The Forgotten Girl
1153 Words
Chapter 4
The Forgotten Girl
It was hard to tell how long I’d been in Grimfang Palace. Days, weeks—they blurred together.
Time here wasn’t marked by sunrises, but by barked commands, counted lashes, and withheld meals.
Since Duskthorn fell, I’d become something else—caught between life and death.
Still, I remembered the orphanage.
Not with fondness, but with clarity. It was harsh—cold shoulders, stolen food, bruises.
I was the quiet one. Silence was survival. But there was structure. A roof. Thin meals. The matron who never smiled, yet bandaged your wounds. Even cruelty had limits there.
It wasn’t love. It wasn’t safe.
But it was bearable.
This place?
This was something else entirely.
The cold floor bit into my knees, hard and unfeeling. I tried to ignore the sting, the ache that pulsed up my legs and into my spine.
Scrubbing this damn tile over and over—what was the point? Did anyone even notice?
My fingers were cracked, my knuckles raw, and yet I kept scrubbing. Always scrubbing. Like if I stopped, I’d disappear entirely.
The scent of fresh coffee and buttery pastries floated down from the executive floor above.
I breathed it in and hated myself for it. I could almost taste it—but that world wasn’t for me. Not for the forgotten girl scrubbing grime off tiles.
My stomach growled. I clenched my jaw to silence it. No one cared if I was starving. No one cared at all. That was the rule here: survive quietly, invisibly.
Never stop. Never falter. Never let them see you struggle.
Even as pain radiated through every limb, I moved faster. I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing me break. Grimfang owned me—body and soul. If I forgot that for even a second, they’d crush me without blinking.
The sharp click of heels shattered my rhythm. My chest tightened.
Banda.
Her voice dripped with venom. “Well, well, the janitor is still at it.”
I didn’t look up. I couldn’t. Looking her in the eye only made things worse. I focused on the rag in my hand, scrubbing harder like I could wipe her away.
She stepped closer. The bucket jolted, filthy water splashing onto my already stained uniform. I flinched.
Her laughter was loud, cruel, echoing off the walls. The others joined in, their giggles a sharp chorus of mockery. Their designer shoes and perfect hair didn’t belong in the same world as me. I was just a stain they stepped around.
“You missed a spot,” Banda sneered. “Get it cleaned up, loser.”
Each word sliced deeper than any blade. My throat tightened. Don’t cry. Don’t show them. I bit my lip until I tasted blood.
I reached for the cloth again, wiping away what little pride I had left.
Then silence. The laughter stopped.
Boots. Heavy. Purposeful.
Aziel.
I didn’t dare lift my head, but I felt him. Felt his power shift the air itself. My heart skipped, traitor that it was. Why? He never looked at me. Never acknowledged me. But somehow, I always knew when he was near.
“What’s going on here?”
His voice was cold. Detached. But I heard something in it. A flicker. Maybe I imagined it.
Banda laughed again, high and fake. “Just putting the peasant in her place.”
A pause. Then his voice again, sharp and dismissive. “Enough. Find another toy.”
And just like that, he walked past me. I didn’t need to see him to know. His presence lingered like a shadow, like heat after lightning.
Did he hesitate?
For just a breath, I thought he did. A tiny shift, as if something in him recognized me. Or maybe… my wolf.
But it passed. Gone as quickly as it came.
I stayed still, pretending it meant nothing. Because it couldn’t. Because if he ever found out who I was, everything would fall apart.
He doesn’t know. He can’t know.
Morning came like a slap.
Cold air punched me awake. My eyes stung from the harsh light, and my limbs refused to move. Pain had become my only constant companion.
“Get up, you worthless trash.”
Greta.
I groaned, trying to rise. My body was lead.
Water hit my face, icy and merciless. I gasped, sputtering. My shirt clung to me, soaked through.
“Lazy piece of garbage,” she snarled. “The executive suites need to be spotless. Mess this up and you’ll regret it.”
No, not again. I nodded quickly, swallowing the scream that wanted out. I couldn’t afford to anger her. Not when every punishment came with scars.
I stumbled to the luxury cleaning room. The fabrics waiting there mocked me—silk, velvet, things I’d never be allowed to wear. My fingers, filthy and cracked, weren’t meant for beauty.
I worked until my arms shook. My mind drifted, numb from repetition, until—
No.
A stain.
Dark. Ugly. Spreading across the sleeve of a gown.
Panic seized me.
What did I do? Did I scrub too hard? Use the wrong solvent? Oh, goddess. Not now. Not this.
The door slammed.
Luna Zara.
Her perfume hit first. Then her icy glare.
Her eyes landed on the dress.
I dropped to my knees. My voice cracked. “I—I didn’t mean to—”
The slap exploded across my face.
Pain bloomed, metallic blood rushing to my tongue.
“This was an heirloom,” she hissed. “And you’ve ruined it.”
My heart pounded. I could fix it. I had to. “I can fix it, I swear—”
Another blow. Harder. My vision blurred.
“You dare speak?” she snapped. “Hold her.”
Hands gripped my arms, dragging me up. I didn’t fight. What would be the point?
She touched the gown like it mattered more than I ever had.
“You deserve to be whipped.”
No. No, please—
“Take her to the courtyard,” she said. “Make sure everyone sees.”
My feet scraped against the ground. The guards didn’t care. I was nothing to them.
The courtyard opened like a stage. Faces watched. Some curious. Some gleeful.
Banda stood there. Smirking. Enjoying every second.
I was thrown to my knees. My wrists tied.
Greta approached, whip in hand. The tip gleamed.
Silver.
“Count them,” she said.
I braced.
The first lash burned fire into my skin. I clenched my teeth.
Second. Third. Fourth.
Tears blurred my vision. I wouldn’t scream. I wouldn’t give them that.
By the tenth, I was somewhere else. Floating above it. Blood pooled around me.
Laughter.
Banda whispered to Aziel.
He was watching.
He did nothing.
Another lash.
The world tilted.
And deep inside, beneath the pain, something stirred.
Something ancient. Something angry. Something mine.
Not yet.
Not here.
Then darkness claimed me.
- Writer
