CRACK!
Oh dear… She's in one of those moods again.
The maid frowned, her ruby lips pursing.
Said maid appeared to be no older than twenty-five, her cheekbones high and well-formed. Her hair was a full, luscious ebony, and her eyes, lidded by equally full coal eyelashes, were a emerald green so brilliant the gems themselves paled in comparison. She wore a black dress with a crisp, long-sleeved, white button-up petticoat underneath, and then two other skirts under that, giving her dress a Victorian style despite the fact it ended at her knees. Under her skirts, she wore thigh-high, black, high-heeled leather boots that shone like polished volcano rock. And, finally, she wore crisp white gloves, freshly pressed every morning. Her entire outfit was pressed, clean, and without imperfection; however, she did not do this out of style. She wore such clothing because, as a servant of her Mistress, she accepted nothing less than perfection out of herself.
After all, she was one Hell of a maid.
"Young Miss, I bought that candy for you. Does it not suit you? It is, after all, your first taste of your home after a long time." She inquired, her curled black hair rippling with light and shine as she shook it slightly out of her face, her polite gaze scanning the child before her.
No… This young lady. She mused, smirking only a tiny bit. She's grown so…
The young lady that she spoke of- who was fourteen- sat before her in a plush, forest green armchair, her legs hanging over an arm and her back pressed against the other, one arm propping her head up while the other twirled her soft, oak brown hair. She'd had it recently cut; she'd gotten bored of long hair. Besides, it only reminded her of her… accident. She'd had the best stylist in the world to give her a layered bob with a handful of locks untouched on each side- she had called them, "Chelsea's", and told her they were the next big thing. In addition, she'd asked to keep her bangs long and parted to the side, considering she disliked the straight bowl look.
The stylist had taken one look and guffawed with utter joy, raving about the look. She begged for the young lady to schedule a photo to be taken of the hair, so, the Mistress, begrudgingly, asked her maid to do so.
Currently, the young lady wore but a short white nightgown with white pumpkin panties as sleep shorts. She was absentmindedly balancing a pale yellow slipper on her left foot, watching it with absolute boredom. That, of course, and slipping cherry hard candies that sat in a quant bag on her hip, crushing them in-between her teeth like they'd insulted her.
At the sound of her maid's voice, her eyes snapped up, the orbs of ocean blue filled with livid loathing. "Exactly. That's why it sickens me." She snapped. But she crushed another cherry candy between her pearly teeth anyways, like she did the other one earlier. What could be said? The lady loved hard candy. It had been so rare during the Depression, and she had every intention of indulging in it while she still could.
The maid chuckled lightly. "So you're speaking to me now? I thought you were planning on giving me the silent treatment for choosing this home instead of the one in Louisiana. Does this mean I am forgiven?" She asked lightheartedly. "And another issue… if you hate them, why do you continue to eat them?" she added, carefully lifting the bag of candy off her Mistress's lap.
The girl gnashed her teeth together, her eyes growing darker. "How dare you speak to me that way? APOLOGIZE! AND GIVE ME MY CANDY BACK!"
The woman only laughed more. "Oh, do forgive me, Young Miss. It was not my intention to annoy you further… And you must have breakfast first."
The Mistress's frowned lessened. "Hm. If you must know- yes, I have forgiven you. But now, I'm not so sure I want to even call you by your first name. I want to call you, 'bitch', instead." She stated, her voice on edge and with a hint of mocking in her tone. "And I want my candy."
The servant chuckled once again, a bit louder this time, and walked around to the back of the chair nonchalantly, the action causing the Mistress to tense. "Oh, Young Miss… don't you know you cannot order me without saying my name…? Tell me… what is my name? Remind me, and I shall never forget who I speak to now." She purred, her lips pressing sweetly in an exposed ear.
The girl barely flinched. Her eyes slide closed, but her face didn't change from a look of annoyance. However, it did lessen quite a bit, until it seemed more like embarrassment.
"Your name… Your name is Rose Soloton."
"As you say, Young Miss."
The Mistress gasped a bit under her breath as the woman stretched her arm around the chair and held out her outstretched palm, revealing the lone ruby candy inside it. The maid chuckled softly into her ear. "I do as you wish…"
Her grin stretched wider.
"Hannah Nicole Ashby."
She hummed a bit teasingly. "That is your name, no?" Rose finished, turning her head to look at her, noting the slightly frightened, surprised expression. "And such a beautiful name."
Hannah slapped Rose's hand away, and stood quickly. She slipped off her gown without shame, her servant already knowing what she looked like without clothes. She turned her head, her expression back to commanding and slightly annoyed. "Dress me. There is work to be done." She ordered flatly.
The maid walked around the chair and bowed deeply, her grin hidden by her thick hair. She would do as asked, as usual.
