Melody had no idea how long she'd been there. Minutes—or perhaps hours—had blurred together, as if time itself had dissolved inside that room. She'd stopped crying some time ago, though tears still threatened to surface at any moment.
With a heavy sigh, she rose from the bed and began to explore her new "gilded cage." Everything was beautiful, almost unreal: the intricately carved furniture, the blue velvet curtains fluttering in the breeze from the windows, the four-poster bed that looked like something out of a dream. But that luxury came at a price—and she wasn't willing to pay it. She still didn't understand why she was in a place like this.
None of it made sense. All she wanted was to leave. My freedom isn't worth this, she muttered, clenching her fists in frustration. How could a girl's life change so drastically in such a short time? Tears welled up again, but she wiped them away with a furious swipe. No, sir. I won't cry again, she vowed.
Soon after, soft knocks echoed at the door. She didn't know if the old butler had left it unlocked—and she had no intention of checking.
"Come in if you want, whoever you are," she said flatly, her expression closed and sullen.
She looked up as two women stepped timidly into the room. They hesitated, unsure whether to speak or simply carry out their task. Finally, the younger one took the lead:
"Hello, little one. We've come on Sebastian's orders. He said we're to care for you. We brought you something to eat," said the maid kindly, placing a tray on the nearby table.
Melody barely glanced at them before replying:
"Thank you both, but I'm not hungry. I appreciate the gesture," she said coolly, lying back down on the bed.
The older woman, who carried herself with more authority, stepped forward.
"Even if you're not hungry, we must prepare you. These are direct orders from the duke, young lady."
Melody looked at her defiantly, arms crossed. "And if I refuse? What happens then?" she asked, her tone sharp. She knew she was just a slave here—but she had no intention of being intimidated. Something about this place felt wrong.
Sensing the tension, the younger maid spoke gently. "My name is Lilly, and the grumpy one next to me is Marina. We're both servants here at Miraz. Please… if you don't cooperate, we'll all be punished," Lilly said in a conciliatory tone.
Melody sighed deeply. She knew her options were limited. With resignation, she got out of bed.
"All right, Lilly. Marina. What do you need me to do?"
She just wanted to get it over with.
Lilly smiled with relief and led her to the bathroom.
"Come on, then. Marina prepared your bath before Sebastian brought you here. Undress and get in," she said, pointing to the large marble tub filled with steaming water and scented oils.
Melody approached slowly, undressed, and slipped into the warm water. It was a luxury she'd never known—but she couldn't enjoy it. Her mind kept replaying everything that had happened. Lilly, watching her curiously, couldn't help but ask:
"Forgive me for asking, girl… is it true you're a gypsy?"
Melody sank deeper into the water before answering. She lifted her head and looked directly at Lilly.
"Yes. I'm a gypsy. My village is in the Celestia Forest."
"Oh, little one! That's nearly a day's journey from Aldremir. How did you end up here?" Lilly asked, genuinely concerned.
Melody sighed, her thoughts drifting to recent events.
"Long story short—I came with my people to work the Silver Moon festival. Then some men captured me. Their lord, the Duke of I-don't-know-what, bought me like livestock. And now here I am, talking to you two."
Lilly looked down, visibly shaken. "That's awful, child. And so sad. You're far too young to end up like this."
Marina, who had remained silent until then, spoke up with a questioning tone:
"But that's strange. If you're a slave—and a gypsy at that—why are you in a guest room with two maids attending to you like you're the lady of the house?"
Melody shifted uncomfortably. "Do you think so? I really don't know, Mrs. Marina. I've never been a slave, let alone in a place like this. Could you please hand me something to dry off with?" she asked, trying to change the subject.
Marina frowned, then stepped forward and handed her a linen cloth. Melody dried herself quickly and wrapped herself in a robe that Lilly offered. The younger maid noticed Melody's discomfort at Marina's questions. Maybe her companion was right—if Melody was a slave, this wasn't where she belonged. But how could she know? She'd never seen anything like this before.
"How silly of me!" Lilly exclaimed suddenly, laughing softly. "We haven't even asked your name. We've only called you 'young lady' or 'little one.' What's your name, dear?" she asked kindly.
