Lord davain's maid

Chapter 1: cold comfort Year 1843 Rain fell relentlessly over the town—cold, heavy, and endless, as if the very sky were weeping over the place.. It drummed loudly against rooftops, turned the dirt roads into thick mud, and blurred the world into shades of gray and shadow. Beneath this unforgiving downpour, Marena walked alone through a narrow, winding alley. Her thin shoes were soaked through, her clothes clung to her skin like a heavy shroud, and every step she took screamed of exhaustion. She had spent the entire day toiling—scrubbing floors, mending clothes, running errands from dawn until dusk—yet there was no warm meal or soft rest waiting for her at the end of this road. Only silence. “Good evening, Marena—truly a draining day, isn’t it?” She lifted her head slowly, water dripping from her hair into her eyes. Standing by a doorway was Madam Brakes—a loud, sharp‑tongued woman who knew everyone’s secrets in this small, suffocating town. Marena replied politely, though she had barely enough strength left to speak. “It has been indeed, Madam,” she said softly, her voice nearly lost in the storm. “Go home and warm yourself quickly then,” the woman added, leaning closer with a whisper. “And… I heard your father has returned to the house.” Marena’s steps faltered instantly. Her back went rigid, as if a cold iron rod had replaced her spine. Of course he is back, she thought, her heart beginning that familiar, anxious rhythm. When is he ever gone for long? And why does his return always feel like a curse? She forced a smile onto her face—thin, hollow, a mask she had worn since childhood—one that never reached her sad green eyes. She continued walking until she stood before her home. It was small, plain, and modest—nothing grand, built simply for people of their low standing. The wood was weather‑beaten, the windows cracked, and the whole place seemed to shrink away from the storm. Yet there was one corner she had made entirely her own: a small garden hidden in the side, surrounded by rough barbed wire she had strung together herself, since she could not afford proper timber for a fence. It was the only place she felt safe. The gate creaked sharply as she pushed it open—a sound that felt like a dire warning echoing through the quiet yard. Inside the walls, the air felt heavier than the storm outside: colder, thicker, filled with a heavy silence that pressed against her chest. She knew this house had never held any warmth for her—never would. She had grown up knowing the truth: her mother had drawn her very last breath the moment Marena was born. She had taken her mother’s life before she even had a chance to live her own. To her father, she was not a daughter—she was a thief. A living, breathing reminder of everything he had lost. She did not call out; she knew better than to draw attention unnecessarily. Noise was rarely forgiven here. But soon, sounds drifted from the dim parlor: the sharp clink of glass against wood, the drag of heavy, uneven footsteps across worn floorboards, and the strong, biting scent of cheap whiskey and stale smoke. “You are late.” The voice rolled out—low, rough, and thick with drink—hitting her harder than the wind outside. Marena stepped forward, trembling slightly. “The rain… it slowed me down, I—” She never had a chance to finish. A heavy glass cup came flying straight at her, smashing against the wall just beside her head. She fell instantly silent, bowing her head low, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. A chair screeched sharply backward across the floor. Howard Rover stood tall before her—a man consumed by pride, his eyes burning with unmasked disgust whenever they landed on her face. She was the spitting image of her mother—the woman he had loved, and the one he blamed Marena for stealing away forever. Every breath she took felt like an insult to him. “You speak only when you are spoken to,” Howard snapped, his tone cruel and absolute. He scoffed sharply, turning away as if she were nothing more than dirt beneath his boots. “Get out of my sight before I forget myself entirely and do something we shall both regret.” Marena fled without a single word. Her whole body shook uncontrollably as she ran blindly down the narrow hallway, bursting into her small room and slamming the door shut behind her—clutching the handle as if that thin wood could ever truly block out his anger. She pressed her back hard against the wood, sliding down until she sat on the cold floor, pulling her knees to her chest. Tears pricked her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Even here, within these four walls, the weight of the house pressed down upon her—the storm raging outside, his hatred lingering in the air, and the cruel truth she had carried all her life: she was never wanted, never loved, and always to b lame for simply existing. ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