For the first time in a while, I fell asleep.

Blinking shallowly, a child perceived a large mirror across the room, reflecting an empty, dirty sofa. No matter how long she stared, there was no reflection of herself.

To her left stood their old bookshelf, the one Bernard would break in a month or two during one of his tantrums.

She looked down at her small hands, decorated with blue bruises. Her height barely reached the table’s edge; she was the size of a child.

Her steps were guided by a force she couldn’t resist—her actions once upon a time.

The child walked out of the living room, finding herself between the peeling walls of a dim, familiar corridor.

“Bernard, I swear to God, if you lay your disgusting hands on her again!” Her mother’s screeching voice echoed from the bedroom.

At the corridor’s end, two doors faced each other—her mother’s room on one side, her own on the other.

“You deaf? I said I didn’t touch the kid! You want me to say it louder?” A man’s hoarse scream rattled the walls. “I DID NOT TOUCH YOUR FUCKING KID!”

“Yeah? And I’m supposed to believe you? What, I’m blind now?!”

The child’s eyes locked onto a drawing at the end of the hall, high on the wall. Three figures clumsily drawn on white paper: a tall man with a face scar, a woman with a black eye, and a little girl holding a tiny violin. It was the happiest drawing the little girl could make, and her mother was so proud she hung it on the wall.

“Listen, I’m telling the truth. Now fuck off before I get mad. Hear me?”

The child’s small fingers trembled as she walked closer, eyes on the drawing as its characters began to melt, dripping off of the frame.

“WHERE ARE YOU GOING? WE’RE NOT DONE TALKING!” Her mother’s voice was sharp, almost breaking.

“I'm sick of these screaming matches! Let go of— Let GO...! Crazy-ass bitch!”

The closer she got, the more the drawing warped. The kid with the violin cried as the figures’ smiles twisted into angry, dripping messes. The child felt a pang of sorrow for her drawing.

“What did you just call me? BERNARD!”

“I CALLED YOU WHAT YOU ARE, NOW FUCK OFF, CAMILLA!”

The child reached the crack in the door to her mother’s room. Inside, two figures stood inches apart: a man with narrow shoulders and a long head towering over a woman with long, disheveled hair and a gaunt frame.

Camilla—Penelope’s mother—had always been too hot-headed for her own good, and now her deep-set green eyes bore into her lover with deadly intent. 

“Get out. Now!” Her breath heaved, sending her curls flying as she shoved Bernard in the chest.

“You fucking…!" Bernard regained his balance, teeth gritted as he closed in on her again.

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!” Camilla refused to budge.

The little girl turned away, unfazed by the slap sound, her mother’s cry, or the cruel insults that spilled out of Bernard's mouth.

She stepped into her own room and headed for her beat-up bed. Her bruised arms reached to hold her pillow, revealing a shiny black book underneath it. Ignoring it, she refocused on the pillow. She sat on the bed, her small feet dangling as she closed her eyes, pulling the pillow closer and closer to her face.

An older, ghostly version of the bruised girl sat on the ground, leaning against the bed beside her younger self's little feet. The older girl blinked quietly, watching her own bruised wrist. The pained screams and sobs from her mother's room, the suffocating little girl on the bed, and the chilling realization that Penelope was having a nightmare… all of it slowly dissolved into a cold, familiar clarity.

As her teeth sank into her wrist, Penelope knew—she needed to wake up before this nightmare swallowed her whole.

A warm hand touched my shoulder, sending signals to my stomach to wake me with an untamable nausea.

My eyes snapped open—though they felt heavy, and my body jolted away from the arm.

A warm hand touched my shoulder, sending a jolt of nausea twisting through my stomach.

My eyes snapped open, though they felt heavy, and my body instinctively jerked away from the touch.

Color flooded my vision, painting rusty metal bars behind a thick layer of dirty glass set into a wooden wall. My lap was a tangle of ragged fabric and shackled hands, a bitter reminder that this wasn't a nightmare, too.

"Don't touch me," I ordered, still half-awake, glaring at Alice, who stood by my side with the carriage door open behind her.

"I spoke, but you weren't listening, my lady," she replied, her expression monotone.

"Scweam at me nekth time or something. I'd hate it less." I grumbled, standing up and following her out of the carriage, the dull ache in my limbs reminding me of how long I'd been in this hellhole.