Melody smiled for the first time since arriving. "Oh, that's true—I haven't told you yet. My name is Melody. I hope I'll get along with both of you," she said with a genuine smile.
Back in the main room, Lilly asked Melody to sit in front of the mirror so she could brush and style her hair, while Marina searched for a suitable dress and accessories. Lilly gently braided her hair and fastened it at the back with a bow-shaped barrette adorned with tiny rhinestones. Marina, meanwhile, helped Melody into a simple yet elegant yellow dress. The final touch was a choker, also decorated with rhinestones.
"All done!" Lilly said proudly.
Melody looked at herself in the mirror, confused. That reflection wasn't her. It was all so new, so foreign to the life she'd known.
"Melody, you look beautiful! Like a true noblewoman!" Lilly exclaimed with excitement.
But Marina, ever practical, couldn't help adding with a tone of resentment, "She may look the part, but don't forget—she's just a slave. His Excellency's new toy."
Melody lowered her gaze, feeling the weight of Marina's words. She was right. That man—whom she hadn't even met—had bought her with the intention of doing whatever he pleased.
"Marina, don't be so cruel. You're making her feel worse," Lilly scolded.
"Let her be, Lilly. She's right. It's the truth. Otherwise, the lord of these lands wouldn't have gone to such trouble for someone like me," Melody replied calmly, though her heart was pounding.
Lilly was about to respond when a knock interrupted them. Marina opened the door to find the elderly butler, come to escort Melody to the duke.
"Come, child. The master is waiting, and he's not a patient man," said the old man, offering his hand.
Melody took it, reluctantly. She didn't want to see that man. She hated him without knowing him—because it was his fault her brother had been hurt, his fault she'd been torn from her family, unable to help her sister Melibeth. But she had no choice.
They left the room, leaving behind the luxury—and the oppression it concealed.
⋯ ❈ ⋯
Melody abruptly let go of the old butler's hand. He turned to her with an indifferent yet mildly curious expression.
"I'm not a child. I can walk on my own," she said haughtily, though her green eyes shimmered with a mix of restrained anger and nervousness.
The old man merely shrugged and continued down the long corridor without a word. The walls were lined with antique tapestries depicting scenes of hunts and epic battles.
The polished marble floor reflected the dim glow of the gas lamps, casting shifting patterns that seemed to follow them as they walked. At last, they stopped before a massive dark wooden door, its surface carved with intricate patterns of intertwined flowers. The butler knocked twice with his knuckles, and a deep, composed voice from within granted them entry.
He opened the door slowly, revealing a spacious and elegant room. A towering window dominated the far wall, flooding the space with golden sunset light and offering a breathtaking view of the mansion's gardens. At the center stood a large wooden desk, flanked by shelves filled with books of varying sizes and bindings. Melody had never seen so many books in one place—some with worn spines, others gleaming as if untouched. The furniture was upholstered in olive green, harmonizing perfectly with the warmth of the wood.
Behind the desk sat a man whose presence seemed to fill the entire room. His posture was relaxed, yet commanding. His gaze was cold and unsettling, as though he could read the deepest thoughts of anyone who dared meet his eyes. Long, silver hair—meticulously combed—fell over his shoulders, lending him an almost spectral air. Both hands rested on the desk, his long, elegant fingers poised on the polished surface.
"Come closer. I don't bite," the man said with a sly chuckle, gesturing for Melody to approach.
She stepped forward, though her legs trembled—partly from rage, partly from a fear she couldn't explain. "Why did you do this to me?" was all she could manage, her voice barely a whisper, thick with frustration and confusion. She knew he might not answer, but she had to ask.
"Because I did. Any other questions?" he replied with a careless laugh, as if her life were no more than a passing amusement.
"Take a seat, young lady. Don't be afraid," he added, motioning casually to the chair in front of him.
Melody obeyed, sitting down with her hands clenched tightly in her lap to hide her nerves. The duke then turned to the butler.
"Sebastian, you may go. I'll handle our guest."
"Guest?" Melody echoed, her voice sharp with irony. "You dragged me here by force. Is that how you treat your guests?"
"As you wish, sir," Sebastian replied with a respectful bow before leaving, closing the door behind him. Outside, the old man lingered with a trace of concern, aware that the girl's defiance might stir his master's temper.
