Chapter 3: Heavy Labor

The feeble light of dawn crept through the narrow window, casting a pale glow on the dusty room.

Mila stirred on the worn-out bed, her body aching from the uncomfortable sleep on the unforgiving mattress.

As she slowly opened her eyes, the hazy recollection of the previous night's torment settled upon her like a heavy shroud.

Before she could fully collect her thoughts, the creak of the door interrupted the stillness.

A figure, masked in the muted dawn light, entered the room with an unsettling air of authority.

Mila's eyes widened with apprehension as she realized she was not alone.

The intruder, a stern-faced servant with a demeanor that mirrored the coldness of the room, approached the bed.

Their voice cut through the silence, a command wrapped in an icy tone.

"Rise and shine, princess. We've got work to do."

Mila, still groggy from the disturbed sleep, blinked up at the unwelcome visitor.

The implications of the term 'princess' were not lost on her—another reminder of the distorted reality that surrounded her.

Swallowing her anxiety, she managed to stammer a response.

"What... what do you want?"

The servant's expression remained impassive, as if her question was inconsequential.

With a dismissive wave of their hand, they retorted, "Questions later. Get up now."

Reluctantly, Mila pushed herself into a sitting position, her eyes darting around the room.

The dim light revealed the same desolation she had grown accustomed to—the dusty furniture, the tattered wallpaper, and the oppressive atmosphere.

As Mila attempted to stand, her weakened state betrayed her.

The servant, showing no sympathy, grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet.

Pain shot through her body, but she suppressed any display of vulnerability. Her voice, though trembling, carried a hint of defiance.

"I need to know what's happening. Why am I here?"

The servant's eyes, devoid of empathy, met hers with a cold stare. "You're not here to ask questions. You're here to do as you're told. Now, follow me."

Without waiting for Mila's compliance, the servant turned and headed for the door, leaving her to stumble after them.

The unanswered questions and the ominous uncertainty of her situation loomed over her, casting a shadow on the fragile ember of defiance that flickered within.

Reluctantly, Mila followed the stern-faced servant through a labyrinth of dimly lit corridors.

Her steps were hesitant, each one a reminder of the uncertainty that loomed ahead.

The air grew damp as they approached a room filled with the rhythmic sounds of water splashing and the soft hum of activity.

As the door swung open, Mila found herself in a bustling space where a hive of female servants toiled diligently.

The room echoed with the symphony of water, the gentle scrubbing of garments, and the occasional clatter of wet fabric.

The atmosphere, though filled with a sense of purpose, seemed to close in on Mila, accentuating her disorientation.

The female servants, in better physical condition than Mila, looked up briefly from their tasks, their eyes reflecting a blend of curiosity and indifference.

Their uniformed appearance contrasted starkly with Mila's disheveled state, emphasizing her apparent status as an outsider.

The servant who had guided Mila wasted no time. With a nonchalant demeanor, she approached a woman who appeared to hold a higher rank among the busy workers.

The air of authority clung to the woman, evident in the way the other servants cast furtive glances her way.

Without preamble, the servant spoke in a tone that brooked no argument: "Samantha, this is the new one. Give her something to do."

Samantha, with a gaze that scanned Mila from head to toe, nodded in acknowledgment. Her expression betrayed no emotion as she assessed the newcomer.

Mila, acutely aware of the scrutiny, felt a sense of vulnerability.

"Fine," Samantha replied, her voice devoid of warmth. "You, new girl, grab that pile of dirty laundry from the corner and start washing. We don't have time for slackers here."

Mila hesitated, her eyes darting towards the pile of garments Samantha had indicated.

The weight of the task ahead seemed to press down on her already weary shoulders.

The other servants returned to their work, their attention no longer on the newcomer.

With a heavy sigh, Mila reluctantly approached the laundry, feeling the dampness in the air intensify.

The tasks of the day unfolded before her like an ominous script, and the room, with its regimented routine, became both a place of labor and a silent witness to Mila's unspoken struggles.

As she immersed herself in the monotonous rhythm of washing, Mila couldn't shake the feeling of being a mere pawn in a larger game.

The dampness clung to her like an invisible shackle, and the distant sounds of running water became a haunting melody, underscoring the unpredictable fate that awaited her in this mysterious and demanding place.

