My WIFI is about to go in 5 minutes. THIS SHIT IS NOT BETA'd
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Glacivale 31st, 143 AE
(Diary) Report of a Maid – Entry #1
MOM! MOM, YOUR DAUGHTER HAS MADE IT!
I DID IT. I ACTUALLY DID IT.
The Schnee Manor. THE Schnee Manor.
I have a job at the Schnee Manor.
I still don't believe it. I'm sittin' here in my tiny lil' apartment, starin' at this fancy-lookin' contract, waitin' for someone to kick my door down and tell me they messed up. Or worse—kick my door down, slap a burlap sack over my head, drag me to some secret underground Schnee dungeon, and quietly un-exist me 'cause I accidentally got hired instead of some noble's niece.
Sorry, miss, but you weren't meant to see that contract. Nothin' personal." And then BAM—one-way trip to the afterlife.
But nope.
Ain't nobody come for me. Ain't nobody taken the contract back.
My name's right there, in fancy ink, all proper and legal-like.
This is it. The big leagues. The kinda job folks dream about. The kinda job that changes things like, real things The kind of job that secures your future, your family's future, that ensures you'll never have to worry about money ever again. The golden ticket. The holy grail of maid employment.
People spend years trying to get in. Years.
The Schnee name ain't just big—it's big big. Their house ain't just a house—it's a damn kingdom. You don't just get hired to work there. You earn it. You fight for it. You survive for it. You gots to be "The crème de la crème of domestic service".
And guess what?
I did.
And now?
I'm one of them.
And yeah, Grandma, before you start yellin' and your trainin' worked. The butt smackin' worked. The never-endin' lessons on silverware and foldin' sheets worked. Gettin' dragged outta bed at dawn just to learn how to pour tea without makin' a sound? Worth it. Every miserable second of it.
Because the Schnee Manor doesn't just hire people. No, no, no. You prove yourself. You endure. And if you're good enough, if you survive, if the gods smile upon you, you are deemed worthy.
The trials were brutal. Brutal.
First, there was the written exam.
A written exam. For a maid job.
Schnees were Hardcore!
I was out there sweating over the difference between a dinner fork and a salad fork like my life depended on it—which, let's be honest, it kinda did. Do you know how many types of napkin folds there are?! Too many. That's how many. It's actually ninety-two.
Then came the practical test. Which, okay, fine, rich folk want things clean. Fair. But why in the seven hells did I have to balance a silver tray while crossin' a waxed marble floor in heels? Like I was tryin' out for some kinda Atlesian spy squad?
Then came the animals. Aced that one.
And then, the interview.
Oh, you thought it was just a normal sit-down with a manager? Nope.
It was a panel.
A council of long-time Schnee staff, sittin' like judges in a high court, silently noddin' as they stared straight through me. No one smiled. No one blinked. I ain't even sure they breathed. The Head Maid scared the shit outta me.
She asked about everything. My experience, my values, my philosophy on dustin'. At one point, I swear I heard someone *hmm* in disapproval 'cause I hesitated on the best way to hand-wash silk curtains.
But in the end?
I passed. And it only took six months of waitin'!
I survived.
"You seem like the type who has no self-worth." That's why they hired me.
I was deemed worthy.
"Had Sir Jacques not insisted on expanding the hiring of people from the lower classes, you would have never been selected."
Mother, Gran Gran, Great-Grandmother, all the ancestors before me—I DID IT.
"…And because you look like you can lift a bucket properly."
A ringin' endorsement.
Tomorrow, I step through those gates, not as an outsider, not as a hopeful, but as *one of them.*
I will not fail.
I *cannot* fail.
Because the Schnee Manor demands perfection.
…And also 'cause if I do fail, I will *never* hear the end of it from you.
I'll send some money, too. Don't let Gran Gran gamble it away.
I'll do my best!
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(Diary) Report of a Maid – Entry #2
First day on the job. First day at the Schnee Manor. First day surviving the Schnee Manor.
And I do mean surviving.
Got stuck shadowin' one of the older maids today. Real tall, real pretty, real graceful—moves like she was *made* for a place like this. Meanwhile, I tripped twice, near walked face-first into some fancy vase worth more'n my whole life, and had to act like I *meant* to bow when I fumbled a tray.
