Alora’s Journal

Cost of Comfort

### Chapter Twenty: The Cost of Comfort

As we entered the boarding house, a sense of familiarity washed over me, but this time there was something new. I noticed that the beds now had nameplates affixed to them, each one clearly labeled. I walked down the line and found my own bed, the name “Alora” neatly inscribed beside it.

Curiosity piqued, I approached my bed and noticed a piece of paper lying on my pillow. I picked it up, glancing around to see that the other women were doing the same. As they unfolded their papers, a murmur of confusion filled the room.

I looked down at my own receipt, and my heart sank as I read the items listed:

- **Silk Gown**: 500 coins

- **Roasted Chicken**: 25 coins

- **Vegetable Stew**: 15 coins

I was shocked by the prices, my mind racing to comprehend the implications. Five hundred coins for a gown? I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the debt that was already piling up.

Just then, Madam Isadora walked into the room, her hands clasped behind her back, her posture exuding authority. “Ladies,” she announced with an icy calmness, “keep in mind that you are all still servants here. Anything that is provided to you will be added to your debt. That includes meals, clothing, and even medical assistance. Nothing here is free to a servant, so I hope none of you got too carried away during dinner.”

A wave of anxiety swept through the room. It felt like a heavy weight pressing down on my chest.

As if on cue, one of the women, who had clearly indulged in nearly every item on the tavern menu, fell to the floor at Isadora's feet. “Please, Madam Isadora!” she begged, her voice trembling. “I didn’t realize it would all go against my debt! I just wanted to enjoy a proper meal. Please don’t let it count against me!”

Isadora looked down at her with disdain, a flicker of annoyance crossing her face. Without a word, she kicked the woman off her feet, sending her tumbling back onto the floor. “You should have thought of that before you ordered,” she said coldly. With that, she turned on her heel and exited the boarding house, her presence leaving a chilling silence in her wake.

I stood there, still clutching the receipt in my hands, my mind reeling. I felt a mix of anger and hopelessness swell within me. How could they expect us to survive under such conditions?

Around me, I could hear the whispers of the other women, their voices filled with worry and disbelief. The gravity of our situation was becoming clearer by the minute. We were trapped, not just by our circumstances but by an ever-growing debt that seemed impossible to escape.

I sank onto the edge of my bed, staring at the receipt with a sense of despair. How could anyone repay such a sum? The silk gown was beautiful, but at what cost? I had always dreamed of wearing something elegant, but the reality of the situation dulled its luster.

As I sat on the edge of my bed, I knew this wasn’t a time for rebellion or chaos. I had to play things smart, just as Maris had advised on the ship. Assessing my situation and gaining knowledge would be my best strategy.

Maris walked over, a smirk on her face. “So, are you planning another rebellion?” she asked sarcastically, crossing her arms.

“No, I’m not,” I replied, trying to keep my expression serious. “As much as I would love to help everyone get out of here, it’s obvious we’re on an island, and I wouldn’t know the first thing about stealing a ship or sailing it. The best plan is to do what needs to be done, and it is what it is at this point.”

Maris nodded, her expression shifting to one of understanding. “Sounds about right,” she said. “Listen, you should think about making friends with the servants who were here before us, not just the ones who came with us.”

“Have you been here before?” I asked, intrigued.

Maris shook her head. “Not me, but my sister.”

“What happened to her?” I inquired, my heart racing at the thought.

“She died,” Maris replied bluntly.

My eyes widened in shock. “Oh… I’m so sorry.”

Maris laughed, the sound surprisingly light. “She didn’t die here. She died on the farm back home several years after she got back from this s**t place.”

As she spoke, I felt a pang of sorrow for her loss. “This place may look all pretty and fancy, but it ain’t that way for us. We are the slaves—or servants, as they call us. We’re only here to keep it pretty and fancy for them.”

“Who’s ‘them’?” I asked, feeling a sense of dread creeping in.

“Lord Darrow’s family. His sister, her children, and whatever other cunts popped out of Lord Darrow’s mother’s t**t,” she replied, a dark humor lacing her words.

I choked on a laugh, surprised by her bluntness. It was unsettling, yet somehow comforting to share a laugh in the midst of such dire circumstances.

“Listen,” Maris continued, her tone growing serious again, “you’re a servant. Live like one and act like one. Unfortunately, these silk gowns are our uniforms, and that tavern meal was just another test. We’ll most likely be sorted and placed tomorrow after the last round of tests, so get some sleep.”

As I lay back on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, my mind raced with thoughts of what tomorrow would bring. Would I be assigned to a family? Would I be forced to serve under more cruel masters?

With a heavy sigh, I closed my eyes, letting the events of the day fade into the background. I knew I needed rest to face whatever challenges awaited me in the morning.

Gradually, the sounds of the boarding house quieted down, and I allowed myself to drift into a fitful sleep, hoping that when I woke, I would be ready to confront the reality of my situation.