Cinders

Chapter 1: The Sickening Dwell

During winter, Arellia is cold. Frigid air curses every morning and heat abdicates from its summer throne, leaving its subjects to die. One of which is me.

I'm awake long before the sun starts creeping across the frosted grass, but I wait, shivering under my thin blanket until the light falls across my face from the small, open window that is left of my bed. It's circular with intertwining wrought iron spirals in a sadly beautiful and hollow design, distorting the beams into writhing shadows that crawl across the floor. I watch them for a time, but am interrupted by the sound of wooden logs clunking together beyond the door.

The servants' quarters located outside are better than nothing, but it is far from being cozy. The structure is good and matches the main house's face, while the interior has no insulation, keeping its inhabitants either locked in an ice box or roasting over a flame depending on the weather. Servants sleep in a crowded room that we address as the "Rest", since it is separate from the master's Great House, which is known as the "Dwell", and it contains ten sets of bunk beds that have basic amenities consisting of a mattress, pillow, and blanket. Any servant working outside of the Great House's facilities, stays outside in our quarters like a common mutt. Upon exiting the Rest, the room empties out into the "Mash", our dining area. At least as close as it gets with the rotting tables and half-broken chairs. No one talks about going to the bathroom. It's inconceivable.

The sun causes my eyes to squint, and I bring up my frozen hands to try and rub away the everlasting tiredness that clings to my features. I swing my legs from beneath the blanket, and my body immediately reacts; goosebumps grace my pale skin and I shiver again. Standing, I dress in my day clothes, being sure to tuck my ribbon in the bosom of my dress, and head to the Mash to start breakfast. Marie, a woman that I consider a close acquaintance, is already silently stoking the fire.

She turns and forces a smile for me, a kindness hard to come by. Of course I only see the crinkled corners of her eyes and her drawn brows, but after a year of reading only a person's eyes, I had become quite adept in the skill. Marie's mask flutters with her breath. "Good morning Lyla."

I return her greeting and enter the storeroom to pull out the sack of oats that the guards had thrown upon our door last night. It had taken an hour to collect the grains that escaped from the torn bag under the moonlight's stern gaze. Being hunched over the ground to discern the difference between dirt and meal had caused a crick in my back that had yet to subside.

Marie had placed a pot on each hook that was raised over the fire, so I dropped the oats on the stone floor a few feet away to join her walk towards the back door. We both take one of the buckets that wait just outside, and fill them at the water pump. Upon bringing the water back to the fire, the buckets are poured into the pots. While Marie goes to get more wood, I fetch another bucket to level off the pots.

I leave Marie boiling her water to finish my morning chores before the sun fully rises so I won't get in trouble. Spending a night alone and frozen to the steps out front my waiting bed is not one of my fondest memories. Grabbing a basket from the storeroom, I hurry through the garden, that stretches about two hundred yards in width and length, picking various herbs that were listed to me by the head cook, known to most as merely "Cook". Then I work my way over to the chicken coop that lies on the other side of the quarters to purloin a few eggs and, having gathered all the breakfast essentials, I journey over the stretch that separates the outside servants from everyone else.

I knock on the servants' entrance of the Dwell and a guard opens the door, looking down upon me with a sneer. No matter who opens, they all act as though it's painful to even lay eyes on me.