Chapter Text
You are a diligent worker. You know this, it has kept you out of the dungeons for this long. Yet, as you dust the vase you’re on, you find yourself gazing at nothing. You are not often distracted this way, but the fog that settles over you lingers.
It is dark outside, clouds threatening the skyline. It is your favorite type of weather. The room you are in is empty aside from you, as everyone else lingers over their respective duties before curfew. You have little else to do for what remains of the day, and this vase has taken up much of your time so far since dinner. It isn’t much like you to linger, and yet here you are. Dusting the same vase for what feels like an hour.
There is a set of furniture in the center of the room that may be of better interest to you. The teacup sitting there, or the fruit that should be taken off the table. Yet you stay at your vase, dusting the curves of the women who decorate it. It is a beautiful piece of art, white and gold and delicate looking. You continue on, watching the features of it disappear under the duster.
“Is it not clean?” you hear from behind you, and you startle so hard you nearly knock it over. You turn quickly to find Lady Dimitrescu standing in front of the door. As always, she is a vision. Perfect curls lining her face, red lipstick firmly in place, and her dress is seemingly free of any imperfections. She is a beautiful woman, and the thought shakes you out of your reverie. Your thoughts shift to just how long she has been standing there to notice your lack of actual work.
“Uh… I’m sorry, my Lady. I must be distracted,” you stammer, gripping the duster in your hand tighter. Distracted, of all things. In front of Lady Dimitrescu no less.
“Whatever by, darling?” The name sends a strike of lightning through you. Never have you been called it, rarely has she even spoken to you. The attention makes your hands shake, makes your knees feel weak.
“I’m unsure, my Lady. The day has been long, the mind wanders.”
You wish to explain yourself further, but you find you cannot tell her of it. Your mind is a labyrinth to puzzle through even for yourself, trying to explain to her surely would be confusing. But she just stares at you with her piercing eyes, calm and collected. You find yourself almost compelled to speak.
“I find myself wandering sometimes, my Lady. Things often overwhelm me,” you explain. Though you aren’t sure if the addition makes any sense. But you cannot put into words the way the repetitive motions lull you into calmness. The quiet of the wind by the window, the ability to travel back into your mind to calm and recharge. It feels odd to try to explain it. But she is still staring at you, some expression that you have never observed on her face.
“Overwhelmed?” she asks you, eyes soft and open. Her expression seems sincere, almost as if she actually wants to know the answer.
“Yes, my Lady. The sounds and the people sometimes get the better of me. I must decompress at times.”
You do not tell her the details of who or what or why, surely she does not care that much. She hums a sound, slowly walking forward to sit on one of the chairs. It was quite obviously made for her, the size fits her stature perfectly.
“I believe I understand the concept, pet. You should sit,” she tells you, gesturing to the couch across from her. You begin to protest, despite the fact you have been dusting the same space for an extended amount of time, but the look that she sends your way cuts the words off before they begin.
You walk to the couch, sitting down gently. You wish to sit on the floor, perhaps it may help with grounding you, but you think it may not be too polite in present company. It is a comfortable couch, at least. You have never sat on it. There is a long stretch of silence, Lady Dimitrescu stares at you and you stare at your shoes. They are polished to perfection, and you can almost see your reflection in them if you look closely enough. You tap your hands on your thighs.
“Are your tasks not right for you?” she asks you. You aren’t sure, is the problem. Cleaning is fine enough, it is tedious but relaxing in its own right. But you cannot honestly say it is what you want to be doing. Her sincerity as she asks confuses you. Lady Dimitrescu is not often seen talking to any of the servant staff unless it is to give orders or dole out punishments with her daughters.
“I’m not sure, my Lady,” and you shrug before you can think better of it. The corner of her mouth lifts in what looks like amusement at your action.
“What do you like to do?” she asks, and that surely is the best question. The problem is answering it once more. You think maybe you’d like to work in the kitchen, or gardens, or somewhere else. But no thought sticks, and so there is no straight answer you can offer her.
“I’m not quite sure of that either, Lady Dimitrescu.”
You have not often been asked what you’d like or want. Whatever opinions you must have had at one point were snuffed. She stares at you, though. Her eyes glow in the dimming light of the room. You wish to shift closer to get down the exact shade. But you stay in place, twiddling your fingers. The Lady’s gaze follows the movements of your fingers for a moment before they snap back to you.
