The familiar jingle of keys and the click of the lock shattered the pre-dawn quiet, pulling me from the brief respite of sleep. Another grueling day had begun. The head maid, a hauntingly dark silhouette against the dim light, appeared in my meager quarters. She tossed a charred piece of bread at the foot of my bed – my breakfast, a stark reminder of my place as a maid in High Hill Estate.

I snatched the bread quickly, eager to avoid the ever-present rats, and devoured it to quell the gnawing hunger. In the year I’d been sold here, my days started at an ungodly three in the morning, and this small crust would have to sustain me until any scraps from the duke’s breakfast might materialize. I pulled on my enormous black maid’s garment, lacing it tight, and prepared myself for the arduous hours ahead.

“Ida, hurry up!” the head maid’s impatient voice cut through the gloom of the hallway. Other maids, black silhouettes against the darkness, shuffled past. The head maid’s displeased gaze settled on me – I was, perhaps, her most annoying charge. It wasn't my fault; I wasn't born into this life of indentured servitude, a system designed to keep us trapped. Old habits died hard, and I often forgot my place.

I tucked my fiery red hair under my bonnet, a daily ritual to hide the unfortunate color that marked me as a Cardinal descendant – a lineage now forbidden. If I had to wear a cap, I used coffee grounds and tinctures to dye it a dirty brown. Anything red was a painful reminder of the old crown, a reminder I couldn't afford to be. Stepping into the hallway, I joined the other maids, heading towards the kitchen quarters, ready for another day of disappearing into the shadows.