I shuddered as I cried, my blood pounding in my ears and the screams echoing from their void. As the clock passed its silent judgment, forever impassive of whatever passes in front of its face, I could taste my tears as I lay in a ring of sunlight.

The clock ticked on, that steady rhythm unswayed by my sorry state. My tears dwindled as my fear started to recede. Wiping my face on the hem of my dirty dress, I tried to match my breathing to the clock. Tick, tock, tick, tock. In, out, in, out. I pushed the sight of ugly creatures and piercing shrieks of phantom voices out of my thoughts, stitching together my mask of composure that Enyo had shattered.

Don’t show fear. Don’t show anger. Don’t show joy. Don’t show sadness. Don’t show anything.

I chanted my mantra silently, my tongue rolling over the familiar words from soothing habit. I picked myself up, leaning against the wall for a minute as feeling returned to my shaking legs. I stumbled back over to the fireplace, retrieved my trowel, and began to return the spilled ash to the bucket. I would have to find the vacuum and carpet cleaner to make sure the spot was completely removed. After that, I started back on the waiting fireplace when I stopped once more. There, dirty and crumpled, sat Deino’s rejected dress. The gentle orange and subtle, entailed yellow and red were diminished by the filth coating their surface.

I scanned the room before removing the dress from the fireplace. I finished gathering the ash and took the bucket and dress out the back door. On the way out, I grabbed a plastic bag from a closet. Right next to the door sat the trash cans that I dragged to the end of the driveway every week. I covered the bucket with the bag and tipped the ashes inside, tied the bag closed tight, and dropped it in the trash can. Next, I tried my best to shake/beat whatever I could off of the ugly dress.

I started to walk down a worn path of stepping stones, still shaking the dress. The path leads to a small grove of trees on the edge of the property; some of the only plant life to survive my stepfamily’s cold-hearted renovations. Here sat a miserable little cabin where tools and gardening supplies used to be stored. I opened the rickety door and entered my room.

It was ten feet by ten feet, made completely of woods, and had a bare floor. The only decor was the small hearth built in one corner, pictures of my mom I had tacked up beside a cracked window, a couple of cardboard boxes with my clothes resting in another corner, a pile of blankets and pillows in the third, and stacks of books in the last corner. My school uniform was freshly washed and hanging from a clothesline strung up between the walls, and my backpack was sitting by the creaky door. Welcome, you’ve seen everything I own.

I opened one of the cardboard boxes, this one-half full of garments that needed to be washed. I buried the dress with the rest of these and carried the box back to the house. I entered from the back, walked through the kitchen I had cleaned about two hours ago, walked down an unused servants corridor with windows I need to wash, and down a staircase which finally ended in the laundry room.

This room was larger than the cabin, three washers lining the right wall and three dryers on the left. In the opposite wall is a laundry shoot that connected with my stepsisters’ and stepmother’s rooms. Underneath of that sat a large bin overflowing with clothes. I sighed. I had just done their laundry two days ago.

I set about sorting one type of clothing from the other, the whites from the colors, and targeting the few stains that had appeared on the few articles that have managed to be worn past the front door without being carelessly reprimanded and discarded to the wash. I reached for the detergent from the shelf above the washers, dumped in a separate load into each machine, put the bluish liquid in each, and started the three required cycles. As I did, another knot of clothes slid out of the shoot and into the bin. I left the clothes that still needed to be washed to the side and retraced my steps to the kitchen. I had to start cooking dinner.

Stew is usually a safe option, so I began gathering vegetables, meat, salt, and other ingredients I needed for the meal. I washed the vegetables and began chopping them into more chewable sizes. By the time I had set the beginning of supper on the stovetop to begin boiling, I heard the distant chime of the washers finishing their work. I jogged down to the laundry room, moved the damp loads into dryers, put three more in the washers, started the machines, and hurried back to the kitchen.

Once all the ingredients were in the pot and the water was starting to shimmer, I heard “Oh gods, can’t you make anything besides… whatever kind of stew that is?”

I turned to see Deino marching her way through the kitchen, which was a rarity in its own right. She threw disgusted glares at the cutting board covered in vegetable and beef bits, to the knives I had drying on a towel, to the oversized pot with steam coming out the top, to me. “We have this three times a week! Why don’t you cook anything else?”

I was silent. It was engraved into me a long time ago to not talk back to Deino. She was large, having inherited her father’s brutish build and the strength of her mother. She made slim Enyo seems like a petite doll in comparison.

