Farryn

The Beginning

There came a pounding on the door to Serval Manor one cold, gloomy night, when the sun had long set, and all others were asleep. The creaky kitchen door shook, and Farryn tucked the scrap of newspaper into her dress, slipping it under her corset.

"Open up!"

Farryn rose, and reached for the lock. It slipped out of her fingers a few times, since the door was shaking so much with the incessant banging.

She unlocked the door, tugging on the stuck latch. Serval spilled in, her fur stole slipping off her shoulders as she did. The cold came in with her, and Farryn felt a chill run through her. Her dress was much too thin for this weather.

Serval tossed the stole off, not checking to make sure the girl caught it, and slammed the door shut, shivering madly. "Stupid girl," she hissed, not specifying what exactly she found stupid about Farryn that night. Farryn kept quiet as Serval slipped off her shoes and padded across the kitchen, complaining under her breath.

Farryn stared after her as she marched off, her heart in her throat. Tonight is the night. Her hands shook as she locked the door, slipping the latch back into it's place. Finally.

When Serval was gone, Farryn took her shoes in the Foyer. It was even colder than the kitchen. Sure, Serval had enough money to buy herself new shoes, but not enough to heat the whole house. They didn't use the front doors anymore; all the heat just flooded out. Unless, of course, Serval had guests over. Then she'd waste all their wood, invite them in for tea, and pretend she wasn't on the brink of destitution.

Farryn returned to the kitchen and checked the stew that had been bubbling on the stove for the better part of the hour. She lit another stove top and filled the rusty old kettle with water, in case Serval demanded tea. Though it might be a wine sort of night. That was what she was hoping for.

She checked on the stew once more, and then returned to her seat at the small table, thinking of anything but her hunger. Outside, in the silence of the night, she could hear a cricket chirping, looking for his mate. How lonely he must feel. Still, Farryn wasn't sure she wanted him to find his mate. She stood up. If I keep myself busy, I won't think about my stomach.

She wiped down the already clean counters, flipped the cheap mattress that she slept on, folded the linens she had blanched the day before, all the time waiting for Serval to ring for her. Had she gone off to sleep? Just as she finished putting away the last dishrag, the bell in the corner rang.

Farryn grabbed a flask full of water that she'd heated up already, and hauled it upstairs, heart pounding. As usual, Serval was waiting for her in her chambers, in her linen nightgown with her hair down. She didn't regard Farryn as she entered and filled the porcelain tub with hot water. Serval bathed herself, thankfully, so Farryn went into her room and waited for her there, staring at the old curtains like she did every night. She held her hands clasped, trying to keep herself from twitching. Just stay calm. Don't mess this up.

Serval finished her bath, and came into the room. Farryn brushed her hair in silence, and then Serval sent her to fetch her meal. Back to the kitchen she went, shivering in the cold. Serval only gave her enough wood to light the stove, so it was freezing. She served the stew, holding her breath. She was starved, but she knew that even one unauthorised morsel wouldn't be wise. "I count every bean, every grain of millet, every pound of sugar," Serval had warned.

She pushed all thoughts of food from her mind and headed for the stairs with the tray of stew. Serval sat at the small table in her room, glancing out the window into the darkness outside. Farryn served her silently, and Serval turned to the tray, sneering. "I'm tired of this cheap meat. Are you too much of an imbecile to make good use of my money?"