The young girl strutted in the corridors.

The servants' quarters were in an independent building, a few feet away from the castle. The construction appeared humble but was, in reality, pretty complex. With its oval form on two levels, it had seven hundred rooms at least. The center, on its part, welcomed the lunchroom, bathrooms, and other common rooms.

To attain all of this, you had to go through the reception first.

If you weren't born a Katt, you had to postulate to be a servant. Everyone could propose for a place of maid, but not everyone could be trusted with the imperials. Thus, you started as a little shadow if you weren't known in the servant's system, which was Nia's case.

Anyone could postulate at any hour; that's why there was always a bunch of awake people in the reception.

As she practically reached the building, a drop fell off the night sky.
Rain really chose its moment.

With the tissue luggage she invocated as she could with her approximate magic, water would have soaked all the clothes she made appear with the second spell.
Our writer finally mastered magic (or approximatively at least.)
You have to focus to visualize anything you can, every detail of the object. Because if you didn't, you could finish with a gaping hole in your bag, a flat box, or with a pants of unpaired length.

She began to run under the multiplying droplets.

Her plan was easy : integrate the service, find someone she liked, and go back to every day's life.
Simple and clear.

How to fail?

"Your name and your surname." Queried the bored receptionist.

Holy cow.
Our girl hadn't thought of the surname.
A surname was your affiliation, your roots, your reputation; how did she forget about that?

In the dim light of the candles, she scrutinized the wide room filled with all and nothing at the same time. Clocks, dead heads of animals, bells, papers, pencils, a whole lot of various things occupied the place.

"Your name," the receptionist insisted, losing patience, "and surname."

Well, well, well... there was wood all around.

"Nia Tre*, I'm Nia Tre." She announced to convince herself.
(*Tre: Wood/Tree in Norwegian. No, need to thank This Narrator, should I say This Translator, readers.)

"Age." The receptionist whirled in his chair, probably trying to extirpate himself from the tight seat.

"Fifteen." She huffed, thinking of her actual look.

He elegantly spun the pen in his hand. "Do your parents accept your possible work here?"

"Yes." Another huff.

His face swiftly fell on the hand free of pen spinning, Nia believing for a second that his face would hit the table if he hadn't been this exact in the fall. "And would you be on a full stay here or just for work?"

"A full stay," she hesitated, "sir," before deciding could correspond a young man that, as old as he looked with those dark circles, remained young.

The dark circles drifted to leave place for his troubled orbs. "You do know there's no way out of here, right?" He asked, the voice tinted with worry.

"Y-yes." She managed, conquered by his concern.

What did he mean by no way out?

"Theeeeeeen," he exhaled with a fine blend of despair and indifference, "sign here and it'll be done." A bony finger hit a yellowish piece of paper, unrolling under her eyes as she caught a pencil he handed out to her.

Her signature wasn't brilliant but luckily sufficiently believable to not alarm the young man who observed her every move with an insistent stare.

"Please follow Jos to your room." The receptionist pointed to a guard who seemed to spawn out of nowhere. "Morning's dishes are at six," he specified out of blue, "noon's at eleven, and evening at seven. Don't miss them, or you won't eat."

The long following silence clearly recommended her departure, but as Nia walked towards the guard, the receptionist added.

"Oh, and for your role... you'll be a laundry girl." He scribbled on the past contract. "Good night, and wake up before the bell."

The cavalryman hauled her out of the hall before she could formulate a politeness.

●●●

After the short night Nia had had, yawning was a primal urge.

Once settled in her room, a thin and extricate rectangle where you could only find a bed, wardrobe, desk and chair, she hadn't managed to sleep. Her eyes wide-open, she had performed some touches on an old, but now hers, uniform. Long to her ankles—not till the ground like before—every inch of cloth was coal, not any white, typical apron to be seen. Only Katts had the right to wear that.

With the cacophony outside, Nia took a hesitant step out of her room.
Even the corridors were crowded.

"Where do I put yesterday's tablecloth?"