After all, she was one Hell of a maid.
"Yes, My Duchess."
"Miss Hannah!" Cried a southern voice from downstairs.
Hannah rolled her eyes- the Master of the house shouldn't be called, she should do the calling! Her servants must have forgotten that.
"Hurry up, Rose. Let's see what that stupid bitch has done this time." Hannah ordered, dropping her arms from their position in the air tiredly.
Rose nodded once, flinching at her Mistress's foul language. She finished the last two ebony buttons in record time, and stepped back to admire her work.
After all, she'd made the dress especially for her Duchess. She neither adored nor trusted anyone to design her Mistress's clothes, and preferred to do it herself, and did so better than any anorexic French stiff that dared called themselves an artist. Not only that, but she hated the idea of itchy fabric touching the pure, pale skin that belonged to her Mistress… She only used cotton, and only the softest of that.
Hannah, obviously, was pleased at her creation. "The latest…" She purred gleefully, grinning possessively.
It was a simple, forest green dress with large, black buttons running down the left side, the collar like a petticoat with a black ribbon tied around her neck. A black sash tied into a large bow in the back, adding personality and unique ideas that Hannah required- no, demanded. It pleased her to look different than the other teenagers her age. It reached her knees, and, like her servant's, three layers of skirts were underneath the top layer, fluffed out once it passed her waist. The sleeves reached a little bit past her shoulders and fluffed out as well, though not so much as they annoyed its wearer. To add a finishing touch, dark green stripes ran vertically down the dress, another change in typical design.
Normally, Rose wouldn't place stripes on a dress- she was well aware of the fact that they made a woman appear fat. However, Hannah was an incredibly special case. She had a metabolism unlike any other- so fast that she could eat an entire Italian dinner and not gain a single pound. This, however, had its curses as well as its benefits. Because her system was so quick to burn the energy, she suffered from insomnia, and was constantly hungry. Not even an hour after she'd eat, Rose would discover her attempting to retrieve leftovers from the icebox. Though she didn't stop her Mistress, it was still a sad sight to see. What was even more depressing was she still was afraid of asking for more to eat, even though the entire staff was aware of her dilemma. The servant, however, was just pleased that this meant she could dress her in things that normal people couldn't wear.
Rose, snapping from her observation, quickly rushed over to the vanity that existed across from the bed, and returned with inhumanly speed back to her Mistress's side and ran a brush through her hair.
The servant smiled, pleased that there were no knots in the chocolate locks. If Rose loved nothing else, she loved her Mistress's hair. It was soft- almost too soft- like satin and milk. It shone like Royal Oak, and was so fine it was nearly impossible to dress it. She, however, cared none. The typical curled look of the women those days disgusted her; not only that, but the look fit Hannah about as much as a pleasant attitude did.
So the black hair band she now slipped daintily on Hannah's head would have to do. It contained an onyx rose, fake, plastic pear green leaves and thorns, and shiny pearls of a grey hue- a very expensive headpiece. Hannah would know; after all, she bought it.
"Pearls are so popular now… aren't they?" Rose mumbled to herself. She tucked Hannah's hair behind her ear almost absentmindedly, her eyes glowing with affection for them.
She smirked as a patch of black patterned skin caught her gaze. "Let's hide that, then…" She whispered quietly into Hannah's ear, sending chills down the girl's spine, pulling her hair back to hide the black tattoo once more.
Hannah narrowed her eyes at the closeness of her maid. "Get off me. Why are you being so kind? I thought things like you were sadistic." She barked rapidly, slapping Rose's hand away from her, and motioning for her to put her shoes on with a quick flick of her wrist.
Rose's eyes widened a bit with surprise as she kneeled to do just that, and she chuckled. "Young Miss, I thought you liked my gentle touch… you said it yourself it brought you comfort."
"I did, but it has its borders from being comforting to being a pest."
"My apologies then, Young Miss."
"Tch…"
Rose lifted Hannah's tiny foot as she slipped her shiny, black, leather shoes on, fluffing up the wire lined bows that lived on the straps of her shoes that wrapped around her calf right about her heel.
"Would you like your breakfast first, before you start your day? It is an important meal, after all. You are also quite more willing to not bring bodily harm to people when you're fed."
Hannah rolled her eyes, her expression now livid. "Yeah, whatever. It's everyone else's fault if they annoy me. And I want pancakes. If you forget the chocolate chips, I'll break someone's arm the next time we're in public."
Rose bowed, forcing down the urge to burst out laughing. "As you wish. Doing everything according to you, creating the world in your image… That is the Ashby maid."
Hannah giggled.
"Just do your job."
Hannah's footsteps echoed around the empty house as she walked down the staircase and into the living room, as did Rose's while she followed dutifully.