In my defense, it's real hard to focus with a stampede of bun-buns scurryin' 'round your feet.
She did *not* look impressed. Neither did the bunnies.
But she didn't boot me out on my ass, so I'm countin' that as a win.
First thing she did was drag me 'round the house, pointin' out rooms, halls, and spots I weren't ever supposed to step foot in unless told otherwise. Lotta those. More than I expected. This place ain't a house—it's a damn *palace*. Got rooms sittin' pretty that ain't been touched in years, but they still gotta be cleaned 'cause *of course* they do.
"It reflects on the Lord of the house," she said.
"Decades ago, the Schnee were apparently just a minor noble house, propped up by the miraculous blessing that was Sir Nicholas. The late lord seemed to favor a bit of casualness with his image. Those days were long gone. Sir Jacques turned this estate into the greatest house in Atlas. "
Having a big-ass lightning dragon probably helped, me thinks. I never uttered it, but nevertheless, I received a swift and dignified correction to the back of my head. The Schnee staff could read minds it seemed.
"And with a house of this scale, the atmosphere had to match. The staff moved like clockwork, the amenities were fit for royalty, and the sheer number of rooms, ballrooms, studies, galleries, lounges, could make a lesser noble weep. Everything here existed to remind others exactly where they stood."
"A lord's home is not just his castle—it is his kingdom." It was bolded and italicized. I don't know how you speak in bold and italics, but she did.
She told me the rules, too. Then smacked me on the back of the head when I didn't write them down fast enough. So I wrote them down.
First rule: Do not speak unless spoken to, so aside from very special cases you don't talk to the Schnee family using anything other than "Yes, my Lord/Yes, my Lady". Unless, of course, Master Schnee suddenly decides he enjoys conversation today. You will not be warned in advance.
Second rule: don't be seen unless necessary. Unless, of course, Master Schnee notices you weren't around and suddenly demands to know why no one was there to witness his latest triumph. (His words, not mine.)
Third rule: If something is broken, fix it before anyone notices. If Master Schnee notices before you fix it, act like you were already handling it. Even if you weren't. Especially if you weren't. Similar tactics are advised against the Young Master.
Fourth rule: If Sir Jacques's in a bad mood, get out of the way, unless he's looking for an audience to appreciate his frustrations. If that happens… well. Congratulations. You're the audience now. Act accordingly!
Fifth rule: If he's in a good mood, do not assume that means you're in a good mood. His mood is not contagious.
Sixth rule: If he's smiling, drop whatever you're doing and discreetly call one of the Heads. He's either had a stroke of genius or is about to introduce new house policies. Neither is good for us.
Seventh rule: If he calls you by name, you are either about to receive a personal commendation or a task so bizarre you will genuinely wonder if he is joking. He is not.
Eighth rule: If he laughs, do not laugh with him unless you are absolutely sure it was a joke. Do not assume. Do not risk it.
Ninth rule: If he compliments you, just nod, say thank you, and leave before he remembers why he was looking in your direction in the first place.
Tenth rule: If he sighs, he is either disappointed or having an inner monologue. He has many inner monologues. Most of them aren't inner. Do not get involved.
Eleventh rule: If he's pacing inside, go find the Head Butler. If he's pacing outside, go find the Head of Security.
Twelfth rule: If he's been silent for too long, he is scheming. Alert the Head Maid.
....it then continued for while.
Oh. And I have to memorize the 'Football Rules' booklet in case he ever asks me to officiate a match.
I am starting to think I did not get hired as a maid.
Cuze I couldn't help but notice these weren't so much house rules as they were the desperate ramblin's of someone tryin' and failing to predict the movements of a wild, sugar-crazed toddler. Kept that thought to myself, though.
Sadly, Schnee staff were psychic and could read minds. I got smacked again.
Yet, as I read over the list again, I realized that the only real rule in this house is:
Don't. Just... Don't.
Mind your damn business, and pretend you saw nothing.
Following that, the good old Maid with the Evil Old Hand (I never caught her actual name) explained to me the hierarchy inside the house. Apparently, I was supposed to memorize it, but I figured I'd remember the important bits.
At the very top was Sir Jacques. No explanation needed. If he said jump, we did not ask how high. We just jumped and hoped we didn't hit the ceiling. Or, worse, hoped we did hit the ceiling because that might mean we jumped high enough to impress him.
