Blood. It covered her hands as she hastily scooped up the pieces of glass, her fingers trembling and her eyes wide with shock. The cuts in her hands seethed with pain as pure crimson seeped from her wounds. The glass rattled mercilessly as Freya grabbed the fragments, quickly trying to clear the evidence of her fault.

Dammit, she had only wanted to clean this stupid glass jar but, of course, it had slipped from her hands. Why did she always screw up like this? Freya snatched the pieces furiously, her breathing becoming rapid and uneven. What would happen if she found out? Lilith, the head kitchen maid, had often... misunderstood situations, to say the least. Freya did not want to wait for Lilith to come back to the kitchen to find this crime scene. If she got rid of the pieces, maybe she wouldn't find out...

Rays of the afternoon sun peeked through the window, illuminating the kitchen. The shards of glass glittered like stars in this pool of sunlight, gleaming and twinkling highlights of rainbow. Freya held a piece up, catching the light like a refined gem. Despite the circumstances, the scene was quite beautiful... for some unknown reason and Freya couldn't help but admire it: the way the light caught the fragments, the reflections of the rays shining on the walls. She exhaled deeply, ceasing the tension in her limbs and assuring herself it would be okay. A sense of tranquillity seemed to flow through her. Lilith shouldn't be back for a while, there was still time.

Then the door opened. Crap.

"Miss Hill! What- what the hell did you do...?" Lilith snarled, marching through the doorway and towering over Freya. "I leave you for a moment and this is what happens?"

"It was an accident!" Freya mumbled nervously, "I - I didn't mean to! It just... slipped..." She looked down at her feet, her hands clutching the pieces of blood-stained glass. Her apron was specked with crimson as well - as if that would ever come out, no matter how much she washed it. Freya carefully looked back at Lilith, who looked murderous... Her jaw was clenched with fury and her eyes were ablaze with irritation. Shit.

"Well... just clean it up quickly!" Lilith snapped, giving Freya a sharp smack round the face. Freya wasn't surprised in the very least for this reaction but had expected more... rage.

"We have a lot to do tonight so try not to make us look stupid." Oh so this was why Lilith had not scolded her too harshly. The Lord of the hold was having a feast for himself and the nobles and anyone else rich enough to earn his friendship. It was due to last all night and would be filled with dancing and food, music and fun... for the wealthy. Lilith was going to be a nightmare - she wanted the Lord's feast to be perfect with no embarrassment or failure. It was stressful for all the servants when the Lord had these parties, especially for Freya who had to try not to screw up.

While Lilith left and started screaming for other servants to get to work, Freya made her way outside to the well just outside the castle. She dumped the pieces of glass on the rubbish heap behind the kitchen and went to clean her hands. The courtyard where the well stood was secluded and enclosed in stone walls. Castle Ettwry towered over the courtyard and the surrounding city, as tall as a mountain, casting a shadow over other buildings. The walls were dotted with glistening windows and patterned with carved stone. Despite looking in pristine condition, it was one of the oldest structures in the country of Skarvoness, older than perhaps the nation itself. It was weird to imagine

The scorching summer sun burned the back of Freya's neck as knelt down next to the trickling water. She feebly put her hands under the dribbling string of water. The blood on her hands slipped away as the water splashed onto her finger and palms. The cuts sparked pain but unless they were cleaned, Freya could get an infection, and with the light coin purse she carried, the effects could be so much worse than a few moments of discomfort.

When she was done cleaning her hands, Freya walked back into the kitchen and stepped through the door. Lilith was bellowing commands to other servants and when she saw Freya, she turned on her like a predator spotting its prey.

"Right! Lord Ettwry has requested your berry tarts and almond cakes - he says he is especially fond of them for reasons unknown to me. I know you're a clumsy idiot but please try not to mess this up!"

Freya blinked, unsure whether to take this as a compliment or an insult. But Lord Ettwry requested her cooking! Though the Lord did not know specifically who made them, it was surely an honour that might get Freya higher wages!

"Alright, I'll try my best!" she exclaimed, clenching her fist in determination. Tonight would be the night to prove herself to Lilith.