The manor they lived in was still foreign, but luckily for Hannah, Rose had memorized the layout the day before. After all, they'd just moved in; the white Plantation house was still going under renovation- fresh paint, replanting of the garden, improving the support of the home, that sort of thing.
That is, contrary to the manor Hannah had originally wanted that existed outside of New Orleans, of course. The maid pointed out time and time again that the mansion would bring more debt than wealth, and the weather was close to unbearable in summer, and she guessed that it finally sank in after the fifth argument. As usual, it was proven Rose only wanted the best mansion for her mistress, and the richest and most extravagant house in Georgia was almost perfect.
Almost.
"Miss Hannah!" Cried the southern voice again, followed by another voice letting out a sharp cry and a small thud. The owner of the first voice stumbled into the den, covered in mud and grass from the waist down.
Rose recoiled in absolute disgust. "My floor…" She mumbled darkly, her eyes turning to flames (metaphorically, but Hannah didn't doubt that they actually could).
The one who sullied the deep mahogany flooring was a weary-looking woman named Joanna Smith. She had dark black hair and chocolate brown eyes, and well as a chocolate complexion. Currently, she wore a long, dirty white apron, off grey long-sleeved dress with dark brown galoshes covered in mud poking out underneath. She was the groundskeeper/gardener, hence the dirt and sweat and grime over every inch of her body. It seemed only fitting to Hannah that she be employed at her manor; her family, after all, had worked as slaves on the very land long ago.
Joanna's eyes dilated in fear as the pair stood before her, the shorter of the two shooting a glare in her direction that could shoot a bird out of the sky, arms crossed and foot tapping the floor impatiently. She, a thirty-year-old woman, feared not Rose (which was a bit foolish) but the young child before her. Rose treated her fairly, except for when she made the mistake of trekking through the house with mud on her shoes; however, Hannah was the one that snapped at everything she did wrong, and often they ended with her being harmed in some sort of manner.
Hannah hissed at the dirt on her new carpet, her blue orbs darkening into a livid ocean blue. "Can't you do anything right, you stupid hick?" She growled dangerously.
Joanna looked down, her thick lips pursing. She fought the urge to tremble, though it was an incredibly difficult action- especially since Rose had taken a step toward her when Hannah had tilted her head. "I'm s-so sorry, ma-ma'am…" she stuttered, cringing at an annoyed growl.
"SORRY? You're SORRY? Don't be sorry! Get out of here and prepare my damn yard!"
And just when she was getting into a good mood, Rose thought with a sigh. She supposed her Mistress would now be too furious to eat. Perhaps later.
"W-Well… You see…"
WHY? WHY WAS I GIVEN SUCH MORONIC, IDIOTIC, DESTRUCTIVE SERVANTS? Is Rose's intention to give me an aneurism before I'm twenty?
Hannah let out a long screech of frustration. "YOU STUPID, PATHETIC, WORTHLESS EXCUSE FOR A HUMAN BEING!" She screamed at the top of her lungs, her body spinning around to face the elder, who was shaking with wide eyes. She kicked Joanna in her knee, who fell to the ground in pain.
"W-W-Wait, Miss-!"
Despite Joanna's protests, Hannah continued to kick her in her stomach, only continuing when the sound of cracking ribs reached her ears. She grinned maliciously, her eyes widening with joy as the woman bawled in agony, her mouth and right nostril leaking a thin rivulet of blood. She would have continued until Joanna's ribs broke like twigs, had Rose not gently touched Hannah's shoulder and muttered into her ear.
"Young Miss, it's alright. As the Ashby maid, I will fix this blunder. Do not worry one bit."
The "blunder" Rose spoke of was possibly the fault of two of the three of Hannah's servants.
Joanna, the groundskeeper, was in charge of, obviously, the grounds, or the area around the house. The garden and fields were her responsibility, her duty, and, until she got the right idea and fled, her life.
But with the help of the cook, she and he had turned the garden into a burnt, yellow mess of torn grass and weeds. All the white roses that had been planted were ripped out, as well as the Lily of the Valleys, Chrysanthemums, and Hannah's favorite, her special, green hued Magnolias. She'd read that if one puts a plant's roots in with enough colored water, then if the plant's flowers were white, it would take on the color of the water. She honestly couldn't care less about the other flowers; her Magnolias were all she prized.
And her servant had ruined them.
"I-I-I just wanted to-to we-weed out the ga-garden fa-faster…"
"Oh, yeah? How did that turn out?" Hannah retorted sarcastically, her smile changing to a sneer.
"B-But it's the cook's fa-fault too, ma-ma'am… H-He t-told me th-that hi-his liquid would kill we-wee-weeds bu-but not plan-plants."
