*~Prologue.~*
*~1896~*
"Hurry, you wretch, and get out of my way!"
Katria's stepmother spat the words with visceral distaste. Grasping the hem of her gown, she lunged forward and used her shoulder to shove Katia aside. Katia tumbled to the floor—a floor she had scrubbed for the millionth time that day simply because her stepmother claimed to find it unclean. Katia knew the real reason for the chore was to prevent her from attending the ball tonight.
Her mother, Clarissa, immediately rushed over to help her up. "Are you hurt, my dear?" she asked. Katia shook her head quickly, whispering that she was fine.
"You need to get up and get ready," Clarissa insisted. "You remember what today is. The debutantes will be fully showcased, and the suitors will select the ones who catch their eyes. You must prepare and join them. The event begins soon. Leave all of this; I will take care of it."
Katia shook her head. "No, I am not going." She spoke because she felt she had no other choice or hope. Who would ever pick her? She was the illegitimate daughter, the child of the "wicked witch of the west." Suitors avoided her like a plague, and she was forced to work as a maid in her own house.
"No, you will attend," Clarissa countered. "I have fought hard for both of us to stay in this house because I know that one day you are going to get us out of all of this mess. You are going to find the perfect suitor to court you and get us out of here." Clarissa looked at her daughter with eyes full of hope.
But Katia knew it was hopeless. No one would marry her. She was illegitimate. She gestured around the room.
"Then who will clean all of this if I leave? No, you cannot do all of this. This is too much. You know when she comes back, she is going to yell and probably not feed us for a week. I will not go. Let me stay and work. There is no point anyway. No one is going to pick me."
Clarissa pulled her daughter closer, looking deep into her eyes. "You are going to attend that ball. I have prepared your dress in the wardrobe down in the maid's attic. You are going to attend, and you are going to make me proud." Her voice was thick with love; she wanted to see her daughter flourish. Clarissa forcibly took the mop and told her to go.
Katria hurried out, turning her face away so her mother would not see her tears. She ran to the maid's attic and collapsed on the floor. The day she dreaded most had arrived. It was the day she would sit and watch her stepsisters and the other debutantes get picked by handsome suitors while she remained the unwanted, illegitimate daughter. She swallowed hard, trying to be strong. She had dreaded this, but she had also been expecting it.
She hugged her knees and buried her face in her lap, trying to drown out the noise of the rats in the attic. Finally, she found her breath and stood up. The event was starting soon, and she needed to join the debutantes. It was not as if they would notice her absence, as no one acknowledged her here anyway. She looked at herself; she still looked like a maid. She was a maid, but not today. She opened her wardrobe and looked at the only gown she had owned since her debut. It was the one gown she had worn to every ball, and she was wearing it again tonight.
Katria gazed at the tattered black dress, which looked as though the rats in the attic had treated it like a feast. This gown had been one of her finest pieces back when she was still considered legitimate—before society branded her mother a witch, and before her father abandoned them to marry again, allowing her stepsisters to usurp her rightful place. As she pulled the garment from the wardrobe, small fragments of lace fell away. It had been her favorite then, and by cruel necessity, it was her only choice now.
She squeezed herself into the fabric. It was painfully tight, tailored for the smaller frame she possessed years ago. Catching her reflection in the cracked mirror, Katria let out a weary sigh. She could see her own beauty, but she knew the world would only see the "witch's daughter" and recoil to avoid a scandal. After dusting a bit of powder over her skin and smoothing her hair, the door creaked open.
Clarissa hurried inside, gasping in genuine shock before rushing to pull her daughter into a fierce hug. "You look so beautiful," she whispered.
Katria shook her head, her voice trembling. "No, Mom. Are you finished? You should still be cleaning. If that wicked woman returns and finds the work undone, she'll hurt us."
"Do not worry about that right now," Clarissa insisted, placing her hands over Katria's lips to silence her protests. "You must only worry about yourself. You are going to be the most beautiful debutante tonight. When you walk into that hall, no suitor will be able to take their eyes off you." Clarissa spoke with conviction, even though a part of her knew the harsh reality might be the complete opposite.
The door creaked further as the other maids slipped into the room, having waited until every noble in the Winchester mansion had descended to the ballroom. They gathered around Katria, offering hurried, warm embraces. To them, she represented a glimmer of hope—the only one among them deemed "worthy" by society to make a debut, even if society refused to grant her a suitor.
Finally, her childhood best friend, Evie, stepped forward and hugged her the tightest of all. "Remember," Evie whispered into her ear, "you are not just a maid's daughter. You are the true legitimate daughter of the House of Winchester. Never forget that."
Katria nodded, wiping away a stray tear as she mouthed a thank you to the group.
"You must leave now!" one of the maids hissed urgently. "If you don't hurry, they will close the curtains. You know how they feel—they already don't want you there."
Katria turned and began to run. When she reached the doorway, she paused one last time to look back at her mother and the women who had become her real family.
"Don't worry, we'll be watching from the window," Clarissa called out with a supportive nod. Katria took a final breath to steady her racing heart and rushed out into the corridor, heading towards the grand staircase that led to the debutant curtains.