Late that afternoon, the front door creaked open, announcing Mara''s return from the market. Mistress Matilda looked up from the couch where shenguished with a smile forming on her lips, only to falter as she took in Mara''s appearance.


    The girl''s normally neat braid was in disarray, wisps of hair framing her face in a wild halo. Sweat beaded on her forehead, leaving trails down her dust-smeared cheeks. Her dress, usually pristine despite her duties, was rumpled and stained.


    "Mara?" Matilda''s voice held a note of concern. "Are you alright?" Matilda asked because that very moment, Mara looked like she had gone to a parade instead of the market she was sent to.


    When Mara looked her direction barely acknowledging her and she looked at Mara''s face, undeniably something had gone wrong. Mara''s eyes, usually warm and expressive, were stormy. She muttered something unintelligible, shouldering past Matilda to deposit the market goods on the kitchen table.


    "What was that?" Matilda pressed, following her into the kitchen.


    "Nothing," Mara replied, the word clipped and terse.


    "You are quitete. Did something hold you?" Matilda asked noting the sun outside had greatly descended down the sky. What in the hell kept her in the market for so long? She didn''t want to consider the possibility that Zafron was right and she might have lost her way before finding it.


    That would be ridiculous because Mara was a smart girl, the smartest she had in the whole ckthorn mansion hence, why she was the closest to her. So it made little sense that of all people, that would happen to her.


    "No," Mara replied tersely.


    Matilda''s brow furrowed. This behavior was so unlike Mara, she was always cheerful and a talkative . "Did something happen at the market?"


    Mara''s hands stilled for a moment as she unpacked the groceries. "No," she said, not meeting Matilda''s eyes. Her eyes remained fixed on the numerous bags she brought in. She was unable to look elsewhere as she clenched her jaw and continued unpacking.


    The silence stretched between them, taut as a bowstring. Matilda opened her mouth to inquire further, but Mara spoke first.


    "I''ll start on dinner." Her tone left no room for discussion. Matilda hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Very well. I''ll be in my room,  if you need me." She said standing up to head upstairs.


    As Matilda left, she cast onest worried nce at Mara''s rigid back.


    A few hourster, the aroma of roasting meat and herbs filled the house as evening fell. Zafron came out of his room mainly due to the aroma he perceived. He has been asleep all day after hisst session with Matilda in the kitchen.


    However, the moment he entered the living area, he noticed something was wrong. Raising an eyebrow at the tension he could feel permeating the air.


    "Is everything alright?" he asked Matilda who had returned from her room in a low voice.


    She shook her head slightly. "I''m not sure. Mara''s been... different since she returned from the market."


    Before Zafron could respond, Mara appeared in the doorway. "Dinner is served," she announced with a very t voice. Zafron and Matilda headed to the table and sat watching Mara move about with the dishes.


    Matilda and Zafron both exchanged worried nces as Mara set down the dishes with more force than necessary.


    "This looks wonderful, Mara," Zafron said, attempting to lighten the mood. Mara shed a quick smile at him before turning to leave. "Won''t you join us?" Zafron asked calling her back.


    Mara shook her head without even as much as looking his way. "I have no appetite. If you''ll excuse me, I''ll retire for the night."


    "But Mara—" Matilda began, only to be cut off by the sound of Mara''s retreating footsteps on the stairs.


    The meal passed in ufortable silence. Finally, Zafron pushed back his chair. "I''m going to check on her," he dered.


    Matilda nodded gratefully. "Please do. I''m worried about her."


    Zafron climbed the stairs, his footsteps heavy with concern. He paused outside Mara''s door, taking a deep breath before knocking gently.


    "Mara? It''s Zafron. May Ie in?"


    There was a moment of silence, then the sound of movement. The door opened a crack, revealing Mara''s face. Her eyes were red-rimmed, as if she''d been crying.


    "What is it?" she asked, her voice hoarse.


    Zafron''s heart clenched at the sight of her distress. "I wanted to check on you. You seemed upset earlier, and you didn''t eat... Is everything alright?"


    Mara''s eyes darted away. "I''m fine," she insisted. "I just... I need to be alone tonight. Please."


    Zafron studied her face, concern etched in the lines around his eyes. "If you''re sure," he said slowly. "But Mara, if there''s anything you need to talk about, anything at all, we''re here for you. You know that, right?"


    A flicker of... something passed across Mara''s face. For a moment, Zafron thought she might open up. But then her expression closed off again.


    "I know," she said. "Goodnight, Zafron."


    The door shut firmly, leaving Zafron staring at the worn wood. He sighed heavily, turning to head back downstairs. As he did, he nearly collided with Matilda, who had been hovering nearby.