"I heard the ceremony was so disturbed by that horrid case that the Emperor drank all night after it. And left many, many, many glasses. Who's in charge of the dishwashing today?"

"Oh no, I'm a part of it..."

"Bring everything to the laundry team. They'll take care of it."

All of this was overwhelming for our girl.

"Hey, you!"
A maid strode through the hallway, the other servants stepping aside, making a way for her.

She was probably a high-ranking servant, but seemed the same age as her actual appearance. Surely a Katt.

"You there!" She shouted, accusing a random girl. "How aren't you at your function?" You think you're paid for doing nothing?"

"No, of course not, Miss Briel—"

"THEN GO BACK TO WORK! AND IT'S MISS KATT FOR YOU!"

Nia's eyes lowered and saw the apron to confirm her thoughts.
Yup, definitely a Katt.

Our writer didn't want to classify or resume people by their surname, but she had to admit that she wrote them as a quite double-faced clan.
Their loyalty and kindness for the imperials were infallible, their treatment of other people being another story.
That's why Jade didn't want to choose a servant randomly; it could be more of a damage than a benefit. Power made people crazy; even her Jade's ancestors had power fever, her father only being an exception thanks to her mother.

Since the attention was totally drawn to the drama between the Katt and the poor lady, Nia asked the nearest servant where the laundry service was.

"Let me guide you." He said, already marching towards his destination, glad to escape the scene nonetheless a sigh accompanying this helpful action. "You're the new girl, right?"

"Yeah." Nia nodded before wondering out loud. "How do you—"

"Everything travels fast here." He shrugged like it was nothing. "Jos and Myrio announce if a new person has arrived in the lunchroom before going to sleep after their shifts."

He took a turn to arrive outside the structure as our writer tried to follow him as fast as she could.

"You have quite a bit of luck since you wake up earlier than new recruits of the night usually do. You won't have any penalty." He indicated a petite barn a few feet away, circled by bushes on those words.
"It's there." He waved, already fleeing with an odd fear sliding in the voice. "Hope you survive."

"Thank you—" she began, but realized he was out of hearing her. "...I guess it was nice to cross your way..."

Wait, survive? Survive what?

A loud bell resonated in the surroundings before she could consider.

The hour at which the emperor wakes up was signaled by this sound.
It only implied more problems for Jade.
Implying her father would find the letter, implying he will maybe panic, and implying the news of her disappearance will surely travel. It would have done in any case, but it'd be nice to have it delayed...

"WATCH OUT!"

At the warning, she, of course, spun around, although she shouldn't have done so.

A weird slime landed on her face and, with her lips open as a fish, in her mouth too.
It had a sour and bitter taste, yet it was a little salty.
To simplify, it was disgusting.

"OH MY GAILA, ARE—" the same voice continued.

But that slime was too disgusting.
Maybe that's why we wished for her to survive.

"Bleuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurgh—"

With the non-existent breakfast she had taken, the only thing that evaded her throat was a strange yellow liquid and the green slime. The combo finishing its race on the person's shoes.

"I'm sorry— bleuuuuuuuuuuuuuurgh—"

The person made a sort of repulsed noise in the 'ew' register before sighing. "Ugh, no worries, I guess, as long as you refund me."

The pressure on her brain when she vomited didn't stop her from realizing she didn't have money.
"...refund...?" She stammered, wiping her lips of the two liquids.

"Yup." The person probably nodded before leaning, the voice coming closer in the same move. "But who wouldn't want to refund a handsome person?"

She lifted her head, her eyes crossing ways with gold ones.
"Einar...?"

Sun's cousin stood in front of her, the humble shoes covered in vomit, yet an arrogant smirk across the face, his half-citrus, half-crow hair in the wind.

"Yes." He answered haughtily, the golden eyes of his illuminated by annoyance. "You're the new girl Myrio talked about?"

What in Telin Sun's cousin is doing here?

"I am..." She posed in a tentative of not crashing down and burying herself in one move. "Aren't you too young to work here?" She thought of the fourteen-year-old boy, staring at him from head to toe.