“You are not sure what you like?”
Shame bubbles in your chest with the truth of it spelled out like that. It is not your fault, of course. As a child, you had little choice and even less free time, and now you are serving a great household and you spend your free time doing whatever catches your fancy. Reading, often enough, drawing. Watching the flowers, visiting the lake. The estate is large and winding, and so beautiful. More importantly, the way she says it makes you blush. Her voice has always been beautiful. Smooth and smoky, even and firm. Your schoolyard crush on the Lady of the house has never ceased to amaze your roommate, and it is working against you now.
“No, my Lady. I wouldn’t know where to begin,” you tell her, focusing on the way her hands look in her leather gloves. You think you should be looking her in the eyes, but perhaps the eye contact may overwhelm you. Her presence does, in a way. She cuts a large figure, of course, but her energy is dominant. She draws eyes, commands respect.
She hums again, and you can see her tilt her head, her fingers flexing slightly. The action fascinates you, and you catalog it in some part of your brain you try not to linger in too long. You enjoy these little things that make people themselves. You collect them in parts, in instances. It is your most lasting hobby, perhaps.
The Lady seems to want to say something to you, but you aren’t sure what. Surely she is not hesitating, she doesn’t seem the type to do so. But she opens her mouth once and closes it just as fast. There is another lingering pause, and then she is speaking again.
“What are your best areas?” she asks, slowly.
“I like routine, my Lady. I can adapt to anything, but I enjoy routine. I do not enjoy working with many others, though.”
Routine is your friend. It eases the tension in your shoulders, it allows you long moments to breathe. Commotion and bustle is your enemy, in the same way. The talking, the people, the sounds. It lingers over your brain for hours after the day ends, exhausts you beyond repair. You are allowed to work in solitude, though, by some miracle. Perhaps the grand chambermaid, Vera, had noticed your troubles, an offering of kindness to you.
“How are your skills preparing tea? Writing, literacy? Helping clothe and prepare someone?”
The questions confuse you. You are a fine tea maker, you had perfected the act very quickly. It was fun to do, soothing to make sure each step was correct. You had spent a year of your childhood writing in a journal, tales of longing and daily actions. You had burned it, eventually, when the time came to come here. It was better to confine the details of your life to ash. Dressing, though, you can learn. You had spent days here and there helping your mother prepare for the day when you were younger. Once you aided Miss Bela.
“I am practiced in those areas, my Lady. What job would require it?” you ask her, curiosity getting the better of you.
“I’ve required a new personal handmaiden for quite some time. The job is structured, I have a strict routine. I believe you may do well,” she tells you. Your heart quickens at the thought. Excitement, fear. Both emotions mix in your chest so suddenly you clench your hands to distract yourself. You know, of course, your answer will be affirmative. Most would jump at the opportunity, the job affords nicer amenities, nicer perks.
“I… would be honored, my Lady. I will offer my best.”
It’s the truth. You have not often been presented with an opportunity such as that. To be around the Lady in any way would be enough, but to provide her with care every day? The thought lingers in your mind, repeating. You can feel the blush at your own words, they even sound desperate.
She smirks at you, and when you look her in the eyes you can see something like amusement. She tilts her head again just slightly as if seeing something that puzzles her. Some of the other girls in the castle may have hesitated at the offer. Despite the perks, the job is historically shitty for the turnover rate. Maybe too many expectations, too strict standards. The Lady is notoriously famous for her expectations, especially for someone who must be with her so often.
But you jump at it, eager to please and be around her. Surely she must see your desperation if the smirk on her lips is any sort of indication.
“Oh? How eager,” you blush so thoroughly you can feel your shoulders heat before she goes on, “you can begin tomorrow. I will offer a trial of it, to see if it suits you.”
You nod your head at the generous offer. Trial means practice, trial means you get the chance to be good so she doesn’t get rid of you for your mistakes. And surely there will be a few, with your propensity towards nerves when around her.
“Report to my chambers at six sharp. Your schedule will be given to you then, I expect you to remember it. Write it down if you must,” she tells
You nod again. She is willing to offer this, something that sounds like it may be good for you, to someone like you. She had walked in on you distracted for what must have been some time if she had commented on it, and still, she offers it. It is kindness beyond what you are used to. Listening to your needs and extending a hand. You cannot fathom how lucky you are.
