Butler, Dear Butler | On Hold |

2. Servitude

In a broken building laced with growing vines there were three separate cries, each of a different level of helplessness. One was experiencing the pain of birth, another the pain of being birthed, and the third the 'joy' of guiding said birth down the right path. This all was under the eye of a stern looking man who was bleeding profusely.

He was not the only one is pain, he kept telling himself. Sheer will power was holding him up for the experience of his wife's birth and this alone qualified him to be the husband he was. His worried, helpless eyes told that he was believing he was as worthy as he was.

The maid let out a sigh of relief as the child was successfully pushed through the mother's body. It's lungs were open, thankfully, showing it was healthy right from the start. The birth was exceptionally successful. 

Tears leaked from the mother's eyes. She was not reaching towards the baby in the arms of the maid but her husband. She was crying not only from pain but guilt. It had been her that had pushed him to deliver her away from her family, getting him injured in their escape. Still, he sat through her birth without complaint.

If she was marry who she was engaged to, she was sure to not even be afforded the same treatment. Maybe she would be in a nicer place or with more aid but the emotional support would not be at the same level. For that, she smiled.

Her husband practically broke down at that moment. At her side, he dropped to his knees, reaching out bleeding, trembling hands and brings her hand so much closer to his face. He said nothing. His fervent eyes were enough to convey all the emotions he was feeling.

The maid left them to themselves, slowly washing the child of the gooey blood. It was screaming out it's lungs, unable to move away from the pain and cold it was experiencing. The only source of relief were the warm hands that clutched him. To that he latched onto. 

The warmth was so much better the biting cold.

The maid stared thoughtfully into the clouded eyes of the newborn. She felt she should be resentful to the masters who took her way from the comfortable mansion she served in yet... Yet as she stared into those big, misty eyes, she was hit with the most primal instinct: a motherly kind.

Then it occurred to her that if she were to be in that big mansion, she would likely never be able to see the young master beyond that point. She smiled as he slowly started to calm his cries. Children were so cute.

And thus a family was made.

The child was clingy to the maid and indifferent to his surroundings. He did not care for the kindly mother or the ferocious doggy father. He was quiet and understanding, still and patient. He was so smart for someone his age.

He was named Moyin with an odd inflection on the 'o' that made it sound like 'oi'

As weeks go by, the pair of husband and wife are too busy staring into each others' eyes to give much attention to the baby. It doesn't help that his mother is unable to look him in the eyes for everytime she swears she sees the color gold instead of the child's misty green. She is still haunted by the night where she forced upon by her fiance and fears that the child by just might be his son.

She hopes dearly that such a thing will not come to pass. And so, the obsession and love in the maid's eyes go unnoticed by the pair of lovebirds.  The maid was a fairly pretty one belonging to upper nobility who'd long since been drugged into infertility (to stop her from crawling into someone's bed). She could never have a child of her own. Caring for the young master was her highest responsibility.

When she stares into those needy green eyes that always seek her warmth, she can not help but swoon. She dreams that she would have a handsome lover who would whisk her away from servitude and deliver her a child. That she may someday find the warmth that the couple has. Her only solace in the bundle she cares for.

Weeks grow into months and as soon as he stops breastfeeding he adventures for his first day into the outside world. Swaddled in warm blankets and warm hands, he says his first word in that dead of night. "Warm..." He mumbles, searching.

The maid's smile is beyond pleased.

They travel day and night to a mansion far away from the little broken down cottage and it's pair of lovers. The child only cries out when it has to use the bathroom or is hungry. His smart eyes stare upwards, emotionless.

When they arrive, they duck into narrow passageways with bustling humans who flutter past as silent as rats. They all stare at the maid and child. The influx of humans creates a greater, more bundled warmth generated naturally in the air. This causes the child to slightly grin and, in turn, the maid smiles as well.

It isn't until they enter long room with banging pots and pans and boxes and smells that the noise starts to pick up. It's much different from the quiet cottage and lonely wilderness. The maid is greeted with open arms, called Elaine with a pronounced 'l'. They all tactically do not ask whose child it is or where she disappeared off to.

Moyin's intellectual growth is incredible. Going from single words to short sentences within a couple months. He asks questions with direct meaning then quiets down almost immediately. When he stares off into the distance, his bright green eyes seem to tell stories of deep thought and intrigue.

The servants coddle him almost immediately. So obedient and quiet, how can they not coo and preen like birds. They almost never want to put him down. It isn't until he starts to secretly practice at night that they give him a little space.

By the time he's able to stand, he'd been claimed the darling of every heart in the lower servants quarters. The other servant children who have not yet grown into able working age treat him as both a rival and treasure in utter contradiction.

Even the visiting higher servants who have private quarters like the mild, quiet child.

By the age of 3, he'd learned to escape his admirers . His nibble feet were truly that to praise. It seemed like they would go on caring for the indifferent little bean sprout in cheer. It wasn't until a fire happened in the kitchen and his 'mother' died that everyone began to take a step back.

For at the sight of the burnt remains of his mother he did not shed a tear. When he was comforted by those around him, he asked them why he should be. 

"She was your mother, was she not? Aren't you sad at her death?" One persisted.

His only answer was: "She was not my mother." At this comment, they could not help but be taken aback. If they had tried to look a bit further into his indifferent green eyes, they might have seen the slight melancholy that could be said to be uncharacteristic for him.

Then, he was avoided like the plague. The children wouldn't not play with their indifferent friend as now his stoic expression was seen as unfeeling and cruel. The servants would step aside as he passed, disdain clouding their eyes, muttering comments under their breath at his ungrateful actions.

Eventually, little Moyin avoided the servants quarters all together. 

He began to duck into the master's library at the dead of night. There he would sit until morning, candle burned to a puddle and mind full of words. By the time he was discovered, he was 4. He'd gotten more confident as he went uncaught.

It was past servant curfew when only the masters and their personal servants would be awake. Moyin had his head tucked into an theatrical retelling of of the 'Siege of Demon Gate' told from the perspective of a little saber rabbit when he was knocked hard on the head. He fell to the side, scattering his book.

He did not call out, but simply stared with bright, indifferent eyes at his attacker.  It was a girl no bigger then 7 wearing layers of lace and intensely colored fabric. Her own brown eyes stared back with anger and fear. "What are you doing here, thief?"

This was not the first time he had been called as such and it brought back old memories.

| Author's Note |

I strive to make a comment on each chapter as it makes my work seem more humanized and, in my opinion, makes it easier to comment. Although it really hasn't been proven. Look forward to seeing some weird comments in the future, probably.

1455 words. Unedited.