"Really? Then, I suppose I'll have to pay him a visit." The Mistress smiled, bending over grabbed Joanna by the neck, forcing her to look into her eyes. "If you ever do something like this again, I'll make sure the police mark you down as just another black bitch that insulted a white. When you're here with me, you get my protection. No one will ever dare to treat you unfairly as long as I am your Master. With me, you are freer than any of your kind. I will never discriminate against you…" She muttered the last sentence, her eyes softening, her eyelids falling halfway. "I will never treat you differently."
SMACK!
Joanna let out a loud gasp as Hannah's hand connected with her cheek, and her head hit the dirt with a loud thud. Hannah spat on her, her lip curling into a snarl. "But if you fucking rat out another person like some white, I'll see to it that you're thrown out into the worst part of town half naked. Do you understand, you bitch?"
The woman let out a weak sob, burying her face deep into the dirt. The girl was absolutely right. She'd been turned down solely because of her color time and time again, so when a white woman came to her asking- not offering, asking in the most polite way she'd ever been spoken to- if she'd work for her Miss, she'd jumped at the chance. She had no idea that the girl would be abusive, and hit her every chance she got. She'd planned on leaving the moment she'd gotten her first check; however, as she read the number of zeroes, and caught the teen's gaze, a look of harsh acceptance, she felt her resolve leave her. She couldn't leave. With her Miss, she was safe from the horror of a world that hated her for the pigment of her skin, but a victim of abuse that she knew she would be the death of her if she stayed. Yet, the money… She couldn't- no, wouldn't- turn it down. Not only was she protected, but Hannah paid for any damage done to her, any illness she had. She was allowed to eat whatever she wanted from the kitchen, and was given any day off as long as she asked Rose about it. Her life was perfect…
Except she knew her Mistress would kill her eventually. But, for some odd reason, that didn't bother her in the slightest.
"Y-Yes, my Du… Duchess…"
Hannah sighed deeply as Rose swiftly picked Joanna (who'd passed out the moment she'd answered her Mistress) and carried her into the house to be cared for enough to be driven to the hospital by her chauffeur.
While she waited for her maid to return, she attempted to remember the cook's name. She never bothered to learn it in the first place; he was just a stupid servant, after all. It was only on a pity that she'd learned Joanna's name. She had no discrimination towards African Americans (not with others around to prove that they weren't the lowest form of person) but she loathed how Joanna was so timid, and always too tired to do anything important.
Not only that… but there was just something. Something about the girl that made her want to harm her. She didn't really mean to cause so much harm- but she wouldn't deny that she wanted to cause it. Perhaps because she was simply there whenever she felt the need to harm something. Small animals had gotten boring.
It's because she looks at me funny.
When Rose returned, she contained a still-pleasant expression. "Joanna will be taken to the hospital as usual, Young Miss." She stated, returning to her Mistress's side. "You should really avoid harming her so badly next time. People will begin to ask questions."
Hannah narrowed her eyes. "Nobody cares about her. That's why it's so easy. She has no other family, from what I'm told, and if she did, she wouldn't dare tell for fear of losing her job." She retorted, motioning for Rose to follow her.
"I'm going to go fire that stupid cook. After you fix this, I want you to go around and search for a newer, better, more my standard chef. Not cook. Chef. Got it?" She ordered flatly, her head turning a fraction to look the servant in the eye.
Rose bowed once more.
"Yes, my Duchess."
Hannah inclined her head, pleased with her answer.
What was the occasion that Hannah was in such a fuss? Simply put, she was expecting very important people. They would be the first people she conversed with since she'd come back to America.
Her parents.
As Hannah guessed, her cook-a stout, elderly man with a bald head and straggly grey beard- had massacred the Sheppard's Pie (a dish Hannah didn't enjoy in particular, but she had to live up to her stereotype of having Irish decent).
As expected, the meat was charred black, the cheese was black and melted before it was even on the top of the dish, and the vegetables- if that's what they were- were but burnt pebbles of different sizes.
Hannah let out a loud, annoyed huff, announcing her presence in the small room.
The cook spun around at the noise, his face already paling, and let out a loud squeal of surprise. "MISS!" He yelped, his eyes almost bulging out of his sockets. He backed up, already sensing the child's anger, which at that point was palatable.
Hannah narrowed her eyes. "Do I even want to know about the potatoes?" She seethed, raising her hand to the bridge of her nose and rubbing between her eyes.
The chef let out another small squeak, and began sweating profusely and trembling like a leaf in the wind. "I w-wouldn't ask…"
The cook, as well, was terrified of his Mistress. However, more so to the fact that he'd be fired than being beaten an inch within his life. Her cook was the first job he'd gotten since the depression. He didn't fear her abuse because, naturally, he was much older than she, and could easily best the girl.