    "Well?" Matilda demanded, her voice low but intense. "What did she say?"


    Zafron shook his head. "Not much. She insists she''s fine, but..."


    "But clearly, she''s not," Matilda finished. Her lips pressed into a thin line. "This has gone on long enough. I''m going to talk to her."


    Before Zafron could protest, Matilda marched to Mara''s door and flung it open. Mara, who had been sitting on her bed, jumped to her feet.


    The door flew open, banging against the wall. Matilda''s imposing figure filled the doorway, her usually perfect posture now rigid with anger. Her eyes, normally warm and motherly, zed with a mixture of concern and frustration. She then reached behind her to shut the door close. Seeing this himself, Zafron knew it was his cue to leave.


    Let them handle themselves. He had to start mapping out the city so he could look for a job tomorrow.


    "Mara," Matilda''s voice was sharp, cutting through the silence. "Look at me when I''m speaking to you.". Matilda said with anger evident in her tone.


    Slowly, Mara turned, her face a mask of forced calm. She had a neutral look on her face, almost like a default face. Her eyes, however, betrayed a storm of emotions—anger and something else, something darker.


    Matilda took a step forward, her silk dress rustling. "What is the meaning of this behavior? The disrespect today and the constant tantrums? What''s going on?"


    Mara remained silent, her jaw clenched tight. She stared at a point just over Matilda''s shoulder, refusing to meet her gaze.


    Matilda''s nostrils red, her patience wearing thin. "Answer me, girl. I demand an exnation."


    The tension in the room grew palpable. Mara''s hands trembled slightly, and she sped them behind her back to hide it. Her eyes darted to the door, seeking an escape, but Matilda''s figure blocked the way.


    "I..." Mara started, her voice barely above a whisper. She swallowed hard, then fell silent again.


    Matilda''s eyes narrowed. She took another step closer, her perfume—a mix ofvender and rose—filling Mara''s senses. "You what? Speak up. I''ve had enough of this nonsense."


    Just then, something in Mara''s expression shifted. The fear in her eyes flickered, reced by a glint of defiance. Her posture straightened, mirroring Matilda''s stance.


    And then, unexpectedly, Mara chuckled.


    The sound was so out of ce, so jarring in the tense atmosphere, that Matilda took a step back. Her eyes widened in shock, her carefully cultivated noble demeanor slipping for a moment.


    "What in the world—" Matilda began, but Mara cut her off.


    "You''re so full of yourself," Mara said, her voice steady and cold. She met Matilda''s gaze directly now, a challenge in her eyes.


    Matilda''s mouth fell open, her face a picture of disbelief. She blinked rapidly, as if trying to clear her vision. "Mara?" she whispered, her voice uncertain. "Is that... is that really you speaking?"


    For a moment, Matilda''s mind raced. This couldn''t be Mara—not the sweet, obedient girl she''d known. No, this had to be something else. A foul spirit, perhaps, possessing the poor girl.


    Mara took a step closer, her movements fluid and confident. A small, cruel smile yed at the corners of her mouth. "Oh, it''s me, Mistress," she said, the title dripping with sarcasm. "And do you want to know what my problem is?"


    Matilda found herself backing away, her back hitting the doorframe. She''d never seen this side of Mara before, and it terrified her.


    "W-what?" Matilda stammered, her usual eloquence deserting her.


    Mara leaned in, her face inches from Matilda''s. Her eyes, usually warm brown, now seemed almost ck with intensity. "You," she hissed. "You are my problem."


    Matilda''s hand flew to her throat, her fingers clutching at her pearl ne. "Me?" she gasped, her voice barely audible.


    "Yes, you," Mara continued, her words sharp and biting. "Your constant demands, your suffocating presence, your belief that you own me."


    With each usation, Mara took another step forward, forcing Matilda further to the wall. The roles had reversed—now it was Matilda seeking escape, her eyes darting left and right.


    "But I... I''ve given you everything," Matilda protested weakly. "A home, a good life at least one far befitting someone that upies your position -"


    "A cage," Mara interrupted. "A pretty cage, but a cage nheless."


    Matilda''s back hit the opposite wall of the room. She stood there, trapped between the cold wall and Mara''s burning gaze. Her lips trembled, struggling to form words. What in the hell had gotten into this youngdy? Was all Matilda could think of at that moment because Mara''s face appeared scarier than anything she had seen before.


    "Mara, please," she finally managed. "Let''s talk about this. Whatever''s bothering you, we can work it out."


    For a moment, something flickered in Mara''s eyes—a hint of the old Mara, perhaps. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, reced by that same cold determination.


    "There''s nothing to talk about," Mara said, her voice low and dangerous. "I''m done being your puppet, your perfect little maid."