Color Me Crimson | 𝘙𝘰𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘝𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘦

7͢

In the kitchen, that same mouth-watering aroma fills the air and steam makes the uniform cling to my skin. Anne and I approach a petite figure standing over a wide industrial kitchen sink, sleeves half-soaked and scrunched up to her elbows. She's busy rinsing an ever-rising pile of dishes and is alone, sectioned off in a corner of the room. Somehow I must have glossed right over this area earlier, since I didn't notice her before.

As we get close enough for our footsteps to be heard over the running water, she immediately shuts the faucet off and turns to face us. Big blue eyes land briefly on me before focusing on Anne. Wordlessly, she puts her hands behind her back and stands at attention. The reaction rattles me, reminiscent of a puppet taught how to act.

I've been trained in etiquette and manners, but nothing as extreme as this. Is that what Lucien and the others expect? It's the exact opposite of how Mags has been—so open and friendly, and on top of it all, to have heard her blatantly denounced—I begin to wonder what I've stepped into.

Anne stops a few feet from the sink, as if to avoid stepping in a single drop of soapy water. The chefs who usually keep a lighthearted conversation fall silent. Food sizzles and knives chop on the metal counters, puncturing the tension that's suddenly overpowered the pleasant aroma of food.

"Kristi, this is Hanna," Anne says. "She was not informed on how to serve us—due to your inattention."

Well, damn. At this point I wasn't expecting politeness, but that's downright disrespectful. Kristi lowers her head, averting her eyes like a scolded child. I prickle.

"It's my bad," I speak up, hands clenched at my side. "I introduced myself to the chefs earlier but must have skipped right over her." She didn't do anything wrong, and as someone who's been in that position, I can only embrace my surge of protective energy.

Anne glares at me sideways with glacial eyes. "I wasn't speaking to you."

I really shouldn't be shocked, but my mouth clamps shut anyway. Ann speaks again to Kristi. "Fix the situation and get back to your work."

"Yes, Ms. Anne," Kristi replies in a level tone.

With that, Anne walks away and leaves us alone. Those in the room let out a collective breath.

I watch Kristi maintain her stance while Ann disappears. My brain is unable to connect what I saw to normal social interaction—to how Mags had been with me earlier that day. If they were to approach Mags, would she act the same way? Moreover, why does Kristi do it? She's a human being, not a fucking robot or a slave.

Any further thoughts are cut short as Kristi addresses me, "Hanna, follow me." She strides toward the back of the room where the freezer and refrigerator rooms are located.

"Kristi, wait," I call, extending my step to catch up and reach out to touch her shoulder. "I—I'm sorry."

The collar on her uniform shifts with my touch, enough to expose the top of a deep purple bruise at the base of her neck. I gape at the vicious mark, but quickly hide my reaction.

She turns, eyes widening for a split second before a puzzled look settles over her face. "Sorry for what?"

My hand falls back to my side. For now I should probably ignore what I saw. "You're not even my trainer. They shouldn't have blamed any of this on you."

She frowns. "It's fine, just let me show you what to do and they'll be happy."

We resume walking, but the lack of closure gnaws at me. I can't help but feel responsible for getting her in trouble, or at least share in a part of it. Yet Anne pinned all the blame on her.

Mags has been nowhere in sight, which isn't surprising. She has to cover both our tables now that I'm preoccupied. Kristi is going to be my best bet for answers at this point, and I need at least one. "Anne—" I begin to ask, then correct my question, "—Lucien and the others, do they really expect you to answer to them like that?"

Kristi tenses when I say Lucien's name. My heart drops.

"Yes."

Her voice is void and detached as we reach a red door along the back wall. I know that tone well enough; whenever I sounded like that it was because I wasn't able to voice my real concerns, pushed in a corner by expectations and obligations. I want to get more information out of her, but I don't know how to bypass her reluctance.

We step into another small room and the lights switch on, illuminating rows upon rows of bottled wine. Each wall is aligned and ordered to perfection, reminiscent of soldiers standing at attention. At the bottom of each square slot is a name and year. I notice no traces of dust, though the scent of wood and cobwebs cling to the air.

As Kristi leads me to the back of the room, I recall how Lucien offered to take care of potential issues. What was he getting at? By "handle" did he mean through diplomacy, or something more sinister?

The urge to leave leaps into my gut, uprooting my seed of hope. I can walk out the door right now and not look back. No gain, no loss.

But.

Fuck it—there's a but attached.

A few hours ago I literally bounced down the sidewalk in anticipation—eager to discover some meaning behind that spark I felt when I first looked up at Transylvania—and I can't let it go. Maybe if that spark hadn't come on the same night I prepared to face death, I'd be able to walk away. Or maybe not.

Once we reach the back corner of the room, Kristi stops at what looks like a vault, but when she turns the large handle and opens the door, chilled air seeps out and I realize it's a fridge. Inside there are a dozen bottles of unlabeled red wine. She takes two and hands them to me.

"This is a special collection for the owner and his guests. From now on, when you serve them you'll be expected to bring one bottle for every two of them, and nothing else unless told otherwise."

"Kristi, I know something isn't right here," I blurt out. I've felt it ever since last night, even though at the time I assumed it was my own murky thoughts. Now I'm beginning to think differently. There's a chill that seeps all the way into my bones, and it has nothing to do with the freezer. "What's going on?"

She shuts the fridge door and gives me the same confused look from before. "I don't know what you mean."

I shift, putting my body between her and the exit. "Look, Kristi. I have my fair share of secrets and demons. I understand not wanting to expose your life, but you must know something about Lucien and the others. It's not natural, it's not right how Anne talked to you back there."

My voice rises a notch, urgency creeping past my well kept demeanor. "They all seem to expect to be in control of everything and everyone around them—I don't understand what they have against Mags or why..." My sentence fades out, too many questions to fill in the blanks.

"Hanna." She hesitates, and I see a flicker of my own worry within her eyes. Goosebumps rise along my skin. "It will be better if you don't ask questions."

😱
What do you think of Kristi?

❤️‍🩹 Siberia