This, however, had been a mistake.
Hannah hissed dangerously. "HOW is it possible for you, a college grad, to be so pathetic at cooking? It was your major!" She snapped. Catching sight of a pan that was on the counter, she grabbed it, clutching it tightly in her grasp, rolling her eyes as some grease dripped onto her dress. Without warning, she swung it across the cook's face, smiling a bit as it burned his cheek and he gave out a loud shout of both pain and shock. She grinned; hurting the cook felt more satisfying than hurting Joanna. She prepared herself to bring the pan down harder, her face contorting to a look of fury.
"You stupid, lazy, pathetic piece of shi-!"
"Young Miss."
Hannah jumped, her hand freezing in mid-air. She turned her head slightly to meet Rose's gaze, her eyebrow raised and a pout on her face.
"Is that…Grease?" Rose hissed lowly, her eyes lowering and obtaining a glint in them.
Hannah froze as she saw Rose's eyes, which were wide and dilated behind obsidian bangs. The cook sensed the air and the upcoming battle between two VERY intimidating women, and flew out the door so quickly the apron he wore still hung in the air for a few seconds.
"Yeah… Does it bother you?" Hannah asked innocently, her arms crossed and her head tilted just a bit. She played dumb, even though she knew that Rose hated stains like she hated Angels.
"As a matter of fact… yes. It does."
Hannah cried out in surprise, her eyes widening comically as she was suddenly flung onto the kitchen counter. "Rose, you disgusting-!" She began to insult, her body twitching and wriggling to escape.
Rose ignored her completely, naturally. She began her "surgery" almost immediately. "If the stain isn't lifted in two minutes, due to the soft cotton, the grease will stay…" She mumbled madly under her breath. She began talking incoherently, scrubbing the cotton gently but with haste.
Naturally, Hannah had begun to feel uncomfortable by the end of the first minute. The crazed look in Rose's eyes didn't help either. However, she saw no point in struggling while her maid was in one of her warpaths.
She was getting tired of Rose and her lack of boundaries and personal space, but if she brought it up, she knew for a fact the woman would sulk for several days.
Stupid bitch...
The third servant walked in the moment Rose got off her Duchess, an incredibly satisfied look upon her face.
He was a tall, lanky, red-haired boy of eighteen, an Irish child like Hannah, with dark brown freckles dotting his nose and cheeks. His teal eyes widened with utter surprise and embarrassment as he glanced down, doing everything in his power to avoid the two women's gazes. "I-I'm sorry, Miss. I didn't mean to interrupt-!"
"NOTHING WAS GOING ON!" Hannah screamed, shoving herself up into a sitting position, her face beat red from shame.
Rose smiled innocently, her hand pressing against her lips daintily to prevent herself from laughing (or so it seemed), simply pleased the stain no longer existed. Hannah hopped off the counter in a hurry, a sour look on her face as she stomped out of the kitchen and into the den once more. Rose began to follow, only to be ordered not to by an irate Mistress.
Throwing a temper tantrum, Duchess? I thought you'd be more secure in your womanhood than that, Rose thought amusedly. She glanced at the servant, batting her eyelashes angelically. "Alex… Dear friend. Do me a favor? Could you clean up the dining room for me? I have to go to Atlanta to get a few things." She purred sweetly, twirling her hair in a girly fashion.
Alex, the chauffeur/butler and the last servant among Hannah's Crewe, blushed darker and swallowed thickly. He, being the age of nineteen, was the owner of a dirty, perverted mind. And it wasn't every day a maid had her mistress pinned to a kitchen counter, red-faced and screaming… So naturally, Rose used that lewd mind to get him to do his job right.
"Er, well… I should really return to the hospital. Joanna didn't look to good…" He trailed off, his hand lifting up to rub the back of his neck. Alex was incredibly soft-hearted and caring despite whom he work for, and always leapt up the moment Joanna needed to go to the doctor or Hannah needed to be taken somewhere.
In fact, he was the only one among Hannah's servants that feared neither the girl nor the gifted maid. He was a sensitive boy, and could easily see his employer's abuse for the others was because she had an issue against her elders in general, not the actual people. Which is why he did all he could to please her. He wanted to make the teen happy- it was his one reward for serving under such a harsh child. Because, unlike the others, he had caused Hannah to smile one day when, instead of taking her to the doctor's like Rose asked, he'd taken her to a ice-cream shop and paid for what she ordered- chocolate-covered strawberry waffle bowl- out of his own wallet. Ever since that day, he and Hannah had a mutual understanding of each other. Hannah didn't harm Alex, and Alex did as he was asked to the absolute best of his ability.
