Flames of Revenge

The Turning Point

March 13th, 1872

ROSALYNN

The day of the fire.

"Play something else. This infernal clanging is hurting my ears."

I ignore her. I'm sick of being told what to do, sick of being treated us than the mud on the bottom of their shoes. I've had enough of this.

"Didn't you hear me, you stupid girl? Stop that hideous racket at once."

I don't acknowledge her words, but instead feign ignorance and carry on playing. What's it to her what I play

As my fingers dance over the opening bars of a Beethoven Sonata, I can feel her hot breath on my neck. Her breathing in uneven, rough. I can hear her snort with barely-suppressed fury

Maybe you're pushing her too far, this time, a small voice at the back of my mind tells me.

I ignore it. Who cares what she thinks? Nothing even matters anymore.

The next thing I know, she slaps me. Hard

I stop playing abruptly, my right cheek stinging badly enough to bring tears to my eyes. I quickly blink them away before she can see my moment of weakness.

I turn around, and she's standing right behind me, face livid with anger, panting like some crazed animal.

"You idiot girl!" She screams, "You ungrateful wench! You waste of space!

Somehow, I feel...detached from all of this. As if I'm watching the scene unfold from a distance, as if I am a bystander. I find that I just don't care anymore.

I give her my nicest, most innocent smile. "Pardon me? Did you say something?"

Her breath is coming out in hoarse gasps. "I don't know why we let you stay here, you're nothing more than a useless piece of garbage. You're good for nothing. We clothe you and feed you, give you everything you'll ever need. And how do you repay us?" He voice is becoming hysterical. "I should have done this a long time ago. Worthless, that's what you are."

I ignore her, feeling strangely calm inside. Let her do what she wants to me, see if I care.

"You...you...you're fired!" She screams.

Fired?

But...but...

I take a deep breath. Fine. If that's how she's going to play it.

Smiling sweetly, I rise from the piano bench and curtsy to her.

"Of course, ma'am.

"I...I want you out of here by tonight!" She says, caught off-guard by my politeness, "And don't even think about showing your face before me ever again."

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that, ma'am. I'll leave right now," I say, in my politest voice, "I would say it has been a pleasure working for you, Lady Chapworth," I hide a smile. "Except for the fact that it hasn't. Good bye, ma'am, I won't be seeing you again."

I smooth down my skirts and start to leave. I am nearly at the door when something flies past my head, and hits the wall with a loud thump. It shatters as it falls to the ground, into a hundred shards of crystal. Even mutilated like this, I can tell that it was, up until a minute ago, the antique crystal ashtray that lay on the sideboard.

I turn around slowly. Lady Chapworth's face is livid with fury, her hands shaking uncontrollably. Her hair has slipped out of its pins, and falls around her shoulders in a mess of curls. Her eyes are wild.