Second was Lady Willow. She was technically above the Heads, but, well. The Heads didn't always listen to her. And I was not paid enough to wonder why.
Next came the Big Three: the Head Maid, the Head Butler, and the Head of Security. These were the ones who actually ran the house, made sure things got done, and ensured none of us got fired. Their word was law. If they said 'run,' you asked 'which direction' and prayed it wasn't towards Sir Jacques.
Then came the Young Master. The only son. The heir to the Schnee name. We obeyed. We nodded. We never, ever treated him as anything less than a future king. (I had not met him yet, but I was bracing myself. I had a feeling I would need to bow. A lot.)
After that were the Young Mistresses. In theory, they were higher than the staff. In reality, the older one was rarely here, and the younger one was, according to my guide, "a bit of a wild card." I did not know what that meant, but I knew it wasn't good. Nothing about that phrase said 'easy to handle' or 'predictable.'
Then there was everyone else. Guests, visitors, even the ones with fancy titles. Didn't matter how important they were outside these walls; inside the Schnee household, they were below the staff. We answered to the Schnees and no one else.
And at the very, very bottom of the list, beneath all of them, there was Me :=). yay!
I saluted my place at the bottom. It was an honor just to be here.
The Animals(who were also above me) are Sir Jacques's summons, and thus technically his responsibility. However, be sure to be polite with them. If one blocks your path, shoo it politely. If you see a shadow move but there is nothing there, do not panic. It is likely one of the creatures. If, for any reason, one of them follows you, accept your fate. You have been chosen. Go on with your duty as if they aren't there.
The Tiger is exempt from all these rules. If you see her:LEAVE.
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(Diary) Report of a Maid – Entry #23
My three-week training period was over. I was deemed not a failure—ready to finally work somewhere that wasn't a cold dungeon, a drafty hallway, or the room with all the silverware (I don't know why there's so much of it, but they must really like forks in this place).
I had learned all the rules, practiced staying out of sight, and even managed to go a whole week without making the Head Maid glare at me. That seemed like a good sign.
And now, I was finally going to work in the actual house, where the family lived. Maybe the grand halls, maybe the nice lounges, maybe even the study! If they thought I was careful enough.
It felt like a big step. A little scary, but exciting too.
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(Diary) Report of a Maid – Entry #25
I finally met one of the family members!
It was the Young Master. I did my best not to make an ass outta myself in front of him. So, naturally, the very first thing I did was trip over my own feet and nearly drop a whole tray of tea right in front of him because I tried to rush out of the way before he saw me.
I managed to save it—barely. The cups wobbled, the teapot tilted, and I made a noise somewhere between a strangled goose and a dying accordion tryin' to hold it all together. But nothing spilled! Nothing broke!
I looked up, heart hammering, and there he was. The Young Master. The Future Heir. The Most Important Person in the House (besides Sir Jacques, the carpets, and the silverware).
He stared at me like he was tryin' to figure out whether I was part of the furniture or just some particularly dumb-lookin' critter that had wandered in. I stared back, waitin' for him to say something. He didn't.
So I did what any sensible person would do, I blurted out, "Your tea, sir!" far too loudly, shoved the tray forward, and immediately regretted every single decision that led me to this moment.
He let out a hum. A slow, deep kinda sound. The kind of hum that had a great bank credit score.
Then he exhaled a..uh..not a sigh, no, that would imply effort. This was something much more refined, like a breath of the mildest inconvenience, the kind someone might give if they found a single scuff on their otherwise spotless dress shoes that probably cost more than my entire neighborhood.
he looked at me. Not at my face, no. Down at me. Not just physically—though, yes, he was taller—but in that way rich folks did when they were real puzzled why you existed but too polite to ask outright.
"Ah," he said, real slow and careful. "You must be the latest addition to the household staff."
That sounded right. I nodded quick. "Yes, sir!"
"How... auspicious for you." He made a little noise.
Ospishous. Now, that was a big word. A fancy word. Probably a good word. I smiled.
He did not smile back. Well—he kinda did, but it was one of those thin little things, like when folks at the store pretend to be real pleased to see you but don't actually mean it. "I do hope," he said, all light and airy, "that you manage to acclimate. The estate can be... rather overwhelming to those unaccustomed to such, ah—" he waved a hand at me. He had nice nails. "—standards."