Rose, however, still used her womanly charm to order him around. With a soft whine and a pout, he quickly changed his tune and bowed deeply, running to the dining room to do as asked. It really was for his sake; if he didn't, Hannah would kill them.
Literally.
In the end, a few hours later, all was back to normal (or as close to normal as the house could get). Rose, being one hell of a maid, naturally brought things under her control. She couldn't disappoint Hannah. It was against her nature.
Besides, Rose thought as she set the table with lightning speed with a face set in deep concentration, her family is finally coming to see how her daughter has been doing… And how far she's flown.
The ground outside, which had been yellow, had been covered by a flurry of bright, baby blue blossoms, and the rose bushes were replaced with sapling camellias. Should her parents ask, they would lie and say they'd just begun planting. Camellias were Hannah's second favorite, anyways. She'd be able to live with it until her plants were brought back.
And the issue with the cook… Let's just say he already knew where he was going. He'd given up, gathered his things, and bolted- apparently, getting hit with a sizzling frying pan wasn't worth his paycheck.
Hannah sat in the nearly empty dining room, save for an ornate mahogany table and enough chairs for her parents and herself. The room itself was bare, devoid of pictures or artwork. There wasn't even any paint on the white walls yet.
She growled deep in her throat. If there was one thing Hannah could not stand, it was imperfection. That's why she was so harsh, after all. Perfection was, in her eyes, true beauty. The art of something completed, worth praise. An obsession came from this desire- and she'd do anything to feed such desire. Harm other people, and even harm herself.
"Not perfect enough…"
A loud bang was heard outside, like a door to a car slamming shut. Voices could be heard after a moment, sounds of, "welcome to the Ashby Manor", and, "pleased to meet you".
Hannah felt a chill run down her spine. Her mouth thinned into a straight line, and her eyes widened a bit.
"Nervous?" Rose asked as she stood by her, hand on her shoulder.
The Mistress sighed deeply, immediately relaxing at the sound of her servant's voice. "As a matter of fact… Yeah, I am." She mumbled tiredly, her voice containing a far-off air to it. Rose, smiling, patted her hair, as if to assure her.
Hannah smiled a bit. She could count on Rose when it came to things like comfort. After all, as her servant, she couldn't tolerate failure, and neither could Hannah. It was something she and the Young Miss had in common.
A loud creak was heard, a door opening.
And speaking of failure…
"Ha…Hannah?"
Hannah narrowed her eyes once more, her smile gone. She met blue orbs like her own, and chewed the inside of her cheek with anxiety.
"Banana!" Her father yelled in joy, running over and wrapping his arms around his daughter in an undignified manner.
Hannah's father, quite literally, looked absolutely nothing like his daughter. He had sandy blond hair, darkened with old age, and pear green eyes. She looked much more like her mother, who had long, dark brown, curly hair tied into a high ponytail and tired blue eyes, with bags of age underneath. In fact, they both seemed to not be hiding their age anymore.
For some reason, this pleased Hannah deeply.
Rose flinched as Hannah's dress wrinkled under the man's strong grip. And I worked so hard at ironing it…
"Don't call me that." The teen stated flatly, pushing her father away quite roughly. Her father cringed at this, as did her mother, though a bit more than her father.
Her mother twirled her own thick, brown hair. "Baby… You've grown into such a beautiful young lady." She complimented, smiling sweetly with her hands on her chest. Her father nodded with agreement, and grinned childishly.
"No thanks to you. But we can talk about my spite for you later… Sit. Rose, did you do what I told you?" Hannah quickly snapped, glancing up at the maid, scowling darkly.
Rose bowed graciously. "But of course. Meet your new Chef, Olivia Tibbit. An English cooking prodigy." She introduced, motioning her hand to the small person behind her.
She was a small, Twelve-year-old child stood stock still with a serious face, light brown eyes hidden behind stony grey glasses, a round build, and incredibly curly dark brown hair. She wore a light blue, long-sleeved blouse and a flowing white skirt, along with a dark blue bandana. She bowed her head a bit. "'Ello Gov'ness." She greeted, her voice quite deeper than Hannah had expected.
Hannah narrowed her eyes at this. The girl was only a bit younger than she. You cannot be serious, Rose… She thought with an irate twitch of the eyebrow, definitely a little more than annoyed. But she waved her hand for both Rose and Olivia to be dismissed nonetheless, her legs crossing and her head resting on her hand that was propped onto the bare black dinner chair.
"Sit down, Mother, Father. We have things to discuss."
She listened boredly as her parents complimented on her yard and the Sheppard's Pie, their rambling grating on Hannah's ears.
She grimaced at the drawling talk and the news about Ireland, where her parents had been the entire time. She detested her parents to such a sharp degree, she shocked even herself. However, for everything Hannah did, she did things for a reason. She hated her parents for an incredibly simple reason. An incredibly simple purpose.
