As the servant reluctantly exited the room, leaving Mila alone with the lecherous man, a tense silence enveloped the space. The dim light cast eerie shadows, intensifying the gravity of the situation.
The man, emboldened by the absence of any witnesses, approached Mila with a predatory gleam in his eyes. His intentions were clear, and Mila, her body aching from the recent ordeal, summoned every ounce of strength to resist his advances.
He reached out to touch her, his fingers grazing the fabric of her dress, but Mila recoiled, a mixture of fear and defiance evident in her eyes. "Don't touch me," she spat, her voice a firm and unwavering declaration.
Undeterred, the man persisted, his movements becoming more insistent. Mila, fueled by a fierce determination to retain control over her own body, resisted his every touch. She pushed against him, creating a physical barrier between them, her eyes flashing with fierce defiance.
The room became a battleground once again, but this time the conflict was more intimate, a struggle for autonomy and dignity in the face of an oppressive force. Mila's refusal to submit and her unwavering resistance stood as a testament to the strength that adversity had forged within her.
The man, frustrated by Mila's defiance, grew increasingly aggressive. His taunts and threats reverberated in the confined space, but Mila, despite the fear coursing through her veins, refused to break. She fought not only for herself but also for the essence of her humanity, which remained unyielding in the face of cruelty.
In the midst of this harrowing confrontation, Mila clung to the knowledge that resilience could be a weapon against oppression.
"You should stop resisting! You better be glad I chose a defected woman like you to be a woman tonight!"
Mila's heart raced as she absorbed the man's vile words, but she summoned every ounce of courage to maintain her composure.
She knew that succumbing to his degrading comments would only validate his power over her, and she was determined to preserve her dignity.
Mila sneered at the man and asked, "Who even wants to be a fat-ass man like you?"
In that moment, Mila's retort pierced through the tension, causing a flicker of uncertainty in the man's eyes. Her words were not just a response but a declaration of her refusal to be defined by his derogatory remarks.
With her defiant remark, Mila reclaimed a small piece of her agency and reminded herself that she was more than capable of standing up against oppression.
The man was out of words at her words before the momentary shock was replaced by a surge of anger. He clenched his fists, his face turning red with rage.
He raised her clenched fist, planning to strike Mila in an attempt to intimidate her into submission.
In the corner of Mila's eye, she saw rope-like decorations hanging from the ceiling. In a split second, she grabbed hold of it, swinging it towards the man with all her might.
The unexpected move caught him off guard, causing him to stumble backward.
Mila didn't waste the time to move and place the rope around the man's neck as if she were placing a necklace.
And with a swift tug, she tightened the rope, cutting off his air supply. As he struggled to breathe, his anger turned to panic, his face contorting in fear.
Mila held her ground, her eyes locked with his, refusing to back down.
"H-help!" the man shouted desperately, his voice strained and weak.
Mila remained resolute, her grip on the rope unyielding as she maintained control over the situation.
"No one can hear you here. We are alone, remember?" Mila's voice was cold and unwavering as she spoke, her words dripping with a chilling certainty.
The man's eyes widened in terror, realizing the futility of his pleas.
He thrashed against the restraints, his body convulsing with a mix of fear and desperation.
The sound in their room made the servant outside the door pause in concern, unsure of what was happening inside. The muffled cries and commotion grew louder, causing the servant to hesitate before finally deciding to intervene.
When the servant walked in, she saw Mila standing over the man, a sinister smile playing on her lips. Mila's eyes met the servant's, filled with a dark determination that sent a shiver down her spine.
The servant knew in that moment that she had stumbled upon something far more sinister than she could have ever imagined.
The servant shouted in horror as the man fainted because of a lack of air.
This commotion garnered the attention of the daughter of the head maid, who was walking nearby. When she arrived at the room, her eyes widened in shock as she took in the scene before her. Mila's sinister smile remained intact, but now there was a glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes.
"What the heck are you doing?!"
Mila turned her head towards the voice, but before she could even process what happened, she felt a pang on the back of her head. Her body went limp, and she collapsed beside the man, who had fainted.
As Mila succumbed to the blow to the back of her head, darkness enveloped her consciousness. The room spun for a moment before fading into an abyss of unconsciousness. The daughter of the head maid stood over her fallen form, her expression a mixture of shock and anger.
The servant, witnessing the unexpected turn of events, rushed to check on the unconscious man, who was still gasping for breath. Panic and confusion hung in the air as the daughter of the head maid demanded an explanation from the now-restrained Mila.
"What in the world is happening here?" the daughter of the head maid exclaimed, her voice a volatile blend of surprise and fury.
The servant, flustered and attempting to compose herself, stammered out an explanation. "She... she attacked him. I heard a commotion and came in to find her strangling him with that rope."
The daughter of the head maid glared at Mila, her eyes narrowing with suspicion, and looked at Mila's body before giving an order to the servant: "Lock her up in the basement and don't give her any food until I say so!"
The servant nodded, quickly obeying the daughter's orders as she dragged Mila's unconscious body towards the basement.
Mila gradually regained consciousness in the dimly lit room. The dull ache at the back of her head served as a painful reminder of recent events. As her senses slowly came back to her, she realized that she was no longer in the room she was in when she was awake.
The air in the basement was musty, and the low hum of distant machinery echoed through the cold, damp space.
Mila roamed her eyes around the room and saw how dusty it was and full of things that were covered in cobwebs. The sight of old furniture and forgotten belongings gave the room an eerie atmosphere.
Mila's heart raced as she realized she was trapped in this forgotten corner of the house, unsure of how she would escape or what awaited her next.
She walked closer to the door she saw and tried to open it, but it was stuck, refusing to budge. Mila's palms grew sweaty as she frantically searched for another way out, her mind racing with thoughts of being trapped in the darkness forever.
The sound of her own rapid breathing filled the air, intensifying the sense of dread that hung heavy in the basement.
As Mila desperately tried to find a way out, her hands exploring every nook and cranny, a sense of hopelessness began to settle in. The creaking of the old furniture beneath her touch resonated with the heavy silence of the basement.
In her frustration, Mila accidentally knocked over a bunch of forgotten items. Among them were dusty portraits covered with white garments. The images, now exposed to the dim light, revealed faces that seemed to have long been erased from the estate's history.
Mila's eyes fixed on the portraits, her mind momentarily escaping the dire situation she was in. The faces in the images stared back at her with a haunting gaze, as if whispering forgotten tales of the past.
As she studied the portraits, she noticed a peculiar one among them, distinct from the rest. It portrayed a woman in elegant attire standing proudly, yet her eyes held a hint of sorrow. The white garment draped over the portrait seemed to signify a memory concealed and entangled with the forgotten relics of the basement.
Curiosity and desperation intertwined, prompting Mila to investigate further. She carefully lifted the white garment, revealing the woman's face more clearly.
A chill ran down Mila's spine as she gazed at the portrait, her breath catching in her throat. The realization slowly settled in: the woman in the elegant attire, with silver hair cascading around her shoulders and striking green eyes, was an unmistakable reflection of herself.