At first Elizabeta thought it would be nice to live in a mansion. Then she tried it.
It was a lovely house, for sure. There were dozens of enormous rooms with white marble floors, big windows framed by floor-length curtains, and life-sized portraits on the walls. But every room she entered was devoid of people. It took only a few days for the emptiness to get to her. For as long as she could remember she'd lived in crowded places: first a war camp, then a city. She was used to being completely surrounded day in and day out. But in the Edelstein house she was perpetually alone. There was only one resident besides Elizabeta, and she only saw him across the dinner table.
There were, however, an abundance of servants, so she tried to befriend them at first. She'd known many servants in the past, back when she lived in the city among the lower classes. But these servants were different. They were as polished and detached as the master of the house. If Elizabeta tried to start a conversation they would respond with as few words as they could and go back to their business.
That was something else she wasn't used to—having other people wait on her. In her former homes she had been busy from sunup to sunset. There were always swords to be sharpened and animals to be hunted, floors to be mopped and clothes to mend. In the mansion servants were there to dress her, make her bed, serve her food—every small and simple task was performed by the servants. Elizabeta was bored out of her mind after a month.
With all other options exhausted, she turned to the master of the house: Roderich Edelstein. Yes, he was an aristocrat, and she'd never liked aristocrats. But she needed somebody to talk to.
Besides, he was her fiancé, and even though the marriage was arranged, Elizabeta thought some communication was in order.
She had learned a bit about him over the course of a few weeks. He was always between one minute and two hours late for meals. He tended to scribble odd symbols on a piece of lined paper while he ate. He complained about everything. And he never made eye contact with anyone. Especially not her.
Naturally, she was surprised when, thirty-nine days after she moved in, he spoke to her.
"Elizabeta, is that the only dress you own?"
She looked up at him, wide-eyed, and found he was staring at her. She looked down at her green cotton dress. "Ah, yes. Why?"
"It's shabby."
Elizabeta pursed her lips and managed to hold her tongue. (That dress, after all, was the finest one she'd ever had, and the only one she'd brought to the mansion.)
"I'm going to tell the servants to take your measurements." Roderich's gaze went back to his notes. "Expect three new dresses in your wardrobe by Sunday."
And that was the end of the conversation.
Two maids, standing behind Elizabeta, exchanged a small look. They knew how stingy Roderich was, and this gesture amazed them. Sadly, the generosity of it was lost on Elizabeta, who had not yet noticed the mended tears and frayed edges on Roderich's own clothes. She would only realize years later that he had been incredibly kind to her that day.
