3. The Girl (3)
“Come to think of it, I haven't seen Emily for days.”
Gary pointed to the empty pile of rocks in front of the mine entrance. Chris glanced up at the sunset sky and shrugged.
“Yeah, she hasn't wanted to step outside the house at all lately.”
“Isn't it puberty? She's at that age. Girls mature faster than boys, after all. We'll be able to marry Emily off soon enough.”
Mark gave Chris's shoulder a playful tap as he spoke. Chris shook his head.
“If that were the case, I'd be relieved, but she's been so listless these days, and her eyes show she's terrified to go out. Marie's worried sick. She won't even leave her mother's side. As you know, Marie just got that new job.”
“Yeah, I heard. Working as a maid for the new mine supervisor, right? Marie's always been so diligent and skilled with her hands. Now she's even bringing in money. Man, I envy you for landing such a wife.”
A sleazy smile crept across Mark's face. His heart raced at the thought of Emily alone at home during the day. Chris shook his head at Mark's obvious delight.
“I appreciate you holding Marie in such high regard, but don't make that face right in front of me. She's my wife, after all.”
Mark flashed Chris a wide grin.
Marie? Ha! That octopus-headed bitch.
He'd always lavished excessive praise on Marie on purpose, but it was really just indirect admiration for Chris's incredible tolerance in bedding her every night.
“Jealous, are we? Well, a woman like Marie is a real treasure. Tough, hardworking, and from the way she only has eyes for you, her bedroom skills must be top-notch. Speaking of which, Marie does have quite the developed lower mouth, doesn't she? How's it feel, that suction in your wife's mouth? Does it grip tight and hot, sucking you in?”
“Heh, you...”
The good-natured Chris neither confirmed nor denied, just laughed and patted Mark's shoulder. The other miners chuckled along, snickering. Nothing wrapped up a grueling day quite like thick, lewd banter. Especially when it was about someone everyone knew.
Mark bantered back and forth with his fellow miners, trading silly jokes, but his mind was filled with filthy fantasies of platinum blonde skin and naked flesh. As he'd said earlier, once puberty hit and her womanly traits developed, she'd become hideous, a limited-time treasure he'd never see again.
***
“Mom... please...”
Marie let out a deep sigh at her daughter's persistent pleas. It was the supervisor's first day on the job, and she hadn't even made it out the front door—her daughter was clinging to her wrist. Emily was plenty old enough now, and with no sign of the second child she'd been eagerly awaiting, Marie had shifted her focus to this pregnancy. To fill the spare time, earn some pocket money, she'd applied to the posting for a daytime maid at the new Scren Mine supervisor's residence—and luckily, she'd been hired.
But Emily had latched onto her wrist like a leech, whining that she didn't want to be alone, and they'd been tussling at the door for minutes now. She wasn't some three-year-old anymore; in a few years, she'd be marriageable. The sudden clinginess was irritating, but Marie couldn't shake her off easily—not when her daughter had spent nearly a week holed up inside, pale and wasting away in the dark room like a hermit. Pity for the frail girl kept her rooted.
Others might call her crazy, but Marie felt a deep affection for her daughter's current broken, gaunt state—more than usual. Last time, when Emily had returned home with a basket full of wild berries, she'd been huddled under the covers, trembling violently. When Marie asked what was wrong, she'd chattered that she had a fever, so Marie pulled back the blanket. Sure enough, Emily was shivering in a long shirt buttoned to her chin, her face pale as she clung to Marie.
After that, Emily hadn't recovered. She'd lost her appetite, growing thinner by the day, refusing to go out alone and sticking to Marie like wet paper. The sight of her daughter so weak and pitiful stirred a strange pleasure in Marie's chest.
Emily had been showered with loving praise for her dazzling looks since birth, as if it were her due. And inevitably, whenever Marie held her, skeptical, silent stares poured down on her. Is that woman really her mother? Sensitive to those doubting glances, Marie hated being around Emily. She'd never heard even a joke about her own beauty her whole life, so the constant gasps and admiration for Emily grated on her ears every time.
