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Hands gripped tightly around a sweeping brush, Magenta slowly made her way through the castle, sweeping at the floors, a bitter scowl etched on her face. Usually, she'd just walk around and pretend to clean, however due to Frank’s erratic moods recently, she thought it best to actually do her ‘job’ in order to avoid any unnecessary trouble. An ache radiated through her back, coursing up her spine and to her neck. That was part of the reason she liked to avoid cleaning as much as she could- since the castle was so large, actually cleaning resulted in her body feeling strained and sore for the next few days. Part of her knew she had it somewhat lucky though: she didn't have to wear one of those demeaning fake humps that her brother had to. Perhaps it was because Frank didn't feel threatened by her like he did Riff Raff. Her brother was smart, that was an understatement, and Magenta wondered whether Frank worried that people would view him as more intelligent than he was.
Speaking of Frank, clicking echoed throughout the ballroom as his heels tapped against the glossy floor, heading straight towards Magenta. Her shoulders tensed slightly as she continued to sweep, not looking up to face him as he stood behind her. She knew that whatever it was he wanted wouldn't be good, and she internally prayed that if she didn't acknowledge him, he would go away and bother someone else. If only.
“Magenta.” He called out, slightly slurred, a strong scent of alcohol present that she could still smell despite the fact she wasn't facing him. Reluctantly, she stood up straight and turned around, trying (and failing) to hide the bitter tone in her voice.
“Yes, master?”
Eyebrows furrowing, he frowned down at her, one hand on his hip, the other holding onto something concealed behind his back. “What do you think you're doing?”
Confused, she looked from the brush to Frank, unable to keep the judgemental look off her face, which just annoyed Frank more. “I'm.. cleaning.”
Frank let out a scoff, grabbing the brush from her grip and throwing it to the floor, a loud bang reverberating through the room.
“You aren't doing it right. God, are you really that useless? Sometimes you're worse than your brother.”
That stung. Not because he was insulting her, but because he was insulting Riff Raff. To stop herself from saying something that would get her in trouble, she bit her tongue and crouched down to pick up the broom. Her back now to Frank, he took the opportunity to bring the whip from behind his back, not holding back as he struck it against her back. She let out a shocked yelp, and at this response, Frank only whipped her again, and again, and again. What had she done to deserve this? She was doing her job. She didn't complain, no matter how much she wanted to. She did everything she was asked. And this was what she was met with. She’d had enough.
Finally growing bored at the lack of reaction, Frank scoffed and simply turned on his heels, muttering something as he walked away that she didn't quite catch, but it wasn't like she cared what he said anyway. Unclenching her jaw, Magenta let out a shaky sigh, slowly getting up from her position on the floor. Propping the broom up against the wall, she promptly disregarded the housework. What was the point, after all? She’d get punished no matter what she did, so why put all that extra added strain on herself?
With heavy steps, Magenta made her way to her room, biting her lips to prevent any pained whimpers escaping her mouth. Every movement felt like her skin was burning, each step making her want to simply collapse onto the floor and not move. Eventually, she made it to her room, shutting the door with a small sob. Crying was something Magenta refused to do, but the pain and the exhaustion made holding in the tears almost impossible. As they fell, she continued on as normal, almost like she was trying to forget she was even crying. Removing her dress, the cold air hitting her bare back, she stumbled her way into the bathroom. She refused to look in the mirror, refused to acknowledge how weak and vulnerable she felt in the moment. Instead, she grabbed a cloth and wet it with cold water, ringing it out before reaching behind her (which admittedly caused her more pain than she would've liked), pressing the cloth to her wounds. A pained hiss escaped through her clenched teeth, but it provided a small sense of relief, which was more than she could've asked for.
Her limbs felt like lead. Her skin burned. Her head was pounding. All she could do was shuffle over to her bed and lay down on her chest, her head finally hitting the pillow. The tears still streamed down her face, but she refused to acknowledge them, in fact part of her wanted to deny that she was even crying, even though there was no one there to prove herself to. Burying her face in her pillow, she held back the broken sobs, her body still so tense and achey. She just needs some rest.