The frozen heart

Chapter 4: The Weight of Unseen Roles

Chapter 4: The Weight of Unseen Roles

It was just after dawn when Anne trudged into the kitchen, her eyes still half-closed from sleep. The kitchen was already alive with activity, as it always was. The clang of pots, the crackle of the hearth, and the steady hum of voices were quickly becoming Anne's least favorite sounds. She muttered to herself, longing for her modern life, where she could grab a quick coffee and head to work without having to scrub floors or peel potatoes for hours on end.

As she made her way to the back of the room, where the pile of vegetables awaited her, Anne felt someone's gaze on her. She glanced up to see a girl standing nearby, watching her with curiosity. The girl was shorter than Anne, with curly auburn hair that seemed to bounce as she moved. She had a friendly, open face, and her eyes sparkled with mischief as she approached.

"Hi," the girl said, smiling. "You're the new one, right? I'm Maris."

Anne blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the friendliness. Most of the other maids had been too busy or too tired to bother with introductions. She forced a smile, trying to shake off her exhaustion. "Uh, yeah. I'm Anne."

"Nice to meet you, Anne," Maris said, holding out her hand. Anne stared at it for a second before realizing Maris was offering a handshake—something that felt oddly modern in this old-world setting. She shook Maris's hand, finding it strangely comforting.

"You look like you're still getting used to things around here," Maris observed, leaning against the counter with a smirk. "I was the same way when I started. It's rough at first, but you'll get the hang of it."

Anne chuckled awkwardly. "Yeah, I, uh... let's just say this isn't what I'm used to."

"Oh, trust me, none of us are used to it," Maris said, rolling her eyes. "I swear, I think the head cook was born with a wooden spoon in her hand and a scowl on her face. She's always barking orders like we're soldiers in some kind of kitchen army."

Anne laughed despite herself. "I can see that. I'm half expecting her to throw a ladle at my head if I chop something the wrong way."

Maris giggled. "Oh, she's done it before. I saw her chuck a rolling pin at a girl last month. Poor thing was just trying to make dough."

"Well, that's comforting," Anne said dryly, rubbing her temples. "And here I thought my old boss was bad. At least he didn't have access to medieval kitchen weaponry."

Maris raised an eyebrow. "Old boss?"

Anne froze, realizing her slip. "Uh, I mean... yeah, just... you know, the person in charge where I used to work."

Maris didn't seem to notice the oddness of Anne's response and shrugged. "Well, if you ever need someone to vent to, I'm your girl. It's easier to survive this place if you've got a friend."

Anne smiled, touched by Maris's offer. "Thanks. I might just take you up on that."

There was a brief pause as they both continued with their tasks—Anne peeling vegetables and Maris sorting through a basket of herbs. The silence felt comfortable, and for the first time since Anne had been thrown into this strange world, she didn't feel so out of place.

"So... where are you from?" Maris asked casually, breaking the silence.

Anne hesitated for a moment, choosing her words carefully. "Far away," she finally said, not wanting to reveal too much. "Very far."

Maris glanced at her curiously but didn't press. "I figured. You don't talk like the rest of us."

Anne winced. "That obvious, huh?"