The Maid Wife

Miry's pov I took a deep breath, my lungs filling with the profound scent of damp earth and the fresh aroma of grass still clinging to last night's heavy rain. In our small hut, the wooden clock on the wall chimed, marking 10:11 AM. The morning sky stretched bright and clear above, though inside my chest, my heart beat with a faint tremor of apprehension. Outside, an old horse-drawn cart, its wooden wheels softly creaking as if in complaint, already awaited me. I glanced back, my eyes finding the figure of my younger sister, Lyla, standing in the doorway, her silhouette softly muted by the gentle morning light. Her messy black hair danced in the morning breeze, and her large eyes, reflecting a mix of worry and hope, were fixed upon me. "Be careful on your journey, Sister Miry," she whispered, her voice almost swallowed by the rustling wind that swept through the leaves. A faint smile touched her lips as she bid me farewell, an expression too mature for her mere seventeen years. Lyla, in her forced innocence, had learned too early about the harsh realities of life as a maid, a fate that seemed to bind us in an endless cycle. I knelt before her, my hands gently smoothing the thin scarf wrapped around her delicate neck. "I'll be fine," I said, trying to infuse a confidence I didn't entirely feel. "You take good care of yourself here, okay? Aunt Mira will look after you until I return." I kissed her forehead, a farewell kiss that felt like a weighty promise, before rising and nodding to Aunt Mira. The old woman's face was etched with deep wrinkles, yet every line radiated genuine warmth and concern. Without looking back—a deliberate decision, for I knew another glimpse of Lyla's face would erode my resolve—I climbed into the horse-drawn cart. The coachman, an old man with a worn, wrinkled straw hat, gave me a brief nod before flicking the reins with a swift motion. The cart began to move forward, each rotation of its wooden wheels sending a jolt through my bones on the hard bench. I clutched my small cloth bag tightly, its contents nothing more than a few changes of clothes and a pair of worn-out shoes I'd mended countless times. "This is a new beginning," I whispered to myself, the words becoming a mantra amidst the noisy journey. "The work at Duke Valmont's house is a great opportunity. The wages will be enough to pay our hut's rent and ensure Lyla can eat three meals a day. I must be strong." That determination flowed, filling every corner of my soul. The journey to the city felt like an entire, endless day. The scenery outside the cart's window changed dramatically, from vast, tranquil green fields to bustling cobblestone streets, filled with shouting merchants and other clattering carriages. The city of Velzira stretched before me, a foreign place, far removed from the simplicity of life I knew. Its buildings towered high, with glowing red roofs and gleaming glass windows reflecting the late afternoon sun. The people here appeared neat and sophisticated, wearing luxurious coats and stylish hats that made my simple, almost faded dress feel even more conspicuous, triggering a sharp wave of discomfort. Finally, the cart stopped before a towering iron gate, adorned with intricate, captivating carvings. Beyond it, stood a magnificent house, its white pillars rising gracefully and meticulously manicured gardens stretching on either side. This was Duke Valmont's Estate. My heart pounded fiercely, its rhythm drumming in my ears. I stepped out of the cart, my legs slightly trembling as my feet touched the gravel path. An old servant with a stern face and an emotionless expression greeted me at the gate. "You must be Miry, the new maid?" she asked, her voice flat, devoid of inflection. "Follow me." I nodded faintly, not daring to speak, and followed her swift steps towards the main door. Inside, the grandeur of the house was even more striking. The ceilings soared high, adorned with magnificent paintings of angels, their eyes seemingly gazing down at me from above. Thick red carpets covered the floors, absorbing every sound, and crystal chandeliers shimmered from every corner, casting a soft, enhancing glow. Before beginning my duties tomorrow, I was led to a small room located at the back of the building—an area specifically designated for the servants. In a corner of the room, a small, cracked mirror hung on the wall. I stared at my own reflection, trying to accustom myself to my new attire. My light brown hair was short, neatly framing my face. A typical white maid's cap sat atop my head, slightly folded at the edges, adding a touch of simplicity. My eyes were a warm brown. The black dress with white accents flared at the skirt, paired with thin white stockings that covered my legs up to my thighs. Shiny black shoes with small buckles on top felt stiff and strange on my feet, accustomed as they were to simple soles. For a brief moment, I hesitated, unsure if the girl in the mirror truly looked like me. The uniform felt heavy with meaning, as though it carried expectations I wasn’t certain I could fulfill. After trying on my new clothes, I decided to rest to relieve my fatigue from the long journey from the village to the capital, and to prepare for tomorrow's work as a maid. —