Resident Evil Oneshots

Snapping back

As the head maid, I, (Y.N), had long since accepted the weight of my duties, though each day felt like an uphill battle against a tide that would never relent. When I first arrived at the castle, fresh-faced and full of determination, I had no idea what awaited me. The grandeur of the place, with its marble floors that seemed to stretch for miles and the intricate tapestries that depicted scenes of blood and conquest, was overwhelming. But it was Lady Dimitrescu herself who truly instilled fear into my heart. Her towering presence, her cold, calculating eyes that saw through every lie, every pretence, made it clear that there would be no leniency, no mercy for failure. The workload was crushing, a relentless wave that pounded at the shores of my endurance every day. I was responsible for the upkeep of the entire castle, a task that would have been impossible for an army of maids, let alone one. Yet, Lady Dimitrescu demanded perfection. Every surface had to gleam, every drape had to hang perfectly, every meal had to be prepared with the precision of a master chef. And all this had to be done while tending to her three daughters, each of whom demands and whims, more fearsome and unpredictable than the last. Cassandra, the eldest, was ruthless, her temper flaring at the smallest mistake. Bela, with her sharp intellect, delighted in setting impossible tasks, testing my limits, watching with a smirk as I struggled to keep up. And Daniela, the youngest, was unpredictable, a wild force of nature whose mood could shift from playful to vicious in an instant. Every morning, I would rise before dawn, my body aching from the previous day's exertions, my hands blistered and raw. The castle seemed to come alive in the early hours, the walls whispering secrets, the shadows stretching as if they were alive, mocking me. I would begin with the grand hall, polishing the floors until they shone like mirrors, then move to the kitchens, where the heat from the stoves burned my skin, and the heavy pots and pans threatened to pull my arms from their sockets. No matter how fast I worked, it was never enough. By the time the sun was high in the sky, I would be drenched in sweat, my muscles screaming for rest, but there was no respite. Lady Dimitrescu expected nothing less than perfection, and I was determined not to fail her. Failure, after all, was not an option in Castle Dimitrescu. I had seen what happened to those who displeased her—a flash of claws, the gleam of fangs, and they were never seen again. The worst were the nights. After the day's work was done, I was often summoned to Lady Dimitrescu's chambers. There, in the flickering candlelight, she would tower over me, her gaze piercing as she inspected every detail of the castle, every aspect of my work. My heart would pound in my chest, my breath would catch in my throat, as I waited for her judgment. Most nights, I would return to my quarters, shaking with exhaustion, but relieved that I had lived to see another day. But there were nights when she was not satisfied. Those nights were the darkest, filled with fear and pain, as her anger knew no bounds. The castle's oppressive atmosphere weighed heavily on my spirit. The walls seemed to close in on me, the endless corridors twisting and turning like a maze with no escape. The sounds of the castle—the creaking of the floorboards, the distant howls of wolves—became a haunting symphony that echoed in my mind even when I tried to sleep. I became a ghost of my former self, hollowed out by the endless toil and the constant fear that one day, I would make a mistake that could cost me my life. Yet, amidst the despair, a fire burned within me. A fierce, stubborn determination to survive, to prove that I was more than just a servant to be used and discarded. I found moments of strength in the small victories—the compliments from Lady Dimitrescu when she was pleased with my work, the rare smiles from her daughters when I met their impossible expectations. These were fleeting, but they gave me hope, a reason to keep going. As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, I learned to navigate the dangers of the castle, to anticipate the moods of my mistress and her daughters. I became more than just a maid; I became a master of my craft, honing my skills until I could complete my tasks with a precision and speed that even the Lady herself could not fault. But the cost was high. My body was a map of scars and bruises, my hands twisted and calloused from the endless labour. My mind, once sharp and clear, was fogged with exhaustion, my thoughts dark and heavy. I often wondered how much longer I could endure, how much more my body and mind could take before they gave out. But there was no escape from Castle Dimitrescu. The gates were locked, the windows barred, and the forests beyond were filled with creatures far more terrifying than the Lady herself. I was trapped, a prisoner of my own determination, bound by my fear and my desire to survive. In those rare moments when I allowed myself to dream, I imagined a life beyond the castle walls, a life where I was free from the endless toil, where I could walk in the sunlight without fear. But those dreams were fleeting, quickly extinguished by the cold reality of my existence. I knew that as long as I lived within these walls, I would never be free. And so, I continued, day after day, night after night, pushing myself beyond the limits of human endurance, driven by the will to survive, to endure. I became a shadow, a wraith, slipping through the castle's halls with silent efficiency, my presence barely noticed, my existence a testament to the power of human resilience in the face of overwhelming darkness. But deep down, I knew that even the strongest flame could be extinguished. And in the depths of Castle Dimitrescu, where the shadows whispered of forgotten horrors and the walls closed in like the jaws of a beast, I wondered how much longer my fire would burn before it, too, was snuffed out. That morning, as the first light of dawn barely filtered through the thick curtains of Castle Dimitrescu, I woke with an unusual heaviness in my limbs. The exhaustion that clung to me was more than just physical; it was as though something deep within me had cracked under the relentless pressure, a small fissure that threatened to widen with each passing day. But duty called, as it always did, and I forced myself out of bed, my mind hazy with fatigue. I moved through my morning tasks on autopilot, barely registering the familiar surroundings of the castle. My body ached in places I hadn't noticed before, and a dull throb pulsed behind my eyes. Something felt off, as if the very air in the castle had grown thicker, harder to breathe. But I pushed these thoughts aside, focusing instead on my routine. I couldn't afford distractions; not here, not now. When I reached Lady Dimitrescu's chambers, I prepared myself as usual, smoothing out my uniform and trying to compose my features into the calm, deferential mask I had perfected over the years. I knocked softly on the grand, ornate doors before entering, carrying the tray of her morning tea, just as I had done countless times before. She was already awake, sitting gracefully by the window, her long, elegant fingers idly tracing patterns on the armrest of her chair. Her presence filled the room, as it always did, with a suffocating mix of elegance and menace. I approached her cautiously, setting the tray down with trembling hands.