Hazel
As the first rays of dawn crept through the ornate bedroom curtains, Hazel awoke with a shudder. The faint light only amplified the menacing shadows lurking at the corners of the room, each one harboring the echoes of Evelyn's cruelty. Sleep had offered no escape, only a brief respite before the inevitable return of his waking nightmare.
He lay there, his body a battlefield of aches and pains, each one a testament to the previous night's torment. The physical pain, however, paled in comparison to the emotional turmoil that gnawed at him. He was no longer the Hazel he once knew, the dreamer, the fighter. He was a shadow, a hollow shell of his former self, stripped of his identity and trapped within the gilded cage Evelyn had built.
Dragging himself from the bed, he stumbled into the kitchen, the familiar space now a cold, hostile environment. Every utensil, every appliance, seemed to hold a silent accusation, a mocking reminder of his servitude.
He moved with the mechanical efficiency of a broken automaton, preparing a simple breakfast as if performing a ritual of appeasement. Each clink of the pan, each hiss of the stove, was a desperate plea for tranquility, a futile attempt to ward off the storm he knew was coming.
Finally, the bedroom door creaked open, and Evelyn entered. Her face, usually a mask of calculated indifference, was now etched with an icy rage that sent shivers down Hazel's spine. He bowed his head, unable to meet her gaze, knowing the routine. Breakfast, silence, then the inevitable storm.
Evelyn sat at the table, her eyes scanning the meager offering with a disdain that spoke volumes. She ate in silence, each bite a slow, deliberate act of judgment. Hazel stood frozen, his hands trembling, the tray a weighty burden in his grasp.
He knew the moment of reckoning was approaching, the impending explosion of her fury. He felt his heart pounding against his ribs, each beat a drum echoing the terror that consumed him.
As he reached to remove her empty plate, his trembling hand faltered. A few drops of water spilled, landing on the pristine white of her dress.
The room erupted. Evelyn's face contorted with rage, her eyes blazing with fury. She slammed her fist on the table, sending dishes clattering to the floor.
"You worthless fool!" she roared, her voice a venomous hiss. "Do you have any idea how much this dress cost? You are nothing but a careless, clumsy waste of space!"
Before Hazel could even blink, she was upon him. Her blows landed with brutal efficiency, each one a searing reminder of his powerlessness. He cowered beneath the onslaught, shielding his head with his arms, whimpering in fear.
There was no defiance within him now, no spark of resistance. Only abject terror, a primal fear that consumed him whole. He was a cornered animal, trapped and helpless.
The beating continued, each blow a hammer blow against his already shattered spirit. He knew it wouldn't end until she was satisfied, until the last vestige of his will was broken.
Finally, as if tiring of her own cruelty, she stopped. She stood over him, her breathing heavy, her eyes filled with a cold, triumphant gleam.
"You will never forget this day, Hazel," she hissed, her voice dripping with venom. "You will learn to walk on eggshells around me, to anticipate my every whim. You will be my obedient slave, my plaything, until the day I decide to dispose of you."
With that, she turned and walked away, leaving Hazel crumpled on the floor, a broken shell of a man. The terror remained, a constant companion, chilling him to the bone. He knew escape was impossible, that his only option was to endure, to become invisible, to simply exist as a shadow in her gilded cage.
The hope that had flickered briefly the night before was now extinguished, replaced by a crushing despair. He had become a prisoner in his own life, a silent victim of Evelyn's ruthless cruelty. There was no escape, no redemption, only the endless darkness that stretched before him.