“I expect much from this position, considering the work. I will be lenient with you for some time, at least until you succeed in the routine.”
“I will give you my best, my Lady, you are kind to allow me the opportunity.”
She makes a small noise and gets up from her seat. Her posture, as with everything about her, is immaculate. She holds herself with the air of someone who knows they are above others. Her height only adds to it, amazing in and of itself. She is leagues taller than anyone you know of. Her daughters, too, are beyond the average height.
She turns towards the door, and you look away from her. It seems the most polite thing, considering she must bend through it. You cannot allow yourself to watch her in that way, so you look at the room. Lady Dimitrescu stops right before she leaves, looking at you from over her shoulder.
“Six sharp, Y/N. Don’t be late.”
You say an affirmative, bidding her a good night before she is gone. You hear your name over and over her in her voice. She knows it, you think to yourself in a daze. You had been introduced on your initial day at the castle, but you had doubted she had remembered it. But she knows it, without talking to you in any way for all this time. A year at the castle, and only twice had she spoken to you. Once to give a command, once to offer a slight word of praise that had left you thinking about it for a full month after.
A year without saying your name at all, and she knows it still. You get up shakily from the couch, trying your very best to remember what you were doing. You go through your mental list, finally remembering you need to take the dishes on the table to the kitchen, throw away the bloodied fruit.
You do so quickly, eager to return to your room. Diana should be back from her duties, she often finished quicker. Your roommate often stays in the kitchen, so it makes sense she finishes quicker on these days with dinner done.
You drop off the dishes with Felicia and walk quickly to your room after throwing out the fruit. As predicted, Diana is lounging on her bed. She looks up when you enter, obviously paying little attention to whatever she was reading. Probably waiting for you, a habit you both make just in case one of you gets in trouble somehow. It has never happened, thankfully, both of you always return to your room. But it is nice to make sure. You were late today, having talked to the Lady.
“Why are you late?” she asks you, obviously a bit concerned over your appearance. You must look shaken, and you are. With the talk with the Lady and your new job, you feel a bit rattled. Your hands are shaky, your legs are jelly.
“Lady Dimitrescu stopped by for a conversation,” you respond, trying to keep the obvious nerves out of your voice. Of course, Diana knows of your affections for the Lady, having quickly figured you out. But still, you’d rather at least try and save some of your pride regarding this situation.
Diana is obviously shocked a bit. It is practically unheard of for the Lady to converse with the staff unless they were one of the heads of a station. Even then, it was mostly with Vera, who headed the whole castle’s activities.
“Well? About what?” she asks when you stand idle too long. You walk over to your dresser, gathering clothes for your bath. With your bundle of clothing, you walk to sit with her on her bed.
“She caught me… while I was distracted dusting some vase repeatedly,” you tell her, hesitating a bit to go on when her eyes widen. “She asked me about what I’d like to do.”
Her face morphs into something combining confusion and shock, her mouth hanging open. It is a fair reaction, too, the Lady cares little for what the maids would like to be doing. Your roommate urges you on with both hands, her book long forgotten on her stomach.
“Fine, fine. She offered to let me take a test run as her personal handmaid.”
Diana’s mouth opens wider, and you reach over to shut her mouth for her. It is not that big of a deal. Or perhaps it is, but you cannot allow yourself to believe it or else you will become scared about the whole thing. The white lie will allow you to at least be able to go to her room tomorrow.
“What the fuck,” Diana whispers, more to herself than anything. It nearly makes you laugh, and you bite down on your lip to stop it. You hold the same sentiment, so there is nothing for you to say to it.
“What…” she says again, trailing off as if in thought. You understand the feeling. In all of your time at the castle, not once has Lady Dimitrescu been so offering to the staff that you know of. She is a stern woman with the servants. Fair, of course, but strict. But what she is not is catering to them. It is unheard of for her to be so lenient, especially when you were caught slacking on your tasks. You have gotten away with a great deal tonight and even gained something in the process.
It is a first, in any case, for this to occur. The last handmaiden that Lady Dimitrescu had was transferred to the groundskeeping staff, she had lasted the longest but even that had been mere months. The one before, the only other you knew of in all the talk, had disappeared after weeks. The position was notorious, sought after by some, and feared a great deal by most. Both were a fair opinion, considering.
You shrug, and you excuse yourself to go shower. You will need to try to sleep early tonight, and so you must get ready for bed now. You need to wake up early, and with your record for trouble falling asleep and shoddy schedule for it, it would do you good to start the process soon.
