1st Recursion: Ilya von Bismarck (3)

Come what might, Ilya ought to refrain from refuting the matron's words. She was explicitly told not to open her mouth, even during the times when they warranted her response.

'Make sure that you won't utter a single word in front of us or anyone for that matter. That's why from now on, you don't know how to talk. Do you understand?'

Those were the very words that the matron said to her when she dared to ask for help. That was nearly a decade ago, yet Ilya still religiously heeded the matron's orders. It wasn't out of fear but obedience.

She believed that, as the head of the maids, the matron knew what was best for the Duchy. The old woman's commands should be followed with that in mind.

And now, before she could even meet the matron's gaze, Ilya recalled the order. It quickly replaced her earlier sentiments.

It had to be said that Ilya was barefoot. Her only garment was a plain dress created out of a leftover sack of grain. She learned how to sew so her clothes didn't appear shabby at all. They were similar to what the commoners wore, only they were a bit lacklustre.

Ilya tried to learn a lot of basic skills on her own in order to live independently. It was difficult. A great choice nevertheless.

Because of her lacking outfit, Ilya had been suffering from the biting cold. But that wasn't the main issue.

The matron glared at Ilya, her gaze brimming with spite. The lady could feel that she was being scrutinized so she held her breath. The matron didn't like it when she made a move whenever she was being talked to. It was considered a form of disrespect.

"Didn't I tell you that you should never show yourself in front of the staff? Can you even understand my words? You've been hiding fairly well for the past year. Yet here you are, making an appearance while sabotaging the water supply."

An accusation was an accusation whether it's exaggerated or understated. Ilya didn't do anything at all but then this happened. That being so, she had no intentions of claiming her innocence. From the second that she noticed that the water was dirtied, Ilya accepted that she would be accepting the punishment.

"And what is with your garment? Why is it so scanty and revealing? Do you perhaps plan to display your skin for pity?"

Yes, Ilya's body was riddled with scars that darkened over time. Although, underneath her dress were freshly inflicted wounds. She thought that it would be fine if only her scars were showing. She didn't have sufficient material to create a longer dress, thus she resorted to such thinking.

Ilya had no plans of gaining something out of her reach.

A martyr, so to say.

Whenever some of the staff were in a bad mood, they would go to Ilya's room and take their stress out on her. A fate that no one deserved, yet Ilya thought otherwise.

She acknowledged it as the role that solely she could take.

The matron sauntered towards Ilya. The clacking of her heels was loud within the kitchen. Suddenly, the old woman grabbed Ilya's chin and forced the young lady to look at her. Naturally, Ilya didn't resist. Withal, even in that position, she did her best to avoid the matron's eyes.

"Listen to me, you good for nothing. I'm giving you enough favour yet you had the audacity to oppose me? If you dare create a mess again, I'll have you sleep in the dump."

Due to the firmness of the matron's grip, Ilya's cheek quickly became sore. As the matron let her go, Ilya bowed her head at the matron and departed the kitchen in a hurry.

The short walk back to her room took longer than Ilya had expected. Nothing had changed along her path, only her condition. She couldn't summon her strength properly, hence she used the walls as her support. Her shoulders and arms were lightly scraped from the roughness of the surfaces.

Once she was inside her room, Ilya sat on her bed right away. She gently placed the pitcher on the floor before lying down.

'I'm thirsty.' She thought, sleepiness shortly dawning on her.

Ilya assayed to fight the drowsy spell by biting her lips till it drew blood. She felt no pain from it since, at that point, it had become a habit. The dryness of her lips simply helped her gain reason.

'I shouldn't have gone out. I troubled the matron and those maids.'

The silence in her room bestowed the peace Ilya needed. It was as if she had a friend -- not like she knew what having a friend meant. For a long while, Ilya stared at the closed door. It was the same door that protected her from the threat lingering outside of her room.

By threat, she meant her desire to be liberated. The fresh air was intoxicating for Ilya. It consoled her for no reason, so she couldn't help but think that it would take something away from her. She had nothing in her possession. Still, she was frightened of losing something from that drug.

'I wonder how the banquet went? The maid was talking about the visit of one of the Royal's aide. I hope the Duchess is delighted.'

Despite living in seclusion, Ilya was aware of the matters outside of her refuge. If anything, she was more informed than the youngest children of the Gertrude Ducal couple. The members of the staff who stopped by her room always talked about the raging news within the Empire.

Even if she was being mistreated, it wasn't a justification for her to remain ignorant of her surroundings. Ilya made it her goal to learn as much as she could whenever the situation warranted her to. The night was her conspirator. It was the time when her freedom wasn't restricted.

'She sent a lot of invitations to the Royal family, if I recall correctly. This is an achievement for her. The Duke will surely be proud of her.'

No sooner than she could endure, Ilya succumbed to her body's need to sleep.

Unbeknownst to her, the door to her room was opened several minutes into her slumber. A manservant, together with a soldier and a coachman, was right outside. The smell of alcohol permeated the room in that instant.