin, worn blanket. My heart raced, the remnants of the dream still vivid in my mind—her smile, her name... Katrina.
Who was she? Why did that name feel both familiar and distant, like an echo from a forgotten dream?
Sitting up slowly, I felt the chill from the stone floor seep into my bones. This wasn't the first time I had dreamed of her. Fragments of another life haunted my sleep, teasing me with glimpses of a world I couldn't grasp. But like always, the more I clutched at the details, the faster they slipped through my fingers, fading like morning mist.
A loud knock jolted me from my thoughts, the sound reverberating through the walls. "Zephyra!" Mistress Dorelith's voice barked, harsh and impatient. I winced, shaking off the last remnants of the dream. No time to linger on it. No time for anything but what was demanded of me.
I splashed cold water on my face from the small basin in the corner. The chill invigorated me, snapping me into the reality of the day. As I looked into the cracked mirror above it, I barely recognized the girl staring back. My thin, dark hair clung to my forehead, and dark circles under my eyes spoke of too many sleepless nights. I traced shapes in the condensation on the glass—circles and lines, symbols that felt almost instinctual.
Frustration bubbled inside me as I wiped the mirror clean. Useless. Foolish daydreams.
With a swift motion, I grabbed my apron and slipped on my worn shoes, the soles thin and cracked from countless hours of labor. The faint sounds of Faylindra House stirring to life echoed in the hallway outside. I hurried out, my feet moving quickly down the narrow corridor toward the kitchen, where the heart of the household beat with the pulse of daily chores.
The house loomed around me, too grand, too large for someone like me—someone who didn't belong. The Faylindra family occupied a world far above ours, a world that glittered with riches and power. My job was to remain invisible, to keep my head down and obey their commands. Just another servant, nothing more.
The kitchen bustled as I entered, the air thick with the enticing aroma of freshly baked bread and the bubbling of broth simmering on the stove. I grabbed a bundle of firewood near the door, my arms already aching from yesterday's labor. The old iron stove stood in the corner, barely alive, its flames weak and flickering in defiance of the cold morning air.
Kneeling in front of the stove, I could see the bellows, deflated and neglected. No one had bothered to fix them, but I couldn't help it—I knew I had to try. My hands moved instinctively, inspecting the gears and the frayed leather strap.
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This wasn't my job. I wasn't supposed to fix things like this. Yet the familiarity of it all tugged at me, like a whisper from the past. I adjusted the gear and pulled the strap tight, feeling the resistance give way as the bellows groaned back to life. A gust of air rushed into the stove, and the flames leapt higher, warm and steady once again.
A sense of satisfaction filled me, a small victory in a life filled with obedience. I wiped my hands on my apron and stepped back, glancing around to ensure no one had noticed. It was a small thing, but the ease with which I had done it left an unfamiliar sense of pride lingering in my chest.
"Zephyra! Get moving!" Mistress Dorelith's voice cut through the air, sharp and demanding. I jumped at the sound, immediately snapping to attention.
"Yes, Mistress!" I called back, urgency propelling me forward. I returned to my tasks, kneading dough and scrubbing floors, the rhythm of labor filling my mind and drowning out the echoes of my dreams. The work was unending, each task blending into the next, a blur of monotonous movements.
Just as I finished kneading the bread, I heard a commotion outside the kitchen. I peeked through the door to see other servants scurrying about, eyes wide with urgency. A few of the younger ones whispered hurriedly, their expressions tense.
"What's happening?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.
"An event," one of the older servants replied, wiping her hands on her apron. "The Faylindra family is hosting some important guests. We need to be ready."
My stomach twisted at the thougt. Events always meant extra work and heightened scrutiny. I quickly finished my tasks, stacking the bread to rise and sweeping the floor before turning my attention to the dining room.
As I stepped into the grand hall, my breath caught in my throat. The opulence of the space overwhelmed me—the polished wooden tables, the intricate tapestries hanging on the walls, and the glint of silverware laid out like stars in the night sky. I felt out of place, like a ghost drifting through someone else's life.
Mistress Dorelith stood at the front, her sharp eyes scanning the room for any imperfections. She adjusted her elaborate dress, a swirl of rich colors that emphasized her status. I quickly turned my gaze to the floor, keeping my head down as I worked.
The guests began to arrive, laughter and chatter filling the air. I caught snippets of conversations, words about inventions, politics, and power swirling around me like a whirlwind. As the elites mingled, I noticed a few faces, familiar yet distant—Thessara Valendor among them.
She stood tall, her posture exuding confidence and authority. Conversations seemed to gravitate toward her, and I could see the envy in the eyes of others. A knot tightened in my stomach as I listened.
"The new contraption is astounding," a gentleman said, his voice laced with admiration. "It could revolutionize how we manage the harvest."
"Indeed, but only the Valendor family seems to grasp its full potential," another replied, jealousy creeping into their tone.
My heart raced as I absorbed their words. They spoke of ideas, of innovation—things that felt like foreign concepts to me. My fingers itched, longing to sketch the designs that danced in my mind, but I knew better than to indulge in such thoughts. I was a servant, bound by my role.
Just then, an argument broke out among a group of servants nearby. Tension crackled in the air as overseers barked orders, their voices rising above the din of the party. I held my breath, watching the chaos unfold.
"Get back to work! Do you think you're above your station?" one overseer yelled, shoving a young girl aside. I felt a surge of anger but quickly stifled it. I had no power here, no voice.
The confrontation escalated, and I could see the fear in the eyes of my fellow servants. I wanted to intervene, to say something—anything—but my feet remained rooted to the ground. It was easier to blend into the shadows, to become invisible.
Eventually, the overseers regained control, barking orders until the servants dispersed. I exhaled slowly, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. It struck me again how much our fates were controlled by those in power. I was just a cog in a machine, and there was little I could do to change that.
As the festivities continued, a wave of sadness washed over me, a dull ache settling in my chest. I was aware of my limitations and the world around me, feeling trapped in a life that often felt like it was moving too fast for me to catch up. Each task reminded me of my place and how far I was from the dreams I dared to entertain.
Returning to my work, I focused on the rhythm of my hands, letting the familiar motions distract me from the thoughts swirling in my mind. The day stretched out ahead of me, long and endless, and I continued with my tasks, aware of the emotions that simmered beneath the surface but unable to express them in a world that demanded silence.