I nodded again. "Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!"
"How delightful," he muttered, about as happy as someone bein' made to compliment a bowl of plain porridge. "Do endeavor not to make a spectacle of yourself."
And with that, he turned on his heel and walked away, all smooth and fancy, like he'd been taught how to leave a room real proper-like since birth.
Which, honestly? He probably had. Seemed like a Schnee thing.
He didn't take the tea. But she didn't get fired. He even said somethin' nice! (…I think. Fancy folk got a way of makin' nice things sound like threats, but I'm choosin' to believe it was a compliment.)
What a nice lad.
Nothin' else to report.
Nope.
Definitely didn't pass by his room later that evening. Didn't find no slightly open door. Didn't hear no hardcore phonk music that made the walls wobble. Didn't hear no stompin' or shoutin' or well, nothin' really.
She didn't see The Young Master. The Future Heir. The Most Important Person in the House (besides Sir Jacques, the carpets, and the silverware) throw his coat like it was a cape. Didn't see him point at nothin' and declare, "A Schnee does not bow!" like he was facin' down an invisible army.
She didn't just not hear him talkin' and speechifyin'. Didn't see him act out one of his Father's speeches word for word the night of attack, neither
He wasn't steppin' forward all grand-like, throwin' his arm out like he was about to smite somethin' mighty, his coat swishin' like a cape.
"Strength is the only language the world understands! KIRIN!!"
Nope.
Didn't see nothin'.
Didn't hear nothin'.
A quiet, respectable evening at the Schnee estate.
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(Diary) Report of a Maid – Entry #44
Got transferred again today! Part of my trainin' and all. This time, I'm off to the South Wing.
The Head Maid said it like it was a big deal, so I nodded real serious-like, even though I got no clue what makes the South different from the West or the East. Far as I can tell, it's still got walls, still got floors, still got fancy folks walkin' around like they float instead of step.
But this here's the Young Mistresses' wing. More importantly—the older Young Mistress is back.
Now, I don't know much 'bout her. Only that she's real important and real serious and got a stare that can probably kill a man at twenty paces. Apparently, she's some no-nonsense special agent of the military, which means she's probably got actual trainin' in killin' folks.
Mr. Klein, the Head Butler, said I got nothin' to worry about. That "Miss Winter" was a dear. But he says that about everyone. Everyone's a dear to him. The cooks? Dears. The guards? Dears. The literal five eyed deer that wanders onto the estate' garden every week? Also a dear.
Still, I'll do my damndest not to make a fool of myself in front of her.
…Hopefully.
(Diary) Report of a Maid – Entry #46
I met the Young (actually older) Mistress.
She found me first. I know this 'cause one second, I was dustin' a real fancy cabinet, and the next, I got that weird feelin' on the back of my neck—like when a fox spots you in the fields, but it ain't runnin' yet 'cause it's tryin' to figure out if you're worth the trouble.
Turned 'round real careful-like, and there she was. The Older Young Mistress. Miss Winter.
Tall. Pale. Looked like she got carved outta ice like real sharp, real smooth, not a speck outta place. A real beauty. She had her arms behind her back, standin' real proper, like she wasn't even leanin' on her own feet. Like the air itself was holdin' her up. And that stare...oh, Lord. Cold as a midwinter frost.
I reckon my soul left my body for a second.
"You're new," she said. Not a question. Just a fact.
I did my best not to squeak. "Yes, ma'am!"
She nodded, slow-like, then took a step closer. I braced myself.
"Are you adjusting well?"
Oh. Oh, she was just askin'. Bein' polite and all. I almost laughed in relief. "Yes, ma'am! Very well, ma'am!"
She smiled.
Then she turned, smooth as a breeze, and walked away.
I let out a breath I ain't realized I was holdin'.
…She really was just polite. Real serious, real sharp, but polite.
Mr. Klein might've been right after all.
(Diary) Report of a Maid – Entry #49
I liked workin' in Miss Winter's wing.
Not 'cause it was easier—heavens, no. Miss Winter was neat as a pin, and if somethin' wasn't just right, she'd see. I don't even think she meant to. She just noticed. Like a hawk, if hawks cared about dust lines and straightened chairs.