Mila's hands trembled as she dipped the first piece of soiled fabric into the basin of water.

The dampness seemed to seep into her very bones, and the weight of the wet laundry felt like an anchor dragging her down.

The physical toll on her feeble state became immediately apparent as she struggled to scrub away the dirt.

The water, once clear, darkened with each garment she cleaned.

Mila's breaths grew shallow as the fatigue settled in, her body protesting every arduous movement.

The dull ache in her muscles intensified, and her vision blurred at the edges.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly as Mila labored over the growing pile of laundry.

Each piece became a tangible reminder of the relentless demands placed on her.

The sound of fabric rubbing against fabric became a monotonous rhythm, echoing the repetitive nature of her newfound existence.

When Mila finally completed the task, the wet garments felt heavier than the burdens she carried within.

The dampness clung to her like a second skin, and the simple act of lifting the laundry became a Herculean effort.

With painstaking determination, she gathered the now-cleaned garments, the weight pulling at her weakened frame.

Leaving the bustling laundry area, Mila navigated through the labyrinthine corridors, her footsteps heavy and faltering.

The open field, a distant speck on the horizon, beckoned like a mirage.

The burden she carried seemed to magnify with each step, the wet garments hanging from her arms like a constant reminder of her struggles.

The journey to the open field took an eternity, and Mila's legs threatened to give way beneath her.

The distant sounds of running water, once a melody, now felt like a taunting rhythm.

Each breath she took carried the weight of exhaustion, and her surroundings blurred into a haze of fatigue.

As Mila finally reached the open field, she released the heavy load onto the ground.

The wet garments, once a source of labor, now lay scattered before her.

The open sky above offered a momentary reprieve, but the toll on her body lingered—a testament to the physical and emotional trials she endured.

With her breaths coming in ragged gasps, Mila sank to her knees on the damp ground.

The open field, though seemingly vast, felt like a tiny sanctuary where she could momentarily escape the demands that bound her.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the laundry area as Mila made her way back to the now-empty basin.

The once bustling space, filled with the rhythmic sounds of labor, had transformed into an empty, echoing chamber.

The garments she had seen her fellow servants tending to were now abandoned, and the room was steeped in an eerie silence.

A frown creased Mila's forehead as she surveyed the vacant space.

Confusion swirled within her, wondering where the others had disappeared.

The realization struck—she had lost track of time amidst the repetitive task, and now the room stood abandoned.

Glancing toward the exit, Mila noticed the darkening sky, a subtle cue that dinner time was likely approaching.

She placed the basin at the spot where she had been washing the garments, her hands still tingling from the earlier labor.

The prospect of rest beckoned, but the sudden realization of her surroundings being deserted sparked a sense of isolation.

Just as she turned to leave, footsteps echoed through the empty room.

Mila hesitated, looking back toward the entrance.

A fellow servant, burdened with a basin overflowing with dirty laundry, entered the room.

The exhaustion etched on her face mirrored Mila's own weariness.

Their eyes met, and there was a spark of recognition in the servant's gaze.

Mila's status as the new laundry maid became apparent, a fact she hadn't fully comprehended until that moment.

The servant, with an air of authority, approached Mila.

"New girl, isn't it?" she said, her tone carrying a mix of indifference and authority.

Mila nodded tentatively, uncertainty etched on her face. "Yes, I'm Mila. I just finished hanging the garments to dry."

The servant raised an eyebrow, her gaze appraising Mila.

"Well, Mila, welcome to the laundry brigade. You've got more work to do before you can rest. Finish these before heading to the dining hall, or you won't get your share of food."

With that, the servant placed the heavy basin of dirty laundry in front of Mila.

The weight of the basin seemed to mirror the sudden weight on her shoulders.

The servant turned on her heel, leaving Mila standing amidst the abandoned tasks, a sense of isolation settling in once again.

As the servant exited, she added with an authoritative tone, "Move quickly. Dinner won't wait for slackers."

Left alone with the basin, Mila sighed, resigning herself to the continuous cycle of labor.

The deserted room echoed with the sound of her surroundings, and the distant chatter from the dining hall beckoned like a distant melody.