Mistress' Tea

A woman shuffled around the house, dusting as she went. Doing as her Mistress bid. This was simply the way of things, not to question or strive for more but to simply follow orders from the higher ups. The Mistress was very particular about the goings on in the manor so the woman kept organised, making sure all she oversaw was in line. She chose not to think ill of her circumstance, after all, she had more than some and was paid for her labour. Many under her complained and griped about their troubles, the strain the work put upon them, the hours upon hours of tasks that they saw as quite mundane; the woman did not judge the Mistress for her commands. She felt she ought not to question orders. One feels compelled to follow them when their hands are unclean.

No one knew of her past, of what she had done and the bodies that lay behind her. No one knew that the casualties had yet to end; the yearning for more had not yet ceased. She still sought for the rush bleeding another’s life away gave her. When one falls into a chasm of depression so deep, so empty, the only way is up. Yet the woman had held onto darkness as she rose; rather than find her way back into the light, she found that death held such a morbid sense of fulfilment. Her troubles seemed lesser. She lost herself so thoroughly that even her name had slipped through the cracks of time, control waning as she leant into the darkness and it leant back.

A whistle sounded, the woman grasped the kettle’s handle, breaking away from her thoughts. Water flowed into the porcelain cup, steam curled upwards, fogging up the window. Time to take the tea to the mistress.
Climbing the stairs to the study, the woman had a distinct... spring in her step, an unusual sight for someone her age. Hinges creaked and footsteps made their way across the floorboards, pristine as requested yet never quite done. The work was never quite over. The china clinked softly when placed on the desk, the woman’s head bowed yet went unacknowledged. She left the room quietly with the knowledge that she had made a distinct improvement while leaving not a trace of her presence behind.

Hours later she could not be found in her room, in fact, the house held no evidence of her being there at all. The only change was that when before the Mistress had held her head high, pen in hand, her forehead now lay next to the half empty cup, on that wooden desk. A red tinge staining her lips.

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I hope you enjoyed this story, considering they were random words I think I did quite well! The words I got from the prompt are below:
- Organised
- Judge
- Depressed
- Casualty
- Lean
- Kettle
- Improvment