Fated Maid

Chapter 1

Veira

         Let’s see…a wash of cadmium red. Overlay with permanent rose and create highlights with yellow ochre…

         The movement of colors on the canvas of my mind has always eased me from sleep to waking. Today is no exception. As I open my eyes, my face is naturally turned to the one source of natural light I can call my own. Though my tiny room isn’t lush or large, it is comfortable. And more importantly, it is the one space I have on this planet I can call my own.

         Night is just losing its grasp on the sky as I open my eyes. Early dawn light, tipped with ultramarine creeps forcefully over the buildings of the First Isle. Sitting up, I rest my elbows on the small window sill and bask in the kaleidoscope before me. This island is where the king and queen reside and it seems as though even the heavens above know it.

         Each morning, I am greeted this same way. And I’m not tired of it yet. The dawn resembles a watercolor painting, and I only wish I could shirk my duties for the day, sit on one of the Isle’s vibrant orange-pink beaches and paint till dusk.

         But that is a luxury for someone else. Still, things could be a lot worse. They were at one time. Throwing off my thin blanket, I choose not to think about that right now.

         Not the way I want to start my day, I tell myself. Get going.

         Rubbing sleep out of my eyes, I rise out of my small bed, making it hastily. Grabbing my towel and toothbrush, I open my door and peek out. A hall stretches out to either side of me - each door identical to my own. Such are the living quarters in the servant’s wing of the Palace of the First Isle.

         Like the individual cells in a beehive, each servant lives this way - a tiny space in which to sleep, and, if you are me, paint. All other areas, such as the kitchen, dining room and bathrooms, were shared.

         Blissfully, the hall is empty and quiet and I pad my way softly to the bathroom. Several stalls and sinks are there - also empty. I am often the first one up, giving me a few extra minutes of peace and quiet as I get ready for a long day of work ahead. I am grateful my body has trained itself to wake up just in time. A small gift.

         I am washing my face when I hear the stirrings of the other human servants around me. Zorosta stumbles in, her red, curly hair an unholy riot on her head. Yawning loudly, she merely grunts a greeting at me. I nod in return. Zorosta has been here longer than I have, but she is a troublemaker so I keep my distance.

         Moments later, Naomi enters. She has only been here a few months, but she is sweet and hard-working. She keeps details of her previous life to herself, as most of us do, so I usually only make small talk with her, as with most of the other human servants here at the palace. We exchange morning greetings.

         Naomi begins to wash her face, her brown curls bouncing. Zorosta leans over her sink, plucking at her eyebrows.

         “Another day in someone else’s paradise,” Zorosta mumbles.

         “Mmm-hmm,” Naomi replies, keeping her voice neutral. I say nothing, instead focusing on pulling my long blonde hair out of the braids I sleep in and back into a bun.

         “Are we here again already?” A too-loud voice reverberates off the sinks and tile walls. Wiltha. She’s been here longer than any of us, and makes sure we all know it. Brassy and loud, she is definitely not to be trusted. From what I can tell, she makes it her job to do as little as possible rather than her actual job.

         Crashing into the bathroom, Wiltha begins to comb her thick mop of mousy-brown hair. No matter how hard she tries, it’s always a mess by mid-morning. She doesn’t seem to mind too much.

         “Stayed up way too late playing yipsatch with the butlers. Lost a bundle,” she bellows. I do my best to keep my face locked in the mirror.

         “Why do you even bother? You know you can’t win. Plus, it’s not like they are ever going to let you forget that they were here first and they don’t like human women taking their jobs. Those Kiphian manservants never forget,” Zorosta retorts, happily plucking a stray hair that had been eluding her for some time.

         “Tough. They can just get used to it. Queen Fancy Pants made it so. Although, I’m not what she wants - a medal? ‘Oh thank you, former lowly human who is now Queen, we other servants are just grateful we get to scrub your toilet,’” Wiltha’s voice goes up an octave as she pretends to be a groveling servant.

         I hate this kind of talk. The truth is, I’m grateful to Queen Liara for making changes here. It’s true - she was once a regular girl living in the human quarter who managed to impress the Kiphian to end all Kiphians - King Kravath. But rather than forget the lowly conditions that humans are subjected to here, she has made efforts to give them new opportunities.

         Opportunities such as the one I have now. Sure, I’m a servant and I have long days, but so many things improved in my life once I took this job. For one thing, I’m safer here than in all the cramped, filthy quarters I shared back in the human sector.

         And though it’s tiny, my little room is all mine. Through drawings, paintings and tiny little sculptures, I’ve made it into the only space that comes close to embodying all the images that float around in my head. It’s mine and no one, as long as I have this job, can take it away.

         “I bet I get put on floor duty again today. I hate that,” Zorosta whines, putting away her tweezers.

         “They’ll give me the compost heap, I’m sure. I smell for days after that,” Wiltha retorts. I inwardly breathe a sigh of relief. So far, I had not been assigned those tasks, knowing they were usually given to those who showed less enthusiasm for the overall job.

         “Like I said, another day in someone else’s paradise. Queen Lala must be laughing her damn head off every time we turn our backs!” Zorosta snorts.

         I leave the bathroom. This is not how I want to start my day. A small cloud of distemper threatens to hang over me if I don’t find a way to shake off their words.

         Returning to my room, I look outside my window once more. The ultramarine has morphed into a canary yellow, with delicate zig-zags of peachy orange. For some reason, my grumpy mood shifts - into one of loneliness and a sense of…sameness.

         Dishwater gray splashes over the red, dulling and diluting the colors…

         How I would love to paint the day away, perhaps with someone to talk to, someone who could see the world as I do.

Shaking my head, I hurry to dress. Such silly notions are for Queens, not servant girls. And though the Queen may be a human, how could I expect lightning to strike twice?