But she never raised her voice. Never snapped or scolded. If she saw somethin' wrong, she just looked at it, real pointed-like, and suddenly I knew deep in my bones that it needed fixin'. That was enough.
She didn't go callin' us "dear" like Mr. Klein or pretendin' we weren't there like some folks. But she thanked us. Properly. Not the kinda oh-thank-you-run-along-now thanks that fancy folks give, but a real, solid "Thank you."
And one time—one time—I caught her pushin' her chair back in after she stood up. Just like us maids did, 'cause chairs left outta place meant more work for someone later.
I reckon that was when I decided I liked her.
So, I was happy when Miss Yesta, Miss Schnee's personal maid, went on sick leave.
Well, not happy she was sick. She was real nice. Patient, too, even when I messed up. I sent a big 'get well' basket. But her bein' sick meant I got to take over one of her jobs like bringin' dinner and refreshments to Miss Winter.
And that was excitin'! 'Cause instead of just passin' through her wing, now I actually got to go knock on her door, step inside, and—well—not talk to her, 'cause I weren't about to push my luck. But be in the same room while she was workin'! That was somethin'.
She was always real focused, sittin' at her desk, readin' through piles of important-lookin' documents. And every time I came in, she'd glance up, nod, and say, "Thank you." Which, if I'm bein' honest, made me stand just a little straighter when I left.
Today was a bit different.
Miss Winter's room was always tidy. Papers neat, pens in place, everything lined up just so. So when I knocked, stepped in, and saw—that—I nearly dropped the tray.
The whole wall was covered. A board. A real board, like the kind detectives in those crime dramas use, with pictures pinned up, notes scribbled in fast, sharp handwriting, red thread everywhere like a spider went mad.
Miss Winter was mutterin' real low, real serious, like she was onto somethin' big. The kinda big that could shake kingdoms.
"Unconfirmed reports of… what, Grimm? No. Not just Grimm. Something else? Something coordinated…? No official response, no official updates from either since… since… tsk. Too much movement near Anima's borders… Mistral's defenses weakened. Coincidence? No, no, too convenient…"
She circled another picture, muttering to herself. "Headmaster Lionheart… possibly compromised?"
Another pause. A sigh. She muttered something too low to catch, then—
"Winter, you're missing something. Think. What changed?"
I ain't supposed to be hearin' this.
So I set the tea down real quiet and left.
"I need to kidnap the High Ecclesiarch of Atlas!"
Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Not my business. Not my problem. I didn't just hear Miss Winter Schnee, military lady extraordinaire, say somethin' that sounded an awful lot like kidnappin' an important fella. Nope. That was the wind. The walls. My imagination.
If anyone asks where I was tonight?
I was in the kitchen.
I was in the laundry.
I was anywhere but near that room.
I done heard nothin'.
I done saw nothin'.
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(Diary) Report of a Maid – Entry #63
After another two weeks of uneventful trainin' in Miss Winter's wing, where absolutely nothin' happened, and where I had explicitly gone both deaf and blind, I done got moved again.
This time? Animal duty. Now this...this I could do.
When they handed me a broom and pointed me toward the Schnee stables, it felt like home. Big, fancy place. Bigger than my whole house back home, actually. Smelled about the same, though—hay, leather, and just a little bit of manure.
The horses here ain't like the ones I grew up with. Back home, you got workhorses—sturdy, sensible creatures that don't take offense when you look at 'em funny. The Schnees got Atlesian purebreds. Tall, sleek, and real high-strung. You don't ask 'em to move; you politely suggest it and pray they're feelin' agreeable.
Same went for the rest of the animals. Fancy hunting falcons that rarely hunted, cows that probably produced milk too rich for normal folks, peacocks that screamed like they were gettin' murdered at sunrise, a pair of snow leopards with an enclosure bigger than my whole house, and geese mean enough to send a man runnin'. There were pigs, too—big ones, bred special for the table. Any more and more.
Some were for ridin', sure. But some were there because rich folk laws said you had too.
Most were for consumption. And sometimes, Master Schnee wished to sacrifice one. For what, I didn't ask. I didn't want to know.
None of that was a problem. I absolutely loved animals. It was the one part of my interview weeks ago where I actually aced it.
