“Feeling gratitude without expressing it, is like wrapping a gift without giving it.”
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No one actually knew her name. She was just "The Madam." That was how she wanted it to be, and so it was. She owned a large property on the countryside, close enough to town that she could fetch things, and far enough away that a roundtrip took nearly an hour by car.
Everyone hated The Madam, with her pointed nose and beady black eyes, the ones that seemed to watch a person's every move. Her graying hair was always twisted into a tight bun atop her head, and her skin was beginning to wrinkle. Never once had anyone claimed to see her thin, cracked lips curved in a smile, though everyone who knew of her spoke of much scowling and frowning. At times it seemed she never blinked. She just watched, waiting to point out any minuscule error of her emotionless eyes’ victim. She hated everything and everyone, so it seemed.
The Madam was wealthy, her riches inherited from "The Captain," her late father. Because of her enormous fortune, The Madam had resorted to something most would frown upon, though it brought her cold heart a sort of satisfaction that couldn't be described.
Servants worked for her day and night, all around the clock. They weren’t allowed to take breaks, speak to anyone unless spoken to, or ever leave the grounds unless for a task of duty. Duties consisted mainly of buying food for cooking or supplies for cleaning, though The Madam occasionally assigned personal errands, such as bringing her a new book or dress.
Now Emma, one of the younger servant girls, stood in the middle of The Madam’s room, a tray of breakfast foods scattered all over the imported rug. The Madam stood in front of her, furious. Her face was so close that Emma could smell the nose-wrinkling odor of morning breath.
“You incompetent pig!” Emma didn’t bother to shrink away from The Madam, knowing a beating would come soon anyway. She’d been told to bring The Madam hot coffee and breakfast in bed, but she hadn’t fulfilled the order "quickly enough," otherwise known as in five minutes or faster.
Even so, as Emma listened to the merciless rage of words spill from The Madam’s mouth, she couldn’t help but wince. Deep down, she knew The Madam appreciated all that Emma did for her (cook, clean, make the beds, and overall, wait on her hand and foot), however Emma was fairly sure that The Madam had never spoken one kind word to her. In her mind, The Madam was a snake: full of venom and lacking remorse; yet this venom wasn’t a necessity of survival.
The Madam’s palm fell hard on Emma’s back, and she toppled to the ground, staying silent the entire time. Abuse was nothing new to her, and she knew screaming or whimpering would do her no good.
"When I say bring me breakfast, you will bring me my breakfast!" The Madam shrieked, standing over the defenseless Emma with her hands raised in the air, aggravated. Her beady eyes looked Emma over, lips pinched into a scowl.
Instead of attempting to speak, Emma nodded quickly, attempting to rid the fear from her eyes.
The Madam snorted and waved her hand dismissively. "Now go clean this mess up and send someone smarter to prepare the meal."
Emma scrambled up from the floor and hurried from the room, tears threatening to spill down over her cheeks. She really wasn't as stupid as The Madam made her out to be; she was a girl of thirteen, after all. Could she be expected to know everything that The Madam wanted of her? Surely not! Yet Emma believed every word that The Madam had spoken about her, for that was all she'd ever been told: she was stupid, ugly, and unable to do anything. After all, would The Madam ever lie to her?
