First Stand

Cecilia did not know whether to feel relieved or upset that nothing seemed effected by her attempted desertion.

She knew which one she did feel, which in and of itself was only one in a conga line of emotions—But from what she was discovering, did it really even matter?

The mansion was calm, almost peaceful, as maids and butlers milled about with fixed focus. Everyone, everything, was moving in sync with one another, like measured cogs in a perfect machine. No one noticed her absence, her return, or even that she was glowering in the middle of it all, unmoving.

It was funny how listless one felt after seeing reality fray before her eyes—Kind of.

Well, well, Dmitri’s languid voice echoed through her ears. Welcome back. Did you enjoy your walk around the grounds?

It made Cecilia’s eye twitch.

Rather than stand in the middle of the entryway stewing, she glanced at a lone corner. Amongst the worldly splendors, all tall windows and long draperies and whittled tables decorated with baubles, there was a haphazard collection of supplies for the cleaning staff.

I sympathize with you, Cecilia. What that young man said to you was quite rude. Very raw and cutting, and you probably did not deserve that.

Her eyebrows managed to furrow even deeper, her eyes looking over her shoulder, though she saw no body that the voice belonged to. “Probably?” she hissed under her breath.

Your face will get stuck like that if you pull such an unpleasant expression.

Her tongue clicked—Hard. The sound resonated in the hallway’s polished floors as she stood in front of the mop and water bucket, its wood frame swollen and rusted from time and moisture. Without decorum, she grabbed both before trudging back from where she had come from, dragging the tools behind her.

You have such an adventurous spirit, Cecilia, Dmitri continued, almost lazily, as if he were leisuring about as she toiled amongst the fellow servants. And I can appreciate that, I really, truly do.

I will warn you, though. His voice breathed into her right ear, making her jump to one side and tossing a strong slosh of greywater to the floor. She could not help but rear to the opposite side as he whispered in her left directly after. With curiosity comes risk.

Was that a threat?

Silence dragged between them, punctuated by the squishy steps of her sodden socks and shoes.

You know what? Fine. Fine! If it was a threat, if Dmitri-DMV-Annoying-Ass-Voice-Man really thought she needed a thinly veiled menacing to keep her in line, Cecilia would give him and anyone else a reason to issue it.

Down the hall and around a corner, Cecilia reached her desired destination—And she came face to painted face with the house’s master once again.

Cecilia?

Oh, he speaks!

Cecilia, he said more strictly, What in the world are you thinking?

So he could not read her thoughts himself? How fortunate; maybe she could actually surprise him.

She stood determined, so still and fuming it may have been unsettling to onlookers, when she threw her mop toward the portrait, letting it flop underneath its gold frame.

Cecilia! he exclaimed. Good God!

But that was nothing. Gearing up, taking a few steps back, Cecilia tightened her grip on the bucket’s handle and its lip before taking off running right after the mop. Her footfalls were sharp and quick, picking up speed as a crazed smile cracked her face.

She reared her arms back, water hitting the floors like a waterfall.

Stop right—!

And the water flew!

The greywater crashed against the master’s face, pounding against the paint-encrusted canvas and taking streaks of paint down with it. Water droplets saturated with reds, greens, and yellows rained to the floor. It wiped that self-assured smile right off of that sickeningly pretty face, leaving it wobbly and dragged down.

There…

But she was not done yet.

Picking up the mop and bracing it in both hands, Cecilia thrust it forward, its jellyfish strings flaying across his visage. She dragged it harshly, tearing through the woven fibers of heavy-duty linen. More importantly, though, she was sullying and smearing the oh-so-great Lord Olrin’s stupid eyes, ripping through his stupid hair, beating the pale out of his stupid, stupid face—!

Finally, satisfied and out of breath, Cecilia let the mop drop from her grip. Her shoulders slumped and her lungs heaved from exertion and adrenaline, her haggard breathing the only other sound in the hall aside from the continuous dripping.

She looked up, meeting what remained of the man’s eyes.

And she held it.

“Eat shit,” she spat.

Cecilia! Language! Dmitri screamed as she walked off. He released the most scandalized gasp when she held a pointedly directed middle finger up to the ceiling.

And she hoped whatever cosmic cloud he had for a brain short-circuited at the gesture.