They abandoned her.
During the Great Depression, when she was four, her parents had left her in the streets to fend for herself- or, rather, to die.
And she would have, had there not been someone there to look after her.
…Big Sister…
Hannah gnashed her teeth together, her eyes shutting tightly.
It didn't matter why or how; it was the simple fact that they did. Without a moment's thought, they left her and her sister in the cold- left them to die.
Her father, apparently (considering she couldn't help but pay attention), after the Depression finally "ended" and the world picked itself up a bit, had gotten another job as a cook at a new restaurant after the return. Her mother, naturally, did nothing except attempt to regain her lost youth. Her excuse was she did enough by taking care of her sister and working in the farm.
Rose had joined her about halfway through the conversation, smiling politely with her hand behind her back. As she stood behind Hannah, she stared down her parents in an incredibly pleasant manner; nonetheless, stared them down.
Her father sighed deeply as he nudged his wife. "Um…Where is your sister, Hannah? Is she still preparing her hair?" he asked amusedly. His wife raised an eyebrow and glanced around confusedly, her mouth set into a frown.
The Mistress rolled her eyes. They finally noticed she wasn't around? She wondered.
Hannah smiled sweetly, and laughed a bit under her breath. "No."
Her mother giggled, her hand resting on her heart. "Then where is she, Angel?" she asked, her eyes still glancing around.
"I want to make my little sister happy. No matter what."
Hannah's smile instantly faded into a straight line, as did Rose's.
"Dead."
Her parents' faces fell in horror.
"What…?" Her father breathed, his smile not quite faded, but his eyes filled with terror that what his daughter said was true.
Hannah rested her elbows on the table in a nonchalant manner, and twirled the empty wine glass as though the subject was the weather. "She died while we were working in a factory. Maybelle's bow got caught in a machine, and her head was ripped off." She explained, clenching the glass so hard it almost broke, her eyes turning dark blue under her thick eyelashes.
Her mother's eyes dilated and she instantly began to cry. "N-No… That's not…"
Her father narrowed his eyes, standing quickly and slamming his hands on the table. "W-Why are you so different? Why don't you talk about your sister with love, like you used to? Why don't you talk to us with love, like you used to?" He asked angrily. "This entire dinner you've given us glares like we were the ones that killed her!"
"Because she's dead, as is the former me. And it is your fault."
Her mother wailed loudly at that statement, but she was ignored completely.
"How dare you!" Her father yelled. "When we move in, we're going to teach you a few manners, young lady! Starting with your cruel, ugly atti-!"
Rose leaped onto the table suddenly, her eyes dangerous. "I'm sorry, were you about to say something? It sounded, almost, like you were about to interrupt my Young Miss. Because, obviously, she wasn't done talking." She whispered quietly, looking Hannah's father dead in the eye, her voice turning husky with the last sentence
Hannah smirked.
"Thank you, Rose. Honestly… who said I'd let you stay?"
Her mother stopped crying for a moment to gasp, and her father's mouth dropped open. "Excuse me…?"
Rose, looking away finally, lifted her high heeled boots, smiling as the bug she was aiming for had been severely crushed. She hopped off the table in an almost playful manner, and proceeding to clean up the dead creature after Hannah finished talking.
"My apologies…" She mumbled lightheartedly, glancing once more at Hannah's parents. "There was a bug that needed to be squashed before it brought misfortune to my mistress…"
Hannah smirked wider as she heard Rose's under-meaning. Then, she sighed wearily.
"You left me to die. Because of this, Maybelle actually did. You, rather than be poor with the children you 'loved' so very much, chose to just get by without them. You sicken me. You completely and totally disappoint me. So, as revenge, not only will I deny you as my parents and sue you if you dare try to argue it…"
She paused, letting out a soft huff as though the rest of the sentence was uncomfortable to her. Then, a lecherous smile spread across her face, which sent chills down her parent's spines.
"But when you die, my maid will eat your souls."
Her mother and father blinked for a moment, attempting to contemplate the words said to them, before they recoiled in confusion.
Rose gasped under her breath, her hand flying to her mouth.
"…The desert is late…"
Hannah chuckled a bit. Naturally, this doesn't bother her…
Her father laughed nervously, his body moving to hug his daughter. "Angel… I love you. D-Don't say such horrible things, please… We made a mistake. Really. We just want you home…!"
Her mother nodded. "We both love you! Please, we just want to be with you-!"
"SHUT UP!"
Her parents jumped at the sudden scream.
