Chapter 1
654 Words
The smell of burnt bread and dried roses permeated the entire house. Judith cherished roses; she tucked them behind her ears, pressed them into books, and crushed their petals to make perfume, which she then applied to Isla and Kayla's wrists. It wasn't until Lilith was left to cook that she burned the bread.
This morning, like every other, Lilith stood at the kitchen hearth in silence, hands dusted with flour, hair sticking to her cheek with sweat. The dough would not rise properly, and she knew Judith would call it a punishment from God.
"You missed a spot," Isla sneered from behind her, leaning against the doorframe like a queen surveying her maid.
Kayla giggled. "She always does. Perhaps the demon blood is to blame.
Lilith didn't flinch. Wiping her hands, she continued to knead. The dough was cracked and unyielding—much like her spirit had been, once.
Isla stepped closer and drewled, "I said you missed a spot." Right there." She jabbed Lilith's shoulder with a polished fingernail.
Lilith pressed harder into the dough. Ignore them. Let them talk. Be calm.
Kayla said out loud, "You're so quiet lately," as she twisted a strand of her golden hair. "It's unnatural. Are you cursing us under your breath again? Should we tell Mother?"
"She doesn't need to curse us," thought Isla with a sly smile. "Her name is a sufficient curse."
It landed.
Lilith froze. The name. Lilith.
A name weighed down by centuries of myth, of darkness, of twisted scripture. Judith said the moment she saw her, she knew she was no good—named like a demon, and born like a burden.
However, Lilith simply blinked and continued kneading.
"You're pathetic," Isla spat. "Always hiding behind silence, as if it makes you holy."
"Or maybe she's just slow," Kayla added. "What do you think, Sister?"
"I think Father was right to send her to the nunnery. Maybe they'll beat the devil out of her."
They erupted in laughter.
Lilith slowly raised her head and met her reflection in the steel basin on the other side of the table. Mismatched eyes, one blue like the sky, the other brown like the earth, platinum hair, and golden skin. Her face was too lovely for this house, and that alone made her a target.
She had stopped defending herself long ago. Words only earned more punishment. Resistance only led to more brutality. From her father's contempt to the death of her mother, her life had been a constant stream of accusations and betrayals.
He never wanted her
Jon Pax had never given her the same look he gave Judith's daughters. Not after she broke her arm when she fell from the fig tree when she was seven years old. Not after she emerged victorious in the village festival's scripture competition. Not when she woke up crying in her sleep and whispered to shadows that never responded.
Her earliest memories were filled with distant footsteps and chilly walls.
So Lilith did what she always did.
She finished kneading. She wiped the table. She cleaned the soot from the fire.
And when her stepmother entered the room with that false smile and dagger-like voice, Lilith bowed her head and said nothing.
⸻
Later That Night
Lilith curled up on the floor beside her bed—not in it. The mattress was wet again. One of them must've poured the washbasin over it. Again.
She fixed her gaze on the wooden beams above her, following the fissures like escape routes.
Perhaps she would have been loved in a different life. Maybe her mother would've lived. Maybe her father would've fought for her, instead of shoving her out of sight like an unwanted heirloom.
However, she was Lilith Pax in this life.
And tomorrow, she would be sent to the nunnery.
Not for God. Not for healing. But because no one wanted to look at her anymore.
- Writer