And because of Chris—her model husband who adored Emily, who looked just like him—Marie couldn't help but despise the girl. Chris meant everything in Marie's worthless life. Tall, handsome Chris was her god, her faith, her dreamed-of existence. If she hadn't gotten him drunk as a kid and gotten pregnant, he'd have been like an arrow glancing past a bullseye like her.
Pregnancy had bound him to her, but Chris's innate kindness, diligence, and respect for life made him faithful even then, playing the loving husband to perfection. Through him, Marie monopolized the affection, trust, and care from men she'd never known. So why, from the moment she saw Chris's warm gaze shift to Emily's vigorous cries after birth, did Marie find the girl utterly repulsive?
She knew she was a bad mother—even by her own standards—but seeing others praise Emily's beauty always soured her mood. So she'd cut the girl's hair short and dressed her in ragged shirts and rough black pants instead of flowy little girl dresses. She knew her curt treatment of her pretty daughter was odd, but she couldn't help it. She'd become a slave to the ugly master called jealousy.
But lately, watching Emily's anxious eyes dart around, her frail, pathetic thinness making her endlessly shabby, strangely eased Marie's mind. Even when Chris worried about her, it didn't bother her anymore.
“Fine. Then come with me to the supervisor's house. You can help with the chores. No employer turns down free labor. Hurry up—we're already late because of you.”
Marie was certain no one would give this Emily a second glance now. No one would doubt if they were even mother and daughter. The girl's ruined appearance soothed Marie's inner torment like compensation.
Soon, Emily trailed after Marie toward the village center, her pitiful toddle like a rain-soaked puppy.
The large supervisor's residence at the heart of the village bustled with hired help. Marie led Emily through the side door. She briefly explained the situation to her old friend Sarah, the newly hired head maid, and asked if Emily could stay while she worked.
Sarah had heard the rumors about Emily's week-long seclusion and illness, so she nodded at the sight of the gaunt, pale girl and gave permission. Emily nodded obediently at the instruction to stay in the servants' area and wait for Mom.
Since that incident, anywhere but alone was fine. Being home alone made her skin crawl, as if Mark would appear from somewhere, his filthy, horrifying tongue licking every inch of her body. Recalling the grotesque, vomit-inducing feel of his manhood against her skin, she shuddered in terror and disgust.
It's safe here.
Emily lifted her lifeless, hollow gray eyes and looked around. Servants in black uniforms bustled about busily. Mom was working upstairs in the living quarters. Seeing so many people coming and going eased the nerves she'd kept on edge at home.
Emily rubbed her stiff, tense nape. Her fingers brushed the dry, frizzy hair tickling her neck—and felt the empty gap where one earlobe had been crudely clipped short.
Her hair had been fine before that day. It had to be his doing. Emily paled, rigid, as memories flooded back.
When she'd gotten home and tried to wash, her entire body—covered in angry red blotches—reeked of dried, fishy stench. No matter how many times she scrubbed, that dim, next-door room's nauseating odor clung, thick in the air.
Emily hugged her elbows against the goosebumps rising on her back and curled inward. The beastly glare that had pinned her that day—she'd been too scared to speak or resist. Self-loathing for her helpless self then made her tremble.
Then, a hand touched her shoulder. Startled—like that day—she looked up to see her mother.
“Emily. I called you so many times. Where's your head at?”
Marie scolded gently. Normally she'd snap, but she'd grown tender toward this new Emily.
“S-sorry, Mom.”
Seeing Emily's pale face, Marie shook her head indulgently.
“There are too many rooms upstairs for me to handle alone. Come on up.”
Upstairs, a wide hallway separated a dense row of rooms on either side—easily over ten per side. As Emily gaped in surprise, Marie explained quickly.
“Most of these are guest rooms. The supervisor's house often hosts the count's visitors. Village inns are too shabby for nobles. Alright, let's get started. You take the right side of the hall. Here.”
Dry rags were placed in Emily's hands.
“It's simple. Just dust the furniture in the guest rooms. Go on.”
Emily stared blankly at her mother heading to the opposite side, glanced at the rags, slumped her shoulders, and shuffled into the first room at the hall's end.
Author's Note
Thank you for the first comment.