"mistress" • diluc

ii

• third person •

Thin, clear liquid seeped down the side of her mouth. She hurled over the marble sink, tears threatening to fall from her eyes as yet another wave of vomit surged through her throat.

"Miss Lawrence?"

Her head snapped towards the bathroom door. Rapidly, her hands fumbled to turn on the waterfall-like tap. The water came flooding out, splashing violently against the surface of the sink and the remnants of her puke.

"A-Aila..? Are you alright? You've been in there for a while... Your breakfast is getting cold-"

Aila's ears perked as she heard floorboards creak, almost throwing water at her face.

"Did you just call her by her name?"

"Ah-! S-Sir!"

Aila's eyes widened.

"Know your place. Don't be so disrespectful to those higher than you."

"Sorry- I'm sorry-"

She heard her butler scurry away. An uneasy weight began to tug at her heart.

Her breath fell heavy as she endeavoured to regulate her racing heart rate. Her head was hot, drops of sweat trickling down her forehead, her teeth grinding in competence with the regurgitated stomach acid. Archons, she didn't feel well at all.

She swallowed down the vomit threatening to rush out.

"Father, I'll be down soon. I'm not feeling well after yesterday," she murmured.

"Is that so?" She could tell her father was standing right outside the door. "What could have possibly caused that girl to call you by your name? How disrespectful."

Aila was silent.

"You shouldn't spend so much time in the bathroom like this. It is very unwoman-like. Who knows what your future husband would think! You must get rid of this habit."

Aila's fingers gripped the edge of the sink.

"Sorry Father. I'll be out in a moment."

"Good. Your mother and I have been waiting a long time to talk to you. Hurry on now."

A sickening feeling erupted in Aila's stomach the moment her father was gone. The gloomy morning sky reflected against her paling skin. She cursed beneath her breath.

It was still long until she could leave this bathroom.

•

"About time. Butler." A woman clapped. "Go heat up her food."

"Y-yes, Ma'am."

The butler sped off with Aila's breakfast. Aila stood at the door in silence.

"Oh, Archons," her mother eyed the woman at the door, "look at you. No one's going to marry you looking like that."

Aila avoided her gaze, stepping towards the opposite of the wooden dinner table, the large room lit by the huge windows across from her. Golden chandeliers swung above them, the tiled floor beneath her feet squeaking as her boots stepped across it. She wasn't usually one to wear her shoes indoors, but by now it was a requirement of her own at this time of day.

It wasn't long until her butler came back with her breakfast.

She stared at the food despondently.