Problem was, apparently despite bein' technically his responsibility, Master Grand Overlord Schnee believed, as any good overlord would, in delegation.
Which meant his summons were now our responsibility.
Now, in the defence of the Great One, Tamer of Lightning Dragons Who Might Be or Might Not Be Gods, it was actually the staff that took a likin' to 'em and took it as a duty to tend for the animals. Understandable.
I jus' hope they don't actually kill me. Or maim me. Or turn me into some kinda sacrificial lesson.
'Cause from what I seen on TV, these things weren't exactly… cuddly.
(Diary) Report of a Maid – Entry #64
THE DOGS.
BIG. FLUFFY. DUMB AS A BAG OF ROCKS. I LOVE THEM. One tried to fit his whole head in my apron pocket, then stole my broom. The other just flopped over and refused to move until I rubbed his belly. I have been claimed.
(Diary) Report of a Maid – Entry #65
BUN-BUNS!!
Not normal buns. Big ol' fancy Schnee buns. Fluffier than the dogs, meaner than sin. Soft. Round. Full of rage. One stole a whole apple, sat on my foot, and ate it while STARING ME DOWN. Another bonked my ankle for bein' too slow with the lettuce. They were very fluffy, and liked carrying me around.
(Diary) Report of a Maid – Entry #66
THE DEER.
Massive. Majestic. A whole forest strapped to his head. he is FANCY. He is IMPORTANT. He refused to eat until we brushed him just right. He sniffed at my clothes like he was judgin' my fashion choices. He walked off in a huff when I ran out of treats. I am beneath him. I accept this.
(Diary) Report of a Maid – Entry #67
THE OX.
BIG. SO BIG. I set down a bucket, turned, and BAM—OX. Right there. Staring. Unmoving. Not blinkin'. Just there. I think I met God.
(Diary) Report of a Maid – Entry #69
THE FROGGIES
They challenged me. It wasn't chess. I don't know what it was. The pieces MOVED when I wasn't lookin'. I played anyway. I won. I don't know what that means, but I feel like I have unknowingly become something's champion.
(Diary) Report of a Maid – Entry #70
????????
Animal duty is without a doubt my favorite part of work, but somehow, I keep forgettin' things. Luckily, sometimes there's someone to help. Sometimes, I just get scatterbrained.
Today, I was fetchin' feed for the ox (or was it the deer?) when I took a wrong turn. Then another. Then another. Next thing I knew, I was walkin' in circles, loopin' back 'round to where I started like the whole estate had up and decided it was a maze.
Then I found a maid. Or a guard. Or… someone. They helped me. They always helped me out. Even before I worked here. They were really unforgettable, too.
They were as tall as they were tall. Their eyes were the color their eyes were. Their hair? Well, they sure had some. Their face had all the bits a face oughta have, and none of the bits it shouldn't.
"There they are," folks always said when they were there. And wouldn't ya know it—they were right.
They led me right where I needed to go. Real nice of 'em. I think I thanked 'em.
...Did I?
Wait. What was I doin' again?
They were real helpful, but scatterbrained me got bird-brained again, and before I realized it, I found myself washin' the curtains in the fountain water.
Luckily, no one saw me.
Well, no one aside from the Deer, who was standin' behind me—I don't know how long—glowin' real green, lookin' like it knew somethin' I didn't. And the dogs, who were barkin' real loud while chasin' somethin'.
The somethin' was real high up, but real fast, and it climbed a tree.
I think it was striped.
…But I'm not sure.
Weird.
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(Diary) Report of a Maid – Entry #93
Three whole months. Three months of not spillin' tea (mostly), not gettin' lost (as much), and not mistakin' the Head Butler's coat for a moving ghost (only once).
I think—I think—I'm gettin' the hang of it.
I know which halls creak the loudest, which doors stick no matter how hard you pull, and which corners the other maids hide in when they're sneakin' a break. I know how to tell when Miss Winter's in a real bad mood (the air gets cold, not just cold-cold but the kind that makes your bones ache), and I know exactly how many sugar cubes it takes to bribe the fancy Atlesian purebreds into likin' me (five. Five per horse. Seven for the vain Deer, who knows he's beautiful and won't settle for less).
I ain't perfect. I still get flustered when Mr. Klein sneaks up on me all quiet-like, and sometimes, I forget to keep my country accent in check when speakin' to the high-and-mighty guests (which gets me looks), but—
I think I got the lay of the land now.
