Chapter 9: A Marionette Doll

My hands slid across the smooth satin bedsheets, coming back to myself. My fingers fiddled with the ridiculously thin straps of the scandalous nightwear, which slipped off my shoulders every second, its harlot red contrasting against my skin.

The room was familiar, yet at the same time, odd. It bore a striking similarity to the one I was in last time, except it held a softness—a warmth the other didn't.

I don't know exactly how I got here.

I could remember faintly how it started.

It was hours ago.

One moment, I was still curled in on myself, resting my head on my knees, fighting against the chill and the darkness that seeped deep into my bones, teeth rattling in response.

And the next moment, the door swung open. A stern-faced guard barked, "Get up," grabbing me by the arm, harshly yanking me up, sending me staggering across, barely keeping my footing—much to the guard’s total disregard.

The commander of the guards, his medals shingling with every step, gave me a cold, disdainful stare—my only response, I averted my gaze, wincing from the onslaught of bright light stinging my sight.

He seemed aware of what had happened the night before.

By the time I opened them, a flurry of women had surrounded me, dressed in black and white dresses, with white aprons, collars high and sleeves cuffed neatly—a total opposite of me, dirtied with grime, hair disheveled.

At some point, from the grip which dug deep to a gentler one, hands latched onto me, pushing, pulling, weaving through halls I'd never seen before—changed from dead stone walls and floors that seemed to house chills to luxurious red rugs carpeting the floor,

Flamed torches flickering along the walls, moving past the elaborate paintings, up the stairs of portraits of males and females peering down with lips curled into frowns.

My knees screamed with each step, still not adjusting from the sudden movement. I gritted my teeth, trying to bear with it, and failed.

"Please… my legs hurt," I whispered. "I can't walk anymore. Please slow down." But each protest I gave was drowned out by their dissatisfied eyes.

"Please hold on, we have a schedule to keep."

"We have actual work with dignity, unlike some people."

"Does she want us to get punished?"

"I didn't mean—" hurriedly, I tried to explain but was interrupted.

"How inconsiderate of her!"

"I told you…" spiraling down to worse things, forcing me to close off myself.

It was of no use. They wouldn't listen anyway.

Eventually, we came to a stop before a brown door—wider and bigger than any door I had seen. My mouth unconsciously popped open in shock, stunned by the sight.

"Bumpkin," someone behind commented viciously.

The dagger-like stares intensified, bearing down on my shoulders, causing me to snap out of my stunned state.

"I bet she doesn't know what satin feels like."

The whispers and mutters only grew.

"Someone should remind her she's replaceable."

Hands hidden in the crowd shoved me forward, sending me falling to the floor, a cry leaving my lips. A burning pain flared up, my head snapped up.

Who was it? But I could glimpse no clue. Even though they knew the culprit, they gave nothing away except for the contemptuous flashes that occasionally surfaced.

One stepped forward, tendrils of brown hair slipping out of her bun, brown eyes wide, her palm going to her lips, covering it.

"Oh my goddess, are you hurt?"

A reaction a minute too late.

I bit my lips, looking up from her. They looked so big and tall, surrounding me. I hated this. I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat.

"Let me help." Putting her hand around my arm, she tried to lift me up, an expression of embarrassment flushing her face red, as I remained where I was, seated on the floor. The others watched as if it had nothing to do with them.

"It seems she's fat," one whispered.

"Poor Vivian, she can't even lift her up."

Low chuckles rang through the room.

"With how all bones she looked, I couldn't tell."

"Imagine thinking she'll ever fit in here. Laughable!"

Something flared in me. Was this how it was always going to be? Allow myself to be bullied? Their disgust. The hidden sneers. The shoulders shooting to the ceiling. Triggered something within me.

It reminded me of them.

All my life, it's been like this, even though it was never my fault.

Something built up, fogging me up. Without thinking, I flung my arms, strength strangely coming in.

The next thing I heard was a scream. Vivian was on the floor, her eyes full of disbelief. I pursed my lips. The silence was deafening.

Struggling to my feet, my legs like puppet strings snapped—refused to listen. Suppressing the guilt that arose from my action to the innocent maid, I dragged myself, step by step, into the room, their words slowly slicing the surface of my heart.

