Living Like a Mouse? How About a Lion?

Breakfast of Champions (Not Really)

Morning comes way too quickly, and I wake up to the wonderful feeling of my soggy nightgown still clinging to my skin. I didn't sleep much—not that I expected to, considering the prime sleeping conditions. But it's fine. Who needs sleep when you have sheer spite keeping you awake?

Reynold is still there, sitting in the corner like some kind of overworked bodyguard. I can't tell if he actually slept or if he just sat there glaring at the wall all night. Either way, he's quiet, which I appreciate. The less talking, the better.

Me: "Morning, sunshine. Ready to face the disaster that is today?"

He doesn't answer, just shoots me a look that says, Don't push your luck. Fair enough. I stretch out, feeling the stiffness in my limbs from sleeping on a damp floor, and glance over at the door, wondering when my charming maids will make their grand appearance.

I don't have to wait long. The door creaks open slowly, like they're afraid of what they'll find, and in step two of them, their noses wrinkling in disgust as they take in the scene. I can already tell from their smug expressions that they're planning on enjoying this. Great.

One of them is holding a tray—my breakfast, I assume—and the other is just standing there with that irritatingly condescending look plastered across her face. Here we go.

I don't move, just sit there silently like the good little victim I'm pretending to be. Normally, I'd throw a fit—yell, stomp my foot, maybe even toss the food at them if I was feeling particularly bold—but not today. No, today is all about survival.

Because while the maids don't know it yet, Reynold is still here, watching everything from his corner. And as much as I'd love to unleash my inner lioness and tear into these two, I know better than to push my luck when he's around. After last night, I'm pretty sure he's not exactly on my side, but he hasn't killed me yet, so... small victories.

The maid with the tray sets it down in front of me with a smirk. I glance at it, my stomach already turning. The bread is a lovely shade of green, and the cheese? Let's just say it's way past its prime. It smells worse than I do after the whole dirty water incident, but I'm not about to say a word.

Me: "Wow. Breakfast in bed. I feel so loved."

They don't even acknowledge my sarcasm, which is fine. I wasn't really expecting them to. The maid who brought the tray steps back, her smirk widening, and I can practically feel her delight radiating off her. She's enjoying this way too much.

And normally, this would be the part where I'd throw the tray at her feet, demand something halfway edible, and start a full-on riot. But today, I'm playing it cool. I pick up the moldy bread with all the grace of a person who has resigned herself to the absurdity of life and take a big bite. Mmm, delicious.

Reynold is still sitting there, watching everything unfold in stony silence. He doesn't say a word, but I know he's thinking something. He always is.

I chew the bread slowly, trying not to gag. The moldy texture is as disgusting as you'd expect, but I force myself to keep going. After all, if I make a scene now, it's game over. And while I'd love to scream at these maids, I'm not that reckless. Not today.

Me: "Mmm. Best meal I've had in weeks."

One of the maids rolls her eyes, clearly not expecting me to actually eat it. The other one just snickers, crossing her arms as if she's won some invisible victory over me.

"Enjoy your breakfast," she sneers, turning to leave. "It's what you deserve."

Me: "Oh, I will. Thank you for your kindness."

They leave the room, the door creaking shut behind them, and I wait until I'm sure they're gone before I drop the bread back onto the tray, making a face that's half disgust and half frustration.

Me: "Well, that was fun."

I glance over at Reynold, who is still sitting there, watching me with that same unreadable expression. He hasn't said a word this whole time, but I know he saw everything. He saw the way the maids treated me, the way they dumped the moldy food on me like I was nothing. He probably saw my fake smile and my forced bites of that godforsaken bread, too.

Great. Just what I needed—an audience.

For a long moment, we just sit there in silence, neither of us moving. The tension in the room is thick, but I'm not about to break it. Let him say something first. I'll wait.

And finally, after what feels like an eternity, Reynold sighs.

"You're not going to complain about that?" he asks, his voice surprisingly calm. "The food? The way they treated you?"

I shrug, playing it off like it's no big deal. Me: "What's the point? If I complain, it only makes things worse. Besides, it's not like anyone's going to step in and stop them. Why you think they doing this in the first place?"

He frowns, clearly not satisfied with that answer. "That's not the point."

Me: "Oh, really? Then enlighten me, brother dearest. What is the point?"

He's silent for a moment, clearly trying to find the right words. Eventually, he just shakes his head. "You shouldn't have to deal with this."

Me: "Yeah, well, tell that to the rest of the household."

Another long pause. It's weird, seeing Reynold like this—almost contemplative, like he's actually thinking about what I'm saying. Usually, he's just all judgment and stern looks. But now... now he seems almost human. Almost.

"You didn't deserve what happened last night," he mutters, barely loud enough for me to hear.

Me: "No kidding."

I lean back against the wall, crossing my arms and glaring at the moldy breakfast in front of me.

Me: "Look, Reynold, I get it. You're trying to be all noble and whatever, but the truth is, it doesn't matter. This is just how things are. I'm not stupid—I know I'm not exactly loved around here. So why bother complaining?"

He doesn't have a response to that, which doesn't surprise me. What could he possibly say? That he's going to fix things? Please. I'm not holding my breath for that miracle.

After a long, awkward silence, Reynold finally stands up, brushing off his clothes like he's ready to face the world again. Good for him.

"I'll be back," he says, heading for the door. "Stay here."

Me: "Oh, sure. Like I have a choice."

He gives me one last look before slipping out of the room, leaving me alone with my cold, moldy breakfast and the aftermath of yet another failed escape plan.

I sit there for a moment, staring at the tray in front of me, and then let out a long, frustrated sigh.

Me: "Yup. Just another wonderful morning in the life of Penelope Eckhart."