And that?
That feels real nice
I suppose it's only right that the moment I start feelin' like I got the lay of the land, I go and meet the Lord of the House at last.
Might seem like a long time for a maid to go without seein' the master, but the Schnee estate's more maze than mansion, and bigger than any place I ever been. And it ain't done gettin' bigger, neither. From what I hear, there's workers 'round the clock, buildin' more halls, more wings, more—well, more. It's so big, I ain't even laid eyes on Lady Willow. Probably never will.
(I asked the Head Maid once when I'd get assigned to her wing. She gave me a look. Real quiet, real firm. I dropped it. The Head Maid's real protective of Lady Willow, me thinks.)
Anyway.
I found him in the garden.
I'd been sent to fetch a shovel. Spent the better part of twenty minutes tryin' to track one down, only to step outside and—oh.
There it was.
In the hands of him.
Lord Schnee himself.
Just standin' there, all pristine-like, in the middle of the garden with a shovel slung over his shoulder.
Well.
That weren't what I was expectin' at all.
Rules and better judgment prolly shoulda had me skedaddlin' before he noticed me. But for some reason, I stayed.
Just stood there, watchin'.
The Lord of the House. The closest thing to a king in Atlas.
Diggin' a hole.
Not just any hole. A deep one. A grave-lookin' one.
It was empty. Least, I thought it was empty.
Then—slam!
He dropped a stone into it.
A big one. Heavy.
Real careful-like though.
He noticed me.
Didn't startle. Didn't jump. Just real slow-like, he turned his head, like he already knew I was standin' there.
I damn near stopped breathin'.
For a moment, he just looked at me. All proper, like he was thinkin' somethin' real hard. Then, just as slow, he brushed the dirt off his gloves, straightened up, and said—
"Looking for something?"
His voice was real smooth. Real calm. Like he wasn't just out here diggin' what looked an awful lot like a grave.
I said something. I don't remember what, but it was prolly just me putting my foot in my mouth. It made him smile.
He looked at me for a moment longer, like he was searchin' for somethin' in my face. Then his brows lifted just a bit.
"Oh, you're Freckles!"
Freckles?
That knocked me right outta my nervousness. "Uh. Am I?"
"You are," he said, real sure, like he decided it and that was that. "Heard one of my summons was bothering a new maid with freckles. Sorry about Funeral Tiger."
I think I nodded. Not really sure.
Then, like we weren't standin' next to a fresh pile of dirt with a big ol' stone slammed on top, he asked, "What did you need?"
I had to blink myself back to reality. "Uh, the shovel," I managed. "Needed a shovel."
He glanced down at the one in his hands, like he only just remembered he was holdin' it. "Here you go."
For some god-know-why reason—probably the nerves—instead of disappearin' like any sensible person, I had the genius idea of lookin' at the grave and goin', "Uuuuhhh…"
Real intelligent of me.
Master Schnee—who I was now fully aware was standin' right there, watchin' me—tilted his head slightly, like he was waitin' to see where my brilliant observation was goin'.
So, obviously, I kept talkin'.
"You, uh. You buryin' somethin'?"
He gave the grave a glance, then me, then the grave again. "Yes," he said, real flat, real obvious, like he was dealin' with an idiot.
I nodded. "Right. Right. Of course."
A pause. A long one.
"...What is it?" I blurted out before my brain could tell my mouth to shut up.
"Hmm..."Then, slow as molasses, he said, "A regret."
He smiled. Not the cold, calculating kinda smile I'd heard rumors about—just a nice small thing like he was amused at himself more than anything.
"I'm puttin' the old me to rest," he said. "Seemed proper. Whatever is left, well, I suppose will just have to stick of the ride."
I nodded like I understood. I did not understand.
Instead of sayin' somethin' smart, I just went, "Huh."
He hummed, like that was answer enough. Then, real casual, he dusted his hands off and added, "Don't tell anyone. People get real funny when you start buryin' things in the garden."
That was when my brain caught up with my situation and finally screamed at me to leave, so I just grabbed the shovel, nodded like that was a totally normal conversation to have, and booked it before I could ask any more stupid questions.
"Welcome to the Schnee estate, Freckles."