Alice, ignoring my request as always, reached out to help me out. I rolled my eyes and jumped down on my own, trudging across the ground that felt like it was trying to swallow my feet.

As I surveyed the camp, I spotted him—Truman—standing a head taller than the rest of the crowd.

"Truman, go help with the horses," barked some guy holding a list, waving Truman off toward the horses' area.

My eyes narrowed as a plan formed in my head, and the corners of my mouth lifted into a mean grin.

I must’ve perked up at the thought because Alice turned to me with a suspicious frown.

I must have perked up with my newfound idea because Alice turned to me with a suspicious frown. I quickly turned away from Truman, not wanting her to figure out what I was up to.

"You," a voice slithered through the air, making every hair on my body stand up. "Follow me."

Blert, with his permanent scowl and large nose that seemed to have been broken one too many times, stood to my left, his usual aura of menace wrapped tightly around him. 

My neck itched at the sight of him. What a piece of shit.

He was dressed in a stark white blazer with silver armor strapped on his chest and hunched shoulders, emblazoned with a Black Slithering Snake emblem. The number 4 was stamped on his left breastplate, a reminder of the authority he wielded. His twin daggers, black as the night and just as deadly, hung at his side. One of them was responsible for nearly slicing my throat open just yesterday.

"Talk hewe," I snapped, my tone as stern as it was angry. "The latht time I fowowed you to 'talk,' I nearly got killed."

Blert’s eyes, beady and devoid of warmth, narrowed to slits. His lips curled in a sneer as he scanned the area, ensuring no one overheard our exchange. I could almost hear his teeth grinding as he restrained himself, his knuckles whitening around the hilt of one of his daggers.

“We’ll speak in the carriage, then. But make no mistake, woman, you’re wearing my patience thin,” he relented, waving a hand at Alice, signaling her to leave.

Alice gave the two of us a shallow nod and stepped away, turning back to glance at us every two steps.

"In your dweams. That's still out of sight."

"You're getting on my nerves," he hissed, his nostrils flaring. "I'm already discontented with what I'm going to talk about. Don't make me break another bone of yours."

I gave him a long, hard look, weighing my options, then nodded at Alice to go. There were servants everywhere, busy setting up the camp, retrieving materials from the caravan behind my carriage. The coachman still sat on his perch, waiting for his horses' turn at the watering trough. It wasn't private by any means, but it was safer than whatever Blert would suggest otherwise.

"Pick a reward," he ordered as soon as we sat down, the door creaking shut behind us.

My eyebrows shot up, sleep evaporating from my system in an instant.

"A rewod?" I echoed, certain I was hallucinating. "From who? Don't tell me—" I covered my mouth with a hand, my eyes wide. "The young duke?"

"No, you insipid fool. From me."

My grin disappeared as quickly as it had come.

Blert giving me a reward? This had to be some kind of twisted joke.

"... Why?" I asked, though I already knew the answer. This was no act of generosity. This was Blert, begrudgingly settling a debt he couldn’t stomach owing, especially not to a 'woman'.

"Don't ask foolish questions." He crossed his arms, the fabric of his blazer crinkling. "Unless you want to forgo the offer?"

"No," I said quickly, my brain kicking into gear. "Alright. Easy. Set me fwee."

"Ha! Absolutely not." His snort was devoid of humor.

Sure, I had a list of demands, but that was the obvious first choice. He was a fool to think I wouldn’t ask.

"Fwee me of my shackles, then."

"No way in hell. You’ll remain bound until I see fit."

I leaned back, folding my arms over my chest, giving him a look that said I was done playing games. "Then what’s the point of this shit? You say I’m to choose a rewod, then you wefuse everything I sugzest. Do you find this amusing?"

Blert’s face contorted with anger, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

For a moment, I thought he might hit me, making me cringe. But instead, he exhaled sharply.

“Very well,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’ll replace your shackles with a spell. You’ll be free to move as you please. But mark my words, your every step will be known to me. Try anything foolish, and I will kill you without hesitation. Do you understand?”

"Okay..." I said meekly, half afraid, half confused by his constant need to be aggressive.

“Consider it done,” he spat, as though the words tasted foul in his mouth. “My debt is paid, and I owe you nothing more." He sneered at me, his satisfaction barely concealed. "I’ll cast the spell tonight. It will bind you until the day I die, so look forward to that," he added with a vicious grin as he got up to leave.