"You'd better," Lilith said curtly. "We can't afford any mistakes - and that goes for the rest of you!" she growled at the other servants who were waiting silently. Lilith glared at the room before barking orders at everyone. Freya immediately went to the counter to prepare the dough for the tarts. They would be perfect, no mistakes made and nothing would go wrong... she hoped.

The next few hours were pure chaos: Lilith's voice was a constant sound in the background as she commanded the other servants to cook and clean the castle. The kitchen was sweltering and noisy from the bustling servants preparing food. Freya found sweat dripping down her forehead as she worked - smoke and steam hovered above them like angry storm clouds, seeping from the pots over the hearth and the glowing stone ovens.

Despite the mayhem around her, Freya was surprisingly... working well. Everything was going to plan, both the tarts and the almond cakes. It was strange, almost too good to be true but nothing had gone wrong, nothing had burnt.

It was only around three o'clock that anything eventful happened. Freya reached for the sack of flour beside her absent-mindedly, debating whether it would be best to start on the but her hand groped thin air. Startled, she glanced to where the sack had been and to her horror, it was gone. Crap. Someone had swiped it for themselves instead of dragging their arse to the cellar. Frantically, Freya scoured the kitchen and caught sight of a couple of servants using it to make batter for something in the main course. And, by her terrible luck, they had used the rest of the bag. Double crap.

A trip to the cellar was risky while cooking - anything could burn in her absence and it was simply time consuming. Freya could fall behind in her preparation of the desserts and Lilith would probably slit her through for the food not being made properly or coming to the table late.

Stolen novel; please report.

But she really needed that flour for the almond cakes... it was a primary ingredient for them. She would just have to be quick.

Freya dashed out of the kitchen to the courtyard. She was immediately relieved to feel the cool breeze outside. It felt great to be out of that muggy kitchen. Freya jogged to the opposite side to the doors of the cellar and flung the doors open to reveal stone steps leading down into the darkness. Luckily, the summer evening would provide a source of light so she wouldn't have to waste time with a lantern.

Halfway down the steps, Freya stopped in her tracks. Out of nowhere, she felt a... sensation in her chest, almost like drinking a hot beverage on a cold day.

"What..?" she muttered, putting her hand over her heart, where the warmth had appeared. It wasn't painful or unpleasant in any way, but in fact the opposite: comforting and relaxing. With a powerful surge of energy, Freya suddenly her heart thumping a powerful beat, echoing in her ears like a drum. All of a sudden, what felt like a wave of water flowed over her, as though someone had tipped a bucket of ice-cold water over her.

Then, it all stopped. Whatever happened ceased as quickly as it had occurred. Freya gaped around, almost wondering if it had been her imagination. What the hell just happened? Something definitely happened... right? Maybe it was just the freezing temperature from the cellar; after all, she had just left the boiling kitchen. Or maybe it was just one of those things that happened... something random her body had done. But it was weird... really weird.

Coming back to reality after pondering over this, Freya realised she had wasted too much time. She hurtled down the stairs, grabbed a bag of flour and sprinted back to the kitchen.

---

The rest of the afternoon went as Freya expected: busy and loud and full of unbelievable havoc. Nevertheless, Freya managed to work hard and without any more problems. She was just finishing the final touches of her desserts as Lilith strode into the kitchen, announcing the need for the desserts now. She marched over to Freya, ready to complain that she needed to hurry up but looked as though she had been punched in the gut. The kitchen maid gaped at Freya, speechless, perhaps thinking she wasn't such a screw-up.

"Miss Hill! You- you've actually... " she stammered, a hand closing over her mouth. "These look... exceptional," A small smile crept over the maid's face, startling Freya. Was Lilith actually admiring her work?

"Thanks," Freya mumbled shyly, unable to process this sudden change in mood. "I hope they're okay..."

"They had better be," Lilith agreed. "I'll have someone take them to the feast. Go and help anyone else out."

Freya sighed deeply. It was over... the stress from the rush to bake her desserts flowed away as Freya wandered around the kitchen, offering her help to anyone who needed it. She was asked to do random tasks like fetching water and washing dishes, nothing special until late into the evening, a fellow servant, named Adrena, requested that Freya take another jug of wine to the table.

