Living Like a Mouse? How About a Lion?

A Room of My Own

After my little kitchen performance, I decide it's time to retreat to my room. Not because I'm tired—I'm riding a high of defiance, after all—but because even a lioness needs her den, a place where she can gather her strength and plan her next move.

My room is... well, it's nice enough. Elegant, in that cold, empty way that says, "This belongs to a noble, but we don't actually care about the person living here." Still, it's mine, and that's something. The only problem? The people I'm forced to share it with.

The maids.

Now, don't get me wrong. I understand the whole "servants are supposed to serve" concept. But apparently, someone forgot to tell these maids that. Because lately, they've been slacking off. Big time. It's not that they don't do their jobs—they do, but with the bare minimum amount of enthusiasm required to stay employed. And they've been making their little jabs. Subtle at first, but now that I've started pushing back, I can practically feel the disdain radiating from them.

Oh, and did I mention I've got a few wounds? Nothing major, but enough to make me uncomfortable. And yet, these maids of mine act like I'm being unreasonable for wanting proper care. Yeah, I'm really getting sick of their attitudes.

So, as soon as I step into my room, I know exactly what needs to happen.

Me: "Alright, you lot. Let's have a little chat, shall we?"

Three maids stand in front of me, all of them with that same blank, neutral expression that makes me want to throw something. They think they're so clever, hiding their disdain behind those masks. I'm not in the mood for their games. Not tonight.

Me: "You know, I've been patient. Really, I have. But after tonight, I think it's time we cleared the air."

One of the maids, the oldest and probably the most experienced, gives me a slight bow. "Is something not to your liking, Miss Penelope?"

Oh, she's good. The way she says it, all polite and deferential, like she has no idea what I'm talking about. I almost admire the effort. Almost.

Me: "Let's not pretend. You know exactly what I'm talking about. The rolled eyes, the whispers, the complete lack of respect. It's been building up for a while, and frankly, I'm done pretending I don't notice."

Her mask doesn't slip, but I can see the flicker of annoyance behind her eyes. Good. Let her be annoyed. It's about time I was the one causing the frustration.

I walk over to the mirror and take a long, hard look at myself. The reflection that stares back is far from perfect—my dress is wrinkled from the day's events, and there's a faint bruise on my arm that I've been trying to ignore. I feel the weight of exhaustion creeping up on me, but I'm not going to show weakness. Not in front of them.

Me: "I've been through hell today, and not a single one of you has done anything remotely useful. Do you see this?"

I point to the bruise on my arm, the one that's been throbbing since dinner.

Me: "This? This is from a 'misunderstanding' with someone who thought it'd be funny to rough me up earlier. And not one of you bothered to ask if I needed help."

Another maid, a younger one with wide eyes that make her look perpetually scared, takes a hesitant step forward. "W-we didn't realize, Miss Penelope. If you had asked—"

Me: "Oh, don't give me that. You're my maids. You shouldn't have to be asked. Or maybe you just don't care enough to notice."

The youngest one flinches, her lips parting like she's about to apologize. But I don't want apologies. I want them to learn.

I walk back to the center of the room and face them, hands on my hips.

Me: "I've been lenient with you all because I thought, maybe, we could find some kind of middle ground. Maybe you'd eventually figure out that I'm not as weak or as clueless as you think I am. But clearly, you need a reminder."

The older maid straightens, and there's a hint of something in her expression now—defiance, maybe? Or frustration. Either way, it's not going to end well for her.

Me: "So here's what's going to happen. From now on, I expect better. I expect respect. And if I don't get it..."

I let the sentence hang in the air, watching as the tension builds. They're waiting for me to finish the threat, but I don't need to. They get the message.

Me: "Now, someone fetch the bandages and fix this arm. And while you're at it, clean the fireplace. It's a disgrace."

The oldest maid grits her teeth—barely noticeable, but I see it—and gives a stiff nod. "Yes, Miss Penelope."

She doesn't like it. Not one bit. And honestly, I'm glad. Let her hate me. Let them all hate me. As long as they learn to do their jobs and stop treating me like some background extra in their little world, I don't care.

The youngest one scurries off to grab the bandages, while the other two start cleaning the room. I sit down on the edge of my bed, watching them work with a calm that I'm sure is driving them insane. This is the part of the day where I'm supposed to relax, but instead, I'm just... tired. Tired of pretending, tired of fighting battles on all fronts, tired of being the only one who seems to understand that I am not some joke to be laughed at.

When the youngest maid returns with the bandages, I let her tend to my arm in silence. She works quickly, her hands trembling slightly as she wraps the fabric around my bruised skin.

Me: "There. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

She doesn't respond, just shakes her head and keeps working. I watch her, feeling a strange mix of pity and frustration. She's the weakest of the bunch, and part of me wonders if she's even cut out for this. But that's not my problem. Not tonight, anyway.

Once she finishes, I stand and walk over to the window. The night outside is calm, peaceful even. The moonlight filters through the curtains, casting long shadows across the floor. For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to have a life outside of these walls. A life where I didn't have to fight tooth and nail for even the slightest bit of dignity.

But then I remember who I am. And more importantly, who I'm up against.

Me: "That'll be all for tonight. You can leave."

The maids gather their things and scurry out of the room, the door closing softly behind them. I exhale, finally alone.

For now, anyway.