I sat there, contemplating the absurdity of being shackled by magic instead of iron, when another thought struck me.

"And shoes," I said, my voice cutting through the stillness as he began to walk away.

Blert froze mid-step, then turned to glare at me. "I said one reward."

"Shoes." I repeated, tone firm. "It is a simple request." I replied, not bothering to hide the exasperation in my voice.

"... Fine.",  

I smiled sweetly, fully aware of how much it irked him. "Thank yu."

Blert grumbled something unintelligible as he stormed out of the carriage, slamming the door so hard it rattled on its hinges, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

If there was one thing I’d learned in my godforsaken life, it was that I needed to fight tooth and nail for every scrap of kindness, every bit of happiness—and, in this case, a pair of shoes.

~

Maybe a dozen minutes had gone by while I waited alone in the carriage when the door creaked open just a crack.

Before I could react, a pair of shoes flew through the gap, landing with a thud at my feet.

My face gathered into a confused frown as I glanced at the glass.

Blert stood outside, his face a mixture of irritation and something else—embarrassment, perhaps?

His eyes flicked to the shoes and then back to me, as if daring me to say something.

Before I could, he turned sharply on his heels and bellowed, “Holison! Get over here!”

His voice was harsh, a cover for whatever discomfort he felt. With that, he stalked away, leaving me staring at the worn shoes now lying on the carriage floor.

The door opened wider, letting in Penelope Ashdown's personal maid, who took on the confused expression instead of me.

"It's happened..." I muttered, my expression melting into an innocent child's grin.

My breath hitched as I stared at the shoes, which seemed two sizes too big for my feet. A wave of emotion swelled in my chest.

The thought of no longer feeling the sharp sting of gravel cutting into my bare feet and the constant chill of the earth seeping into my bones was almost too much to bear.

I reached for the shoes. The leather was rough against my fingers, and the soles were worn thin. But I was grinning from ear to ear.

This was goodbye to jagged stones biting into my skin and icy coldness creeping up through my legs.

I slipped them on, my feet swimming in the too-large space, but the relief was immediate.

As I adjusted the shoes, trying to make them fit as best as I could, Alice continued to watch me, her silence heavy with suspicion. Finally, she broke it.

“Where did these come from, my lady?” she asked, her voice faintly laced with curiosity.

I looked up. “I'm a lucky vitch, that's whewe,” I replied, letting out small giggles as I kicked my feet lightly while stretching them.

Penelope Ashdown's feet were a pale porcelain color; her skin was smooth, her ankle slender, and the whole had a pinkish hue that remained despite the dirt and dryness caused by poor hygiene.

I had thought it a waste for such a pretty and delicate body to remain in such a rough state until now.

But worry not, wherever you are, Other Penelope. I will build you back up. I'll take such good care of us that you'll regret leaving your body to me.

Alice’s gaze didn’t waver, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

“Since when did you employ such unseemly language, my lady?”

“I am no lady, not anymore. I am a pwisoner of the empire. I might as vell play my part, no?" I said, turning my attention back to the shoes and fiddling with the laces as an excuse to avoid her gaze. “A bit of luck does find its vay to the likth of me, afte all.”

"I suppose so." She mumbled, giving me an unconvinced look as she stepped out of the carriage. "I shall be attending to my duties now, Lady Penelope."

I nodded and leaned back in the chair, my grin slowly fading as I watched Alice make her way out.

"Absurd. Me and questions," Alice realized, looking slightly shaken as she walked away.

Alice was either too shrewd or too observant for my liking. I couldn't tell which, but I had an inkling she would be a troublesome partner.

Nevertheless, she is going to prison for Penelope Ashdown's sake, and she must carry a great deal of hatred for her in her heart. I am not that woman.

I won't be fabricating excess sympathy for someone more fortunate than I am. That isn't how I live.

And I can't afford it, anyway.

I might feel a bit guilty about it once I make it out of here, but I will make sure to remember, then, now, and ever after, that I am the real victim here.

I sat there for a while, the worn-down shoes now clinging to my feet feeling like a small victory. It wasn't much, but out here, where the horizon was clear and the world seemed so deceptively simple, it felt like I had gained a little more room to breathe.

And tomorrow? Tomorrow, I’d figure out how to use this ridiculous spell against him, and he’d soon wish he had just left me in chains.