"And aren't you in the wrong situation to reproach something to me?" He retorted, aggressivity wetting his lips. "I'm your older here, and you just threw up on me. With what should I begin with?" His head cocked to the right in victory.

Vomiting on anyone the first day of work would be enough embarrassing for a lifetime.

"I-I'll wash your shoes if you forget about that." Nia proposed, flustering and bowing from the humiliation of repaying him.

Like, how come a fourteen-year-old was already blackmailing someone else emotionally? At fourteen in her past life, she was playing with dolls and cars, not with people.

"As if this would be enough." The golden balls rolled. "Go clean up this in the bathroom." He pointed a finger at his footwear.

What the actual fuck had this boy eaten at breakfast to throw such a tantrum? Some cornflakes with a pinch of narcissism?

She didn't have the necessary patience to handle the drama of her new colleague.
The laundry was a few feet away. The shoes to wash were under hand.
Nothing our writer couldn't do.

"You know what?" She aggressively crouched. "Give me that."

"What are you—" he jabbered an instant before falling to the ground as she yanked the shoe off his feet.

"I'M—" she abused of one shoe in each hand by folding them in two with wrath.

"Wait!"

"JUST DOING—" she strutted to be stable; rage a new gas in her machine.

"NO!" He vainly yelped one last time.

"MY NEW JOB." The door burst open under her tensed hands.

Gaila or whatever God Telin had could damn it all! No one was going to order her around like a piece of meat. If she'll do it, she will all by herself!

A few waves of the door she slammed where necessary for her to grasp the situation.

Instead of the normal basins of a washhouse, the building was filled with... our writer didn't know what it exactly was, but it only looked like laboratory equipment. Flasks, test tubes, beakers, pipettes, balances, all, or practically, containing various substances ranging from lilac to lime were stored here. Stored was a big word since they were more randomly disposed on tables and wooden benches than organized in any sense of the term.

The stable was anything but a laundry service.

"Einar, did you push away that new girl?" Between all the glasses, a woman's head popped.
"Oh." She pronounced, her purple eyes widening in surprise. Her hand reached her head to scratch it, stirring her violet hair in the same move.
"How unfortunate..."

"I-I'm sorry, Ma'am Almos—" Einar panted, arriving right behind Nia, an inexplicable shame in his figure. "I tried to distract her, but—"

"You failed." The woman shrugged without any hostility.
She rose, her eyelids shut and her head leaning to the front as if she was meditating.
"No problem; I needed a new assistant for the mornings anyway." Came out after a while; Einar loosening instantly.

Distract, assistant, push away?

"What are you talking about?" Nia questioned, agitating the shoes and vomit in her hands.

She needed to find good servants, so really working in God knows what this was wasn't an option.
But those two, with that 'assistant' thingy...
They could be a real problem.

The woman hastily joined the two teens at the door, a smirk on the figure and hands on the hips with pride.
"We are the laundry service, new girl." She claimed as if it answered everything. "And we are the most isolated service." Sounded as a secret.

No shot, Sherlock.

"And?" Our writer, tired of the vomito on her, managed without barking on that absolutely mature woman.

"Ma'am Almos, we cannot tell her!" Einar yelped again.

"What do you mean?" The violet-manned lady spun. "She already saw everything and has a debt to you. She won't spill anything."

Great, now puking because someone made you gobble an atrocious slime is a debt.

"But—" the boy tried a second time.

"AND?" Our girl barked once again, rage profoundly growing in her heart.

Like, she had had debt before, as a grown-up adult responsible of her own choices.
But, that, was a straight assault of her fragile peace.
And that was making her able to destroy that whole barn in one whoosh.

The woman of the wisteria mane gave a persuaded look to her, as if she should have been convinced and begin praising her immediately.

"And that means nobody ever comes here." Einar told, trying to hide his past panic with nonchalance.

"And that we use magic." The woman finished with a naive joy as Jade thought she'd crumble and die of heart attack. "We are magicians."