You hum while you bathe. You wash your hair and your body efficiently, and soon enough you are dressing. You will have Diana braid your hair, hoping it may keep your curls neat for tomorrow. She is better at it than you are.
She is not reading her book when you return to the room. Instead, her gaze is locked onto the door you had left out of blankly. You flick her shoulder before you sit on the floor in front of her bed. Catching on quickly, she begins the process of braiding your hair. It is one of your favorite things to treat yourself to. Diana loves doing it, and it soothes you beyond compare. After the events of the evening, it feels extra nice.
“What does her personal servant even do?” she asks you, working on parting your hair gently. Her fingers are dexterous where they split the strands, and you try to focus on the sensation.
“Not sure of the exacts yet. She said she’d give me my schedule tomorrow morning, though,” you inform her, turning your head where she moves it.
“You better not fuck up, Y/N,” she tells you seriously. “You cannot go anywhere. Whose hair would I do?” It is a sweet sentiment, one you are thankful to have found in someone. She has become something of a sister to you, in so many ways.
“I hope not. I don’t plan to, anyway.”
She finishes the rest of the hairdo while filling you in on the rest of her day. It is good not to have silence fill the space, it would lead to you spiraling in some way. If you allow yourself too long to think about it, you are afraid you may psych yourself out of doing well.
When Diana is done, you walk carefully to your bed, climbing under the layers of blankets you have collected over your time. Your small savings, the parts you do not give to your family, are spent partially on this endeavor. You enjoy the weight of them, and the servants’ corridor is often cold.
“I cannot believe you were caught slacking off and got an upgrade,” Diana whispers from her side of the room. You faintly chuckle, agreeing.
“It was purely circumstance I believe. I think the Lady may be a bit bored if I’m who she chose.”
“Nonsense,” she disagrees vehemently, “you’re probably the best choice there is.”
You do not take the compliment. It is not yours to take, you may be good, but best feels a bit like a stretch.
“I can’t believe she even talked to you,” you hear, and the shock still lingers.
“Me neither. She knew my name,” you tell her. You had nearly forgotten to mention it. It is an odd fact on top of the odd situation. Lady Dimitrescu is introduced to you all, but not many of you are ever addressed by name unless you rise in the ranks.
“Weird,” is her reply. “You really do get into the oddest situations.”
You agree, this occurrence is quite an odd one. Everything that happened seems to be at direct odds with what you know to be true about the Lady of the house. Every instance is the opposite of what you thought should have happened. But you are in bed, safe and unharmed, with a new job in the morning. A personal servant to the matriarch of the house, no less.
You have spent your time in the castle blending into the background. You made few friends, unable to do so easily. Diana was a lucky addition to your time here, put into a shared room and becoming best friends. Vera was kind to you and had taken tolerance to you. You talked to Felicia in the odd days you were in the kitchen, she often gave you sweets, she was a phenomenal baker.
Everyone else avoided you mostly. You assumed it was your oddities. You talk to yourself, your arms and hands are in constant motion, you do not like being in their presence much anyways, it drains you. And now you are going to be the right-hand woman to the Lady of the castle. It feels a bit surreal thinking about this new change. What a great shift in the day, just earlier you were mopping the floor like you did almost every day.
“You think I should be scared?” you ask quietly in the dark after Diana has extinguished the lights. You hear a hum from the other side of the room like she is thinking about it.
“No. If she can catch you doing nothing and still offer a job, I think it will be fine. Maybe she likes you,” she teases. You immediately stutter out something in the negative.
“I hope I do well. It seems like a good opportunity,” you admit, and it feels a bit like a silly thing to say. Diana must see through the admission for what it really means because you hear a snort.
“Yeah, right. I’m sure that’s the only reason why you wanna be good, huh,” she teases. You splutter indignantly, trying to defend your own honor.
You calm yourself before you reply with a quiet whatever, as is that alone will stop her from being right. You both know she is.
There are long moments of quiet before she decides to sleep as well, wishing you luck just in case she isn’t awake. She falls asleep quickly, as she always does. Most nights you envy this about her, her ease with drifting off. Tonight you find yourself strung tight and exhausted, and you breathe carefully and close your eyes. It takes a while, but when you do all you can dream of are Lady Dimitrescu’s hands and her smirk.