After I had finished washing all the clothes Mrs Flinch had given me and then put them out to dry, I couldn't help feeling hungry. I had worked hard all morning, and I had skipped breakfast. I needed some food, and I needed it fast.
Mrs Flinch and I were sitting on a bench next to the garden, enjoying the fresh air and the sunshine. The garden was beautiful, full of flowers and trees and birds. It was the only place in the castle that made me feel calm and happy.
But my tummy started growling, and it ruined the moment. It was loud and embarrassing, and it made me feel even hungrier. I looked at Mrs Flinch, hoping she wouldn't notice. But she did, and she frowned.
"If you're hungry, go into the servants dining room, it must be midday, they'll give you something to eat," she said.
"Where is this dining room?" I asked, clueless. I had never been there before, and I had no idea what to expect. I hoped it would be better than the laundry room, or the master's chamber, or any other room in the castle.
Mrs Flinch looked at me strangely, as if I had said something stupid. She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. She seemed to be annoyed.
"I gave you a tour of the castle yesterday and you don't remember," she said, more seriously than before. She sounded like she was accusing me of something, like she was doubting me.
If only you knew I wasn't the same person you must have met yesterday.
But I couldn't tell her any of that. I had to keep pretending, and keep hoping. I had to act like I belonged to this world.
"Sorry, I don't remember where it is," I said, in an innocent voice. I tried to look confused and apologetic, like I had a bad memory or a bad day. I hoped she would believe me.
Mrs Flinch stood up, and sighed.
"Well, let's go, I'm hungry too," she said, before we set off. She walked ahead of me, and I followed her. She didn't say anything else, and neither did I. We walked in silence, and in tension.
We were walking along the corridors, and I had the impression that everyone was looking at me strangely. I felt their eyes on me, and I felt their whispers behind me.
I couldn't figure out why. I was just a girl, a servant, a nobody.
"Your hair attracts attention," said Mrs Flinch, breaking the silence. She glanced at me, and I thought that was strange. She had never commented on my appearance before, and she had never seemed to care.
It's just red hair, it's not like I'm an evil being or anything. It's not like I chose it, or like I can change it. It's not like it matters, or like it defines me. It's just hair, and it's just red.
"Why?" I asked, a little curiously. I wanted to know what was so special about my hair, and why it caused such a reaction.
Mrs Flinch finally said, "Your hair is kind of a cursed colour around here. Your hair signifies evil and death. I'm surprised you were even chosen to be a servant here."
What, red hair is considered evil, I'm in deep shit in this world. Where did I fall again.
We got to the side of a room with the door open. Inside there was a table with cutlery on it, and there were already people eating. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, laughing and talking.
I looked at the food they were eating, and it looked pretty good. There was meat and rice, bread ,cheese, fruit and cake. There was water and wine.
I took a plate and served myself some rice with meat. I was starving, and I was eager.
Once I was well seated, I heard some murmurs. They were coming from the other people in the room, the other servants. They were talking about me, and they were not being nice.
"What's that girl doing there?" said a voice, and then another voice took over.
"She can't see that she's going to bring us bad luck with her hair," said another voice.
I ignored them, and I focused on my plate. I said to myself, "Bonne appetit." I picked up a fork and stabbed a piece of meat. I put it in my mouth and chewed.
I chewed very slowly, so that I could get a good taste of the food. But it had no taste, even worse, it tasted almost disgusting. It was bland and dry, tough and chewy. It was like eating cardboard, or rubber.
I turned to the others, who seemed to be enjoying it. They were eating with gusto, and they were making noises of satisfaction. Either it's me who's lost my sense of taste, or it's them who have a shitty taste.
I turned to Mrs Flinch, who seemed to be enjoying her meal. She was eating with a fork and a knife, and she was cutting her meat into small pieces. She looked like she was having the best meal of her life, or at least the best meal of the day.
"Do you really like this food?"I asked her,
She looked at me with a puzzled expression, as if I had asked her something absurd. She put down her fork and knife, and she wiped her mouth with a napkin.
"Of course I like this food, it's been prepared by the best chefs in the contry."She said, in a proud, haughty tone.
So they think it's good because it's been cooked by some ' top chefs'. Well, I think it's clearly tasteless.
"Where's the kitchen?" I asked Mrs Flinch, who raised an eyebrow when she heard my question.
"The kitchen is at the end of this room. Why do you ask?"She said
I didn't answer her question, and I didn't wait for her permission. I left the table without even finishing my meal, and I walked towards the kitchen. I was hungry and angry, and I was curious. I wanted to see who was behind this food, and I wanted to tell them what I thought.
I walked quickly down the corridor, and I saw a door with 'kitchen' written on it. It also had a sign that said 'do not enter unless you are one of the staff'. It looked like a warning.
I paid no attention to what was marked, and I opened the door a little too violently. I made a loud noise, and I attracted the attention of the chef. He was standing in front of a stove, and he was holding a pan. He was wearing a white hat and a white apron, and he had a badge that said 'chef in charge'. He looked like he was busy.
I went inside and approached him. I said, very politely, "Hello."
"To what do I owe the visit of a servant here?" He looked at me with a cold and stern expression. He didn't even say hello back. I don't want to talk badly to him, but I'd say he's leaving me no choice.
"Well, the food you made, it taste awful."I said, in a calm and honest tone.
I saw the man turn red with anger. He dropped his pan, and he clenched his fists.
"I'm sure I can cook better than you," I said, trying to provoke him,and look like it worked.
"Well, let's have a competition and see who cooks better," he finishes pretentiously, as if he'd already won.
"I accept," I say with conviction, and then I'm sure I'll win.