When I didn’t respond, Deino grunted and shoved me against the counter. “Did you put your own tongue in the pot? Fine, but I won’t eat this slop again!”

She peered over the rim and snorted again when she saw the contents. “Can’t you at least try a different recipe? It’s so bland!”

I had made this stew with my mother on many cold, winter nights. It had left my belly warm as I curled up in my mother’s lap as she recounted fairy tales.

“It makes me want to hurl!”

“Why don’t you cook for yourself?”

Silence, broken only by the now boiling stew. Deino shifted her body towards me slowly, every motion weighted with a threat. “What did you just say?”

Shakes ran up my legs and shivered down my arms. I hadn’t meant to say it, but the words had escaped my mouth without permission. I stammered an apology. “I-I’m s-sorry! I d-didn’t-”

“Say it again,” Deino demanded with the force of a truck. “Say it.”

I forced my dry throat to swallow as the words fought to stay down. “I-I said… ‘W-why don’t you... c-cook for… yourself…’” I fell silent not wanting to aggravate her further.

Deino didn’t lunge at me; instead, she picked up a large, wooden spoon and stirred the stew. “I see,” She said after two long minutes. “In that case…” She whipped the spoon out of the pot and doused me with the stew! My skin burned where the boiling watered had landed, beef and carrots rolling away in a steaming puddle.

I yelped, but a hand clamped over my mouth. Deino pulled me off my feet, spinning me around so I landed on my back. The impact drove the air from my lungs. As I inhaled, her foot stomped on my stomach, my air once more leaving in a choked gasp. Deino loomed over me, shifting her full weight onto the leg on top of me. Pain erupted from my middle as I resisted the bile forced up my throat.

“When will you learn to watch your mouth?” Deino spat. “What do you think gives you the right to speak to me that way? Where do you find the nerve?” In her anger, a smile lit up her face, stretched wide enough to expose every flawless tooth. “What would mother say if she had heard you? My, wouldn’t that be just awful?” Her eyes, an empty blue, unblinkingly met mine.

I felt it set in; a cloud descended upon my mind with the rumble of a storm. “N-no… please…” The cloud engulfed my thoughts in its bulk.

“What was that? ‘Get mother’ you said?” She cackled. “That’s a wonderful idea!”

Through the murk, images swam to life: stepmother’s towering form delivering judgement as Deino and Enyo laughed from her shadow; the bruises that would stand out in contrast on my skin; nights locked in the basement that fueled nightmares of darkness and patient demons; the few hours of freedom that school gifted me being snatched away into the gloom; the chains of labor from chores that I could never loosen. The images whirled in a cycle, each time becoming so vivid in the chaos that they were branded into my mind.

The weight vanished from my gut. Deino walk slowly towards the door connecting to the dining room. “She must be getting ready to eat right now. I’ll go fetch her.”

The cloud exploded into a frenzy so strong that my head began to pound. “Deino, please! Please don’t!” I scrambled over to her on my knees, soaking my pants in the spilled stew. As she reached for the door, I clung to the hem of her dress. “Please don’t, please don’t please don’t,” I pleaded as my tears dripped onto the tile.

Through the gale, I could hear Deino’s laughter. “Let go of me.”

I obeyed, dropping my hands on to my fallen tears. Deino’s foot came down on my fingers, jolts of pain screaming up my hands, but I refused to move so I wouldn’t upset her any further. She ground her heel, but I bit on my tongue to stay silent. I tasted blood.

Deino’s mirth continued to ring out as thunder did for lightning. She ran her finger through my unkempt hair. “You make for such a fun time; it never gets old! Alright, I’ll forgive you this once.”

“Thank you, thank you,” I gasped through shaking breaths. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you…”

The foot lifted my finger. I rubbed them to ease the pain away. “Make sure the food is ready on time, or I might be so hungry that it’ll just… slip out.” She chuckled as she left the kitchen, the door swinging behind her.

I sat on the floor holding my hands to my chest as the stew continued to boil. Slowly, the storm withdrew from my mind and relinquished my thoughts. When the last traces of her Semblance faded, I stood on legs once more shaking. I stumbled over to the nearest sink and washed my hands. After turning down the heat under the stew so that it would remain warm, ideas of Deino’s favorite dishes came to the front of my thoughts.

I returned to the pantry to start over.