Eleanor doesn’t attack Nana openly—instead, she quietly strips her of the little privileges she had left.
Nana realizes it almost immediately. The small things—her meal portions growing smaller, the extra blanket she had to keep out the chill vanishing overnight, suddenly she was asked to move to another room and her room reassigned to another maid, forcing her into a colder, damper corner of the servants’ quarters. Each change is subtle, calculated, enough to make her life increasingly unbearable without drawing outright attention.
She clenches her fists, swallowing down the resentment bubbling inside her. She knows exactly who is behind it.
“She’s toying with me,” Nana mutters under her breath, dragging the heavy bucket of water toward the main hall. The packhouse is eerily quiet at t