The duke ignored Melody's remark entirely and smiled with smug satisfaction.
"You look lovely in that dress. Like a noble lady, dear," he said, deliberately ignoring the girl's defiant posture.
"I don't see why. I'm just a slave. Did you order me to dress like this?" Melody replied, brushing off the shallow compliment.
"You said it yourself, little one. You're my slave—and I can do whatever I please with you. If I choose to dress you this way, it's your duty to obey. By the way, I still don't know your name. Tell me—what is it?"
"My name is Melody, sir."
"How old are you, Melody?"
"Eighteen. I'll be nineteen in a few months," she answered, unsure why she'd offered that last detail to a stranger.
"You're still a child, Melody. A beautiful bud just beginning to bloom. Your duty is to obey without question. If you misbehave, you'll be punished. And if you try to run… I won't be merciful to your brother. A little bird told me the wounded gypsy is family," he said with chilling calm, as if discussing the weather.
Melody's heart froze at the mention of Bastian. She would rather die than let anyone harm her brother.
"No, please! Leave my brother out of this," she pleaded, on the verge of tears. "I'll do whatever you ask—just don't hurt him. Please."
"That's better, little one. Gentle and obedient," the duke said with satisfaction.
He rose from his chair and approached Melody with slow, deliberate steps. He took her left hand delicately and kissed the back of it—a gesture that sent a chill down her spine. Her skin bristled at the touch, a wave of revulsion and fear coursing through her.
"Return to your room. I'll come see you later. I expect you to be ready. I've left a few things—I want you to wear them tonight."
Without another word, Melody stood and left the room, her steps quick and unsteady.
Before she could get far, the duke added:
"By the way, Melody, you're free to explore the mansion—but you may not enter the east wing or leave the estate unless you're with me. Understood?"
"But why can't I—?"
"Understood, Melody," he repeated, his voice hardening.
"Yes, Your Excellency. Understood," she replied, lowering her gaze before hurrying down the corridor. She couldn't hold it in any longer—tears began to fall, one after another.
She bumped into a few people along the way but didn't stop until she reached her room. She slammed the door shut and slid to the floor, hugging her knees as sobs wracked her body. She felt crushed, as if the weight of the world had collapsed onto her shoulders. In moments like this, she saw no reason to keep going.
A soft knock interrupted her crying. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand and stood, opening the door.
"Come in," she said in a muffled voice.
It was Lilly—the young maid who had helped her earlier—carrying a tray and wearing a worried expression.
"Melody, how did it go with His Excellency?" she asked, eager but gentle.
"Um… normal. At least he was polite. I thought he'd treat me differently, since I'm his slave," Melody replied, avoiding Lilly's gaze.
"Well, the duke's a mystery sometimes, Melody. Look, I brought you something to eat—you haven't had anything," Lilly said, placing the tray on the table by the window. There were almond cookies and red fruit tea, their sweet, comforting aroma filling the room. "You need to eat, little one. You'll get sick."
Melody couldn't resist Lilly's motherly tone. She sat at the table and picked up a cookie, tasting it cautiously.
"Wow… you're right. These are delicious," she said, surprised by the flavor.
"I'm glad you like them. Mrs. Adelaida made them—she's amazing with desserts. But Sebastian made the tea. That man has a gift for infusions, though he never shares his secret," Lilly added with a playful pout.
"Thank you for bringing me something," Melody said sincerely.
"You're welcome. It's my job—and I like you," Lilly replied with a warm smile. Then she pulled something from behind her back. "By the way, I found this near your clothes in the bathroom. I've never seen anything like it."
Melody's eyes widened when she saw the ocarina in Lilly's hands.
"Yes! That's my ocarina," she said, taking it gently. She couldn't believe it had survived—she thought she'd lost it during her capture. "It's a musical instrument. A family heirloom."
"From your smile, I can tell it means a lot to you, Mel. I'm glad I found it. I'd love to hear you play someday," Lilly said, curious.
"Do you like music, Lilly?"
"Very much. Honestly, I love music—and I love to dance," Lilly replied, her eyes dreamy.
"Then I'll play for you, Lilly. I'll make you dance with my music," Melody promised, feeling—for the first time—a flicker of hope in the midst of all that darkness.