I woke up the next day to someone roughly tapping me. As I squinted my eyes open, I saw a middle-aged woman standing at the foot of my bed.
Her sour expression was unmistakable, with deep lines etched into her face around her mouth and eyes, giving her a permanently scowling look. Her gray-streaked hair was pulled back into a severe bun, and her dark eyes seemed to pierce through me with a mixture of disdain and impatience.
"Get up!" she snapped, her voice harsh and unyielding. "Get up, you lazy bag of bones!"
I blinked, still disoriented from sleep. "Who are you?"
"I'm Martha, the head housekeeper," she replied curtly. "And you, little miss, are a slave. You shouldn’t be sleeping so late."
I rubbed my eyes and sat up slowly, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. "I'm sorry, I d