Hannah was standing, her teeth grinding in total fury, her eyes dilated to pebbles. "I will NEVER love you! I won't love anyone! Not after what I went through! I was nearly scalped because I worked in a factory, because I was trying to help someone whom I thought I loved! I was only eight! Do you have any idea what that's like? To be forced to work for PENNIES? IN HOPES THEY'LL BE KIND ENOUGH TO FEED YOU? TO HAVE TO BE TOLD THAT YOUR SISTER IS NOW DEAD SO SHE COULD BUY YOU ICE-CREAM? Of course you don't! Because the only thing you had to worry about was where your passports were! Everything came easy for you!"
Rose's eyes widened as she hid in her Duchess's long shadow. The sounds of plates and glasses hitting the floor and breaking rang into the air as Hannah swept everything off the table.
Her hair hid her eyes, and a wide grin spread across her face as Hannah screamed one last time.
"I HATE YOU!"
Hannah had a face of disgust as her parents were escorted out, her teeth gnawing on her sleeve solely because she had no idea what else to do.
I hate you…
"Hannah… It's time for bed. You've had a long day, and you know how you get when you're up too late." Rose called in a soft voice as she prepared Hannah's nightgown, which she would slip on after her bath.
Hannah ran her fingers through her hair, her expression relaxing, revealing how utterly exhausted she actually was. "Is it normal, do you think?" She asked quietly, her voice a bit husky from screaming.
"What is?"
"To not give a damn that their leaving."
Rose's eyes widened at that. She shivered, her smile widening at her Mistress's blank glare. "I wouldn't know… remember?"
Hannah nodded in remembrance, her bottom lip being worried between her teeth. She rubbed behind her ear where her tattoo was. "Ah, yes… I forgot…"
Rose chuckled a bit and helped Hannah down from the windowsill, her touch as gentle as it always had been.
Hannah hissed in pain as she felt blood seep out of an unknown cut; she had sliced herself on the glass she cracked, but since she'd barely opened her hand since she broken the glass."Fuck…" she growled, her eyes narrowing.
Rose gasped in shock and pulled a first aid kit out of her dress. "Oh, Young Miss, I knew that you cut your hand, why didn't you listen to me…" She trailed off with a bit of an annoyed tone. She quickly rushed to the restroom, took out the first-aid kit, rushed back into the room, and dressed the wound almost like it was second nature. Which it was, but not because Hannah constantly harmed herself- because the others did. But it was more so for Alex; somehow, no matter what, he always ended up needing a bandage of some sort by the end of the day. Falling down the stairs, burning his hand, cutting his hand while helping cut the potatoes, scraping his knee… you name it.
Hannah tilted her head slightly, her blue orbs examining the gash with a strange fascination. "Rose… Hurry up. It's starting to sting." She ordered quietly.
Rose nodded quickly. "Of course." She answered. She pressed the cloth against her hand, sighing slightly at Hannah's sharp gasp of discomfort. Once the bleeding stopped and the wound was wrapped, Rose bowed, an amused look on her face as always.
Plit…
Rose raised an eyebrow at the soft dripping. When she glanced at her Mistress's hand, she noticed a thin trail of blood leaking out, dripping onto the carpet and her hand. There was a tiny line of blood on her fingers and, without realizing what she was doing, she licked the trail.
Her eyes dilated with absolute shock. She shivered as the copper fluid ran down her throat. Oh… dear…
Rose let the hand go as soon as she had grabbed it. "There. Now, let's see about that bath…" She trailed off with a bit of a rushed manner. She stood, and backed into the corner to allow her mistress to walk past her.
Hannah nodded, and skipped rather happily over to the bathroom door located a couple feet from her bed. She enjoyed baths, and she took them frequently. They were her moment of silence, of peace and serenity. That, and she had no choice but to take one every day, what with her easily oily hair.
Rose paused in following her, her hand pressing against her plump lips, her eyes masked under long, ebony bangs. She could feel the blood of her Duchess on her tongue still.
And, as Hannah disappeared behind the bathroom door, it made her shudder with absolute and perfect bliss.
She's so horribly cruel, yet so amazingly sweet… She's easily angered, yet easily pleased… She craves my attention, yet she despises to be clung to. How is it possible for one child, a human, to be so amazingly-?
"Rose! Hurry up! I feel so filthy from where my father hugged me…" Hannah called, pouting like a child, her sapphire eyes narrowed. She could be cute when she wanted to; in fact, just as much as she could be terrifying.
Rose chuckled darkly. "Of course, Young Miss…" She purred. The moment Hannah's head ducked back inside the bathroom, she ran her tongue along her top lip, curling it up a bit to reveal sharp canines. As she grinned, her eyes changed from emerald to a bright, glowing ruby, the pupils dilated like a cat.
Naturally, she'd do as her Master ordered, even if it was as simple as devouring the souls of the people whom she despises.
After all…
She was a Demon and a maid.
"Interesting…"