"They'll be needing more!" Adrena insisted, shoving the jug into Freya's arms. "Just take it up to the feast and give it to Harriet or something."

"Okay, no problem," Freya said with confidence though she was internally freaking out. Up to the feast? That was the perfect moment for her to make a fool out of herself. She was certain she'd trip over a chair leg or spill the wine everywhere. Shit. Freya hoped Harriet was close by...

Freya ascended from the kitchen, clutching the jug tightly in both hands. She repeated the same words in her head. Don't spill it. Don't spill it. don't spill it. It was hard not to feel nauseous at the thought of making a mess in front of so many people, most of them being nobles or people of higher status.

As she came to the stop of the stairs, Freya could make out the music and laughter from the main hall of the castle; it sounded merry and jovial, as a party should sound. It was clearly going well.

Breathing deeply, Freya went into the hall. The place was massive, as large as a church, the ceiling tall and grand and decorated with intricate swirls of silver and gold. Torches and hanging chandeliers illuminated the room now that the sun had started to sink behind the horizon. Two long tables ran the length of the room, laiden with all kinds of foods, and were connected by another on the opposite end of the hall. At that table sat Lord Ettwry, who was immersed in conversation with the surrounding guests. He was a large man with a grizzly mane of golden locks and was coated in jewels and fine fabric, almost fit for a king. His constantly-smiling face was lined and wrinkled from age but his hazel eyes still shone with youth and life. The other tables were occupied by nobles and upper-classed people, who were dressed in a similar fashion, though no one looked quite as grand as the Lord. A small group of colourful minstrels played instruments in the corner of the room, taking requests of songs from the nobles.

Servants milled around, offering beverages and food to guests. Amongst them, Freya recognised Harriet, a beautiful serving girl with a long braid as ginger as a pure flame - she couldn't be missed. Harriet was waiting with a platter of food in her hands. She was smiling politely to the guests, presenting the platter to them. But Freya knew that she was secretly dying inside; Harriet despised these nobles with every ounce of hatred in her, finding it unjust that some people lived so care-free. Freya could definitely relate.

Freya sidled over to Harriet, who had spotted her from across the room and was making a gesture to Freya to come over to her.

"Oh Freya, is that wine? Thank the gods, we're nearly out," Harriet sighed, slumping slightly against the stone wall.

"Good thing Adrena knew it would be needed." Freya placed the jug on a small table next to them. "Do you guys need anything else?"

"I can't be sure. More and more guests keep arriving and leaving," Harriet grumbled through her shining smile. "I just hope this whole feast ends soon. See, look! More people are coming in!" Harriet glared at the entrance to the hall as the oak doors creaked open. Harriet clicked her tongue with irritation but moments later, she froze, an expression of pure confusion on her freckled face. Freya shifted her attention to the doors. The person who just entered the hall was dressed in a hooded costume of pure black, mysterious and peculiar. They looked very out of place amongst the nobles and rich folk, dressed in colour and jewels, many of whom now noticing this person at the entrance. Even the minstrels ceased their playing to examine the new-comer.

The attire of the stranger was made of a strange inky-black material; it almost looked like the scales of a snake. Flowing from their shoulders was a long, hooded cloak which almost reached the floor and clung to the person like a shadow. The person wore a cowl that covered the lower part of their face and where their eyes would have been, there was just some sort of shadowy darkness with two sinister glowing dots. Freya felt a shiver run down her spine and goose bumps poke at her skin, like someone had opened a window on a winter's day. This person was just... chilling and unsettling. 

Freya took a glance at Harriet, who like herself, seemed glued to the spot with her lips slightly parted. She then took a swift look around the room at the guests; many of them had raised their eyebrows in disgust or shock or were furrowing their brows in puzzlement.

The spine-chilling stranger closed the large doors behind them with caution, apparently becoming aware that they had crashed a banquet.

But something was off, this person was surprisingly... short, not tiny but about the same height as herself, which was an average sixteen-year-old girl height. Why was this person so small yet so menacing?

The stranger briefly looked around the room and spotted Lord Ettwry, who had stood up.

"Ah! What gives me the pleasure of welcoming a Mage to my party?" The Lord's voice boomed merrily in the now silent room. "Do take a seat and dine with me! We have much to talk about!"