Oisin settles back onto the bench with a contented grunt, leaning back to gaze at the thatched ceiling with an odd smile playing about his cracked lips. I raise one blonde brow quizzically. What's he so pleased about?

Before I can ponder it further, Aislin announces that the eggs are ready. She scoops the glistening morsels onto a wooden trencher and sets it on the new oak table alongside a few thick slices of fresh-baked bread.

Oisin wastes no time, immediately digging into the simple fare with gusto. He tears off chunks of the salted pork Erik gifted us earlier, shoveling the rich morsels into his mouth between bites of egg and bread.

I watch in bemusement as he devours everything in sight, wondering where this ravenous hunger came from. Is he making up for all those nights he stumbled home blind drunk, with naught but a few dregs of ale sloshing in his belly?

At last, Oisin pushes back from the table with a contented belch, wiping his mouth on the back of one grimy hand. "Well then, that were a right fine supper," he rumbles, fixing Aislin with an appraising look. "Ye did good, woman."

Aislin bobs her head meekly, but I catch the faint flush tingeing her sallow cheeks at the rare praise. "Thank ye kindly, husband."

Oisin grunts and heaves himself to his feet once more. "Well, I'm for the bed now. Best ye join me soon, Aislin - we'll need to get nice and cozy to ward off this chill."

But Aislin doesn't seem fazed in the slightest. "Aye, I'll be along shortly," she replies evenly. "Just need to feed our Lile here and have a bite meself."

Oisin lets out a grunt of acknowledgment before turning and disappearing into the sleeping alcove. A few moments later, I hear the telltale creak and thud of his bulk hitting the fresh straw pallet.

I swivel my head to stare at Aislin in utter bewilderment. What in the actual fuck is happening right now? This bizarre, almost...tender behavior from Oisin is completely unprecedented. It's all wrong, so very wrong.

The man's a drunken, abusive lout who treats us both worse than the lowest animals. So why the sudden change? The gifts, the rare praise, the invitation to share his bed - it's all too bloody suspicious.

I narrow my eyes, studying Aislin intently. Does she know something I don't? Some secret reason behind Oisin's inexplicable shift in demeanor?

Or could it be something more sinister at play? Some twisted new scheme to torment and degrade us further? The thought makes my stomach churn with dread.

Whatever's going on, I don't like it. Not one bit. I'll need to stay alert, keep my wits about me. Because something's rotten in the state of Denmark, and I'll be damned if I let that bastard Oisin drag us any deeper into his sordid machinations.

The grating rumble of Oisin's snores fills the cramped hovel, each wheezing exhalation like the death rattle of a consumptive peasant. I turn to Aislin with a furrowed brow.

"Mama, what if that Maeve girl is really your sister?" I ask, unable to mask the concern tingeing my childish tone.

Aislin shrugs helplessly, a weary look in her pale blue eyes. "I don't know, poppet. We can only pray 'tis naught but an unfortunate coincidence."

I bite my lip, mulling over the disturbing implications as Aislin sets two wooden trenchers on the rough-hewn table. "Come now, let's have a bite to eat before bed."

Obediently, I shuffle over and clamber onto the bench, my small legs dangling. Aislin places a soft hand on my cheek and I can't help smiling warmly at her maternal affection.

"I pray to the Lord that Maeve is simply another poor wretch who happens to share my sister's name and looks," Aislin murmurs. "For if she truly is Bronagh's own blood..." She trails off with a shudder.

I fidget restlessly, my brow furrowing once more. "Well...if Maeve is your sister, then that means I have another mommy now, right?"

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The words are out before I can stop them. Aislin's face falls and she frowns, clearly taken aback by my naive query.

Backpedaling quickly, I lean over and pat her calloused hand. "But I'll always love you best no matter what, mama!"

Aislin's frown deepens and she shakes her head firmly. "That's enough prattle on the subject for one eve, lass. Let's just have our supper, shall we?"

She ladles out a portion of the eggs sizzling in the iron pot, along with a hunk of bread still steaming from the hearth. As I tuck in, I can't help wrinkling my nose at the distinct lack of salted pork - no doubt Oisin devoured the entire bundle in his usual gluttonous fashion.

Once we've both had our fill, Aislin lets out a weary sigh and rises from the bench. "Right then, 'tis off to bed with ye now, lamb."

