The thunder of fists against her door, yanked Dydra from sleep. Heart racing, she shot upright, the remnants of dreams scattering like smoke. "I'll be out in a minute!" She called, her voice sharper than she intended.
The pounding seized, her ears picking up sound of retreating feet. The room was dim, but being farmilar with it, she easily spotted the things she needed, rushing out of the room. She went to a stream, bathed, and clothed herself. Her thick red hair was packed in a rough bun. Adjusting the arm of the oversized dress she wore, Dydra began her morning chores. Tending to the horses, watering the garden, and so on. After her morning chores, she was handed her breakfast—two slices of bread and half glass of milk. She quietly ate under an aok tree, away from the mansion. Her eyes caught the Master's carriage wheeling away, with Agatha waving at it. Her eyes soften, and the memory of Agatha's instruction the previous night popped in her head.
Taking note of her surroundings, she left the oak tree, making her way to the back of the mansion. She slipped in quietly, her boots touching the clean wooden floor. Her eyes darted around, as her ears laid keen. She took the stairs, reaching a corridor wyth a single door at the far end. With her facing the staircase, she took back steps until she reached the door. With her back against the door, she quietly knocked on it, and Agatha's voice rang from the inside.
"Come in." Her fingers reached for the doorknob, turning it open, she swiftly entered the room, shutting the door behind her.
Agatha, who was sitting by the window, still in her nightgown, stood up, rushing to the brown skinned girl, like a child who just her Christmas present.
Her arms flew wide open, bring the girl into a warm embrace, of which she returned. Withdrawing, Agathat playfully smacked Dydra on the head.
"Didn't I tell you to bring a scarf?" She scolded. Dydra scratched the back of her head, giving a sheepish smiles.
"I forgot," her voice came off soft, as she looked around her adopted mother's room, her face filled with awe.
A grand chandelier of wrought iron and crystal hung high above, scattering a soft glow across the room. The master's bed, vast and heavy with carved oak posts, dominated the space, yet the room did not feel crowded–for ut stretched wide and airy, befitting nobility. Red velvet curtains framed tall windows, their folds embroidered with golden treads. Against the wall stood an open wardrobe, ist polished doors revealing gowns of shimmering silk and brocade, their colours deep and rare. A carved dressing table bore silver-back brushes, crystal vials of scent, and powders in gilded boxes.
Every detail spoke of luxury, status, and the hand of a master craftsman.
Though having been there a hand full of times, Dydra still couldn't get over the beauty.
"Go take a bath, in the bathroom." Agatha's voice broke her out of her trace .
"Okay," her tone drifted quietly, she absentmindedly made her way to the bathroom, which was another wonder she couldn't take in. A bath was already prepared. With her eyes wondering about and her nose catching the sweet smell of soaps, Dydra mindlessly took off her shabby fit, jumping into the bath. She loosen her hair, soaking her body into the warm water.
Few minutes passed, with a towel wrapped around her body, she reluctantly left the now cold bath, due to Agatha's nagging from the room. Wrapping her hair with another towel, she stepped into the room, and a light gasp escaped her lips.
Pretty dresses laid on the master's bed, with Agatha arranging hair clips on the dressing table.
"Ma-Mother," she corrected herself, "what's going on? I thought we were only tending to my hair?"
She stood, confusion written all over her face. This wasn't the first time she's sneeked into her adopted mother's room, whenever the master wasn't around. Most times, Agatha styles her hair with different designs, then they gist and jest till nightfall, with her laying next to Agatha on the master bed.
Without looking her way, Agatha responded "Last time the seamstress was here, I secretly took a maid with the same stature as you, to have her measurements taken, so pretty dresses could be made for you," a smile formed on her face. Turning to Dydra, she continued, "The last time you where here, I saw you admiring the pretty dresses, and I thought, why can I you have your own line of pretty dresses. No one has to know, right?" She gave a wink, urging Dydra to come to the dressing table.
Dydra stood still for a moment. Warmth filled her heart, fresh tears followed, with a heartwarming smile erupting her lips. She went to the dressing table. Sitting, she stared at herself in the mirror, her heart racing with thoughts of gratitude toward her adopted mother.
Agatha squealed with excitement as she took off the towel rapped around Dydra's head. She tossed it in an empty basket beside her, taking a dry towel from the dressing table, she dried Dydra's hair softly.
She never had the chance to birth a daughter. After her first pregnancy, eighteen years ago, which resulted to her baby boy, she suffered critical inquires, of which she was told to never attempt holding another child. If she did, she might not make it. This news was like a thunderstorm to Agatha's world. She would up all night crying , knowing she doesn't have a chance of another child. She deeply wanted a girl. A baby girl, she would tend to everyday. Styling her hair, putting her in unique dress designs. Her heart always fell heavy knowing she would never experience that, until sixteen years ago, she stumbled upon this bizarre child all alone in a crib at the forest, where she went to visit her now late mother.
She had really been caught in awe. She remembered the cry of this now grown girl, like it was yesterday. She recalled her mother's gasp and shocked expression, saying the child shouldn't be there.
'Isnt it obvious, mother? No child should be in the forest,' Agatha said to her mother.
The old lady shocked her head violently, collecting the child from her daughter's arms. 'I must raise this child,' her voice came as a knowing.
'I strongly disagree. You can't raise a child in a forest! I'll take the child and raise her,' Agatha informed, as she rubbed the baby's bare belly. Her actions calmed the cry baby, and a heartwarming laugh came out of the infant. With it's little limbs waving about.
'Then I shall come with you,' the old lady said, with a hidden agenda, which her daughter didn't detect.
Agatha jumped with a huge smile on her face, 'Finally, you're coming to stay with me,' she screamed, wrapping her arms around her mother.