"Don't tell me His Highness, the Crown Prince, loved this type."

"I don't think she's as innocent as she looks."

"It's not fair…"

"Do you think I had a chance to have a go with him…"

"No wonder I didn't like her immediately I saw her."

My eyelids dropped in sadness. My nose stung. I wrinkled them.

Just then, a sharp rebuke came from behind me.

"That's enough! The master's preferences and orders are not for you to speculate about. To work now."

‘Did she expect me to feel moved? What an irony.’

From the corners of my eyes, I could see a middle-aged female, her hair in a neat bun, eyes squinted, with a hooked nose, looking haughtily at me.

Her eyes already told me she didn't approve of me. I threw my head away. ‘Does it matter?’

Are they all like this? I wondered, beginning to feel repulsed by these walls and this place. It closed on me, making me claustrophobic.

‘Are they always this… cruel?’

Passing judgment so casually on people.

‘But weren't wolves always? Perhaps they aren't any different.’

I had seen her before—standing aloof behind the indifferent and gossipy she-wolves. As though it didn't concern her, her bearing was just that distinct—the way she kept her jaw tilted upwards, back straight, and her clothes screamed different.

But she, who might be the superior, refused to do anything concerning her out-of-hand servants. Instead, her silent indifference was more like a prompt, guiding them to go out of line.

I couldn't help but wonder, ‘Is everyone aware? Just like the guards?’

At her words, like a secret order had been passed, the strange environment disappeared.

The snarky remarks, the disdainful glances, the envious eyes—like smoke to the wind—lowering their heads to the floor, in an orderly manner, they filed into a room I hadn't noticed.

Refusing the servants' intentions to guide me, straightening my back, I walked in myself.

Steamy water filled the bathtub, casting a hazy fog over the waters, rose petals sprinkled in, oils poured.

The soothing scent of lavender filled the room, my muscles relaxing on their own.

And I shed the clothes. It dropped straight down, leaving a visible dark stain on the pristine white marble flooring. When I sank into the bathtub, shakily, swallowing in the sigh of relief as it washed over my neglected muscles.

"Handle her properly—she better not stain the prince's sheets with her filth," a voice sneered.

"Yes, Head Maid," the servants around me chorused to her leaving back, but not before she locked eyes with me, leaving with a "Hmph," nose stuck in the air.

I noted that.

‘The head maid? Doesn't behave like one.’ I pursed my lips into a thin line, wisely keeping my comments to myself.

The rest of the time passed in a semi-peaceful state.

It was only the nails that dug into my arms hard enough to leave marks, and the hairs ripped out of my scalp showed their underlying emotions.

Not all was as calm as it appeared. The sickening glee each time I flinched at a plucked strand—their insincere "sorry" was as plain as day.

It was nauseating.

As the torture lasted on forever, my skin scrubbed pink and raw, a silken nightwear slipped over my head.

I sighed inwardly.

It was yet their calmest movement.

I was led to the bed and placed there like an ornament trophy.

And with that, after receiving secret glares, one announced, the white flower petals standing out from her auburn hair fully showcased as she bowed slightly,

"Madame Patricia, we have completed the assigned duties."

They lined back up like marionette dolls, but their words were just the opposite.

"She looks just what she is."

"Can't believe she'll have another night with the prince."

"She's not even that pretty."

"I bet I could do that too."

"Why am I not her—I want to be so bad."

Fluttered through my ears, and at last, the stern lady slammed the door shut.

Now alone, my arms wrapped around myself, bringing some form of comfort. I wanted to rip this dress off so badly, my fingers curled around its flimsy edges.

Screw it, I've already gone through worse. What else could happen?

I bolted off the bed. I had glimpsed at the place one of the she-wolves brought a cloth from. Yanking it open, gasping—it was a whole room inside another room. I couldn't understand the concept, but I didn’t allow that to deter me. Lifting my foot, I was about to take a step inside.

Just then—

The door was slammed open.

Footsteps, muffled by the rug, came closer. A familiar voice said, "That's far enough."

I realized how wrong I was earlier.

This is the worst.