I blink up at her in surprise. "But why so early, mama? The sun's barely set!"

A faint smile curves Aislin's lips. "Aye, but tomorrow's a special day for my wee birthday girl. We'll be needing our rest to properly celebrate the occasion."

Unable to contain my childish glee, I let out a delighted giggle and hop off the bench, twirling in a little circle with my arms outstretched. Aislin laughs softly, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she pats my shorn curls.

"That's my bonny lass," she murmurs, bending to press her lips to my forehead. "Know that I love ye with all my heart, Lile."

My chest swells with a rush of genuine affection for this long-suffering woman. Impulsively, I throw my arms around her slender waist and hug her tightly.

"I love you too, mama," I whisper fervently.

Aislin hugs me back just as fiercely, her callused hands stroking my hair. At last she pulls away with a sniffle, swiping at her eyes.

"Right then, off to the sleeping nook with ye. We've an early morn ahead."

I nod obediently and trail after her into the cramped alcove, clambering onto the fresh straw pallet. Aislin settles in beside me, her arm curling around my small form as she tucks me against her side.

As her breathing gradually slows and deepens, I find myself wide awake, my mind whirling. Juuuuust another fabulous evening slumming it in my family's luxurious one-room dirt floor shack I see. Why, the amenities here at Chateau de Peasant almost put Versailles Palace to shame! Let me just ring that dingy old rope bell for some service - I'm sure the concierge will be along presently to valet park my bullock cart and have the footmen unload my monogrammed luggage.

Speaking of which, where are those lazy louts with my ermine furs and goose down feather bed? This deluxe straw pallet simply won't do for a lady of my esteemed standing! I demand they bring my bedchamber accoutrements up to the palatial east wing suite at once. The Ritz-Carlton has nothing on these opulent accommodations, I tell you!

And while they're at it, they'd better get cracking on drawing me a piping hot bath as well. Perhaps in one of those luxurious solid gold claw-foot tubs? With rose petals gently floating on the steaming water's surface, of course. It's the little touches that really separate the commoners from the upper echelons of high society, you see.

Oh, but where are my manners? Sorry I can't tip more than a few fleas, kind sir! You know how the economy is for us billionaire peasant heiresses these days. Why, I'm practically destitute after splurging on these priceless Cartier gemstone hair accessories to adorn my luscious blonde locks. A girl has to maintain some semblance of decorum, even in the most dire of circumstances.

But don't be jealous of our glamorous lifestyle, friends! You too can experience the luxuries of the medieval peasant aristocracy. Just sign your life away to the feudal overlords and toil from dawn to dusk in the fields until you inevitably perish from cholera or the plague! Act now and you'll receive a complementary backbreaking labor package, complete with all the blisters, lacerations, and hernias your heart could desire. Oh, and let's not forget the pièce de résistance - your very own free straw bed crawling with lice, fleas, and any number of other delightful parasites!

Such a steal, I know! All it costs is your dignity, autonomy, and any chance at happiness. But who needs trivial things like human rights or personal freedoms when you can live like literal chattel instead? So come join the serf 'n turf lifestyle today, my pleb pals! Just mind the occasional beatings, rapes, and threats of assault from your drunken master. But hey, we can't all be princesses living in gilded castles, can we? C'est la vie and all that rot!

I snicker to myself at the absurdity of my inner monologue. Honestly, it's like some bizarre fever dream crafted by a deranged Hollywood producer trying way too hard to be "edgy" and "provocative." Medieval Peasant Housewives of Baile Rois County, coming this fall to the WB!

Still, a bit of morbid humor is one of the few joys I have left to cling to in this wretched existence. That, and the vague hope that I'll somehow wake up from this endless nightmare and find myself back in the modern world. A girl can dream, can't she? Even if those dreams inevitably devolve into sarcastic diatribes mocking the squalor and oppression that surrounds me.

What? Like I'm just supposed to take this feudal bullshit lying down? Forgive me for indulging in a bit of scathing social commentary via internal monologue - it's one of the few freedoms those pious zealots can't take from me. At least not yet, anyway.

So for now, I'll keep on ranting and raving inside this poor, addled brain of mine. Anything to maintain a shred of sanity in the face of such utter madness.

I wave my hand at the ceiling and murmuring, "See you tomorrow, my sadistic viewership... Hope I... get all those... good ratings..."