𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 | 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐢𝐧

𝐈 : 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫

Sliding open the curtains, light filtered into the sweltering cabin. Dust flecks glittered through the air, illuminated by sunbeams and their refractions off the lake's crystal surface. You flipped open the latch of the window and pushed the glass outward. Warm summer air filled the wooden walls with sweet, floral freshness.

You drifted to the bed and stripped the old linens to apply fresh sheets. You wiped each surface with a damp rag and swept the floors of any remaining detritus. Dust balls flew out of the cabin's front door into the breeze for robins to repurpose for their nests. Moving onto the windows, you washed them diligently to remove any smudges from the past guests' gazing at distant flower fields or the water feature outside the lodge's entrance. Lastly, you beat the rugs on the porch to knock out any hidden dirt.

Exiting the cabin, the hem of your powder blue dress dragged through the grass as your work boots squelched in the mud. You pulled a pocket knife from your pouch as you entered the lush flower garden and sliced a few of the prettiest flowers to return to the first cabin. Black-eyed Susans, daisies, tiger lilies, and Queen Anne's lace would be the subjects of your artistic table arrangements.

In the center of the wooden, round breakfast table, you placed a glass vase full of lukewarm water and shuffled the flowers inside. You rearranged their positions, snipped off a few leaves, and cut a few stems shorter to create a better illusion of fullness.

Mostly satisfied with the room's presentation, you shifted to the second cabin not too far from the first. You repeated all your earlier work and even straightened the paintings on the walls that were askew from Dr. Hange's late-night escapades. With your palms on your hips, you surveyed the space one last time to ensure it was as close to perfection as possible. Niccolo informed you that your next guests were friends of his and his late wife, so although your duties would be more relaxed than with other visitors, you still had to uphold the standard you always set.

The first guest was an accomplished young author from London. He wrote pieces full of romance, death, and betrayal. You often stole a few of his books from Niccolo's library and read them secretly under the cover of moonlight. Although you had no true conception of the guest's appearance, a man who wrote so beautifully and twisted your heartstrings so painfully must be a magnificent specimen to behold.

The second was a French artist you had heard little of. When you asked for more information from Niccolo, he simply said the painter was a riot when they met five years ago but, according to Mr. Arlert's letters, had changed in the last year to be more reclusive.

You closed the cabin door, secured the lock, and strolled to the main house. The sun dipped below the horizon as the lake bled with red, orange, and gold. Crickets and cicadas rattled as your feet drummed onto the main house's front porch. You lingered outside the door, kicking off any mud from your heels.

"Niccolo?" you called loudly through the house as you entered, "I've finished preparing for Mr. Arlert and Mr. Kirstein's stay!"

You wiped the sweat from your hands onto your apron as sweet smoke and fresh herbs aerated the entryway. Following your nose, you strolled into the kitchen to see your guardian chopping away at the counter.

"Wonderful," he congratulated you as he sliced tomatoes. "And the shopping is finished?"

"Of course. I already put it all away in the cellar, as well. Oh! And I was able to purchase eggs for even less than usual." You smirked with pride, remembering gentle flirting with the merchant at noon. He had given you three eggs for free in exchange for a pretty smile.

Most women found your mild flirting indecent, but your reputation already preceded you due to your questionable upbringing. If you were already the talk of the town and a demon in the eyes of married and religious folk, you might as well receive some discounts for your troubles.