Page 22 of Tainted Serenity

She glances around the room as if to make sure everyone is on their best behavior, and I take the time to run my eyes over her outfit. She wears a large, flowery dress that resembles a gown from the Victorian era—one from the Renaissance. A beautiful piece of clothing draped over an evil woman. I recognize the same demise in her cold, hazel eyes—an aura that Arthur, Frederick, and Emilio exuded. That exuded over my own mother when the drugs took her down, ruining her entirely.

Arthur leaves to stand at the edge of the room in silence, although his echoing footsteps resonate through the great hall. The woman shifts her attention toward me, pinning me with her gaze before she speaks out loud to everyone. Her voice carries through the room, booming and demanding now that her husband isn’t here.

“My name is Irene Margaux Grimhill, your mistress and supervisor.”

Her high heels click against the marble floor as she walks, coming closer to me step by step. My shoulders stiffen, my back straightening when she stands in front of me. My face lacks any sign of emotion, but my insides are racing from unease. Irene throws me a distasteful look that appears to be etched to her like a darkened shadow, her eyes squinting at me while her lips curl. As if she cannot bear to stare at me any longer, she quickly returns to the front of the room, hands behind her back.

“We are gathered today to receive a break from the pleasant games. Let the tea begin,” she simply states, her voice loud as she clasps her hands twice.

The room fills with scores of servants walking up to each and every table, serving something that looks like green tea from silver trays.

My mind feels like a jumble of scattered puzzle pieces as I look all around me, confusion all too clear. I have no idea why I’m here, or what this even is.

Classical music emanates from the speakers that are one with the ceiling as all the women in the room begin to drink their tea, carefully sipping it while making sure not to slurp or hold the cup with both hands. I’ve never experienced people with such good manners and etiquette. Everyone behaves as if they’re robots, never letting go of their carefully constructed façade while properly drinking tea.

My eyes uncertainly drift over to the other five women at my table, noticing how none of their elbows rest against it, and so I carefully slip mine down onto my lap, hoping no one saw. An inner voice inside me tells me not to drink the tea, warning bells ringing, and so I only stare at the others.

“It’s best if you drink,” the golden-haired woman whispers to me, but her shoulders stiffen soon after as she averts her gaze once more.

“Why?” I prod her, but she refuses to look at me now.

“Drink,” a feminine voice behind me seethes.

Out of nowhere, an explosion of sharp pain races up my spine in a heartbeat; one that comes quickly but lasts a long time, giving me a numbing sensation. I clench my fists as my nails press into my palms until I’m sure I will draw blood. My head turns back in haste, needing to see what the hell happened.

Irene looms before me, chin held high, while hazel eyes narrow down on me, looking far from the beauty she so desperately tries to present. It’s as if the room holds its breath as my mouth gapes at the sight of a ruler in her hand.

“What the fuck?” I exclaim in rage intermingled with a lingering pain spreading from my spine to my tailbone.

Despite the clear sound of something hitting me, none of the people in the room dare cast even a fleeting glance at me. It’s as if they, too, have been struck by Irene’s enigmatic force, leaving everyone apprehensive toward the devil herself.

They are all terrified of this Irene Margaux Grimhill, but I am not. I have lived through far greater evil than her and caused more pain than she has to me. And when you grow up in chaos, you learn to thrive in it. After all, that is where I belong now.

The woman with golden curls now entirely ignores me; her abrupt reversal of the advice she gave me enough to make me question her intentions. She seems afraid of Irene, one so profound that it appears as if she dares not speak anymore, despite her earlier advice.

Without thinking of the consequences, I stand up, the chair clattering against the marble floor. Gasps are heard everywhere, and I feel everyone staring down at me from head to toe, observing my actions as if they have never dared defy Irene. This is precisely like at Grimhill Manor, where none of the children dared say anything at all to stand up to the master, leaving everyone vulnerable in the house of hell.

Everyone is fucking pathetic, and it’s getting on my nerves.

The fury sparks in her eyes when I stand; my height the same as hers when she’s wearing those high heels, giving me an advantage over her. Rage is a beautiful emotion when seen on others, it makes them act without rational thoughts and leaves them vulnerable to the predators before them.

“Sit down, child!” Her voice is upset, her ears turn red from the humiliation I know she feels.

A chaotic whirlwind of emotions builds inside me, one where rage, anxiety, nervousness, and fear mix in a lethal potion meant to kill. Determination washes over me, and I refuse to follow her stupid commands. I’m goddamn tired of everyone thinking they can do whatever they want with me, and instead, I turn on my heel toward the door, on my way out.

Fuck her. Fuck this entire fucked-up place.

It takes less than twenty seconds for me to reach the large doors that Arthur led me through about thirty minutes ago, but it also takes less than twenty seconds for me to feel that striking, burning pain radiating through me. Now with even greater strength, stronger than I expected from an old hag.

“To be perfectly clear, I am your mistress, and you will obey my orders.”

I do not think it’s a ruler hitting me anymore, because it feels like a thousand needles press into me all at the same time. The pain is overwhelming; every muscle in my body going on lockdown as electrifying pulses are sent throughout my body, making me momentarily paralyzed and unable to run away from here. I fall toward the golden-like carpet, landing on my stomach, which sends another occurrence of the most horrible pain. Because my muscles can’t move, I can’t pick myself up with my hands, and instead, I thump right down to the floor.

A groan escapes my lips as I fight the tingling sensation. Irene stands in front of me with something in her hand, eyes pinned on me with a furious expression that promises an eternity of torture. A ringing sound fills my eardrums, but I cannot make out if it comes from the taser or if it’s because of lack of sleep. It takes over all other sounds, drowning out Irene’s words as she stares down at me, fists clenching around the taser.

“I thought you said she was the most obedient doll,” Irene seethes at Arthur, and I watch the rage fill his features as he strikes her cheek.

“You do not question me,” he says, low enough for only us to hear.

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