Sunday morning arrived, and I woke up to the gentle sound of birds chirping outside my window. The sunlight peeked through the curtains, casting a warm glow across my bedroom.
I slowly sat up, rubbing my eyes to shake off the remnants of sleep, and glanced at the digital clock on my bedside table. The time read 9:00am, signaling that I had overslept a little.
I was still half-asleep when a soft, familiar voice roused me from my drowsy state. Opening my eyes, I saw my maid, Maria, standing beside my bed, a warm smile on her face.
"Good morning, my lady," she greeted me in her usual cheerful tone. I sat up, stretching my limbs and trying to fully wake up. Maria waited patiently at the side, standing with her hands clasped in front of her.
"Breakfast will be ready soon," Maria continued, still smiling. "Would you like me to help you get ready for the day?" I let out a yawn and nodded, still feeling a bit groggy. "Yes, please," I replied, pushing the blankets aside and swinging my legs over the edge of the bed.
Maria busied herself, moving around the room and gathering my clothes for the day. She was efficient and organized, like she always was. While Maria worked on preparing my clothes and laying them out on a chair near the bed, I made my way to the adjacent bathroom to freshen up. I splashed some water on my face, brushed my teeth, and tried to wake up completely.
After finishing up in the bathroom, I returned to the bedroom to find my clothes neatly laid out. Maria had already selected a casual yet elegant outfit, complete with a pair of designer shoes placed beside.
I thanked Maria and started getting dressed, slipping into the soft, expensive fabric of the garments she had chosen for me. The clothes fit perfectly, hugging my figure in all the right places.
Once I was fully dressed, I stood in front of the full-length mirror and scrutinized my reflection. The outfit looked effortlessly chic, accentuating my slender frame and highlighting my delicate features.
After getting dressed, I made my way to the grand dining hall where breakfast was served. The room was spacious, with high ceilings and large windows that allowed natural light to stream in.
At the center of the room, a long table had been set up, adorned with fancy linens and gleaming silverware. My father and mother were already seated at the table, engaged in a casual conversation.
My family was indeed wealthy, having built an empire through various successful business ventures. My father, a stern man in his forties, had always been known for his shrewd business deals and ruthless determination. My mother, on the other hand, was elegant and refined, with a penchant for hosting extravagant social events.
As I took my seat at the table, both my parents looked up and greeted me with polite smiles. The breakfast spread laid out on the table was extravagant, with various dishes arranged on plates and platters. There was everything from fresh fruits and pastries to hot, egg dishes and fresh-pressed juices.
We began our meal in an air of polite conversation, discussing various trivialities and recent events. My father spoke of some business dealings and new market trends, while my mother mentioned a few social engagements we were set to attend in the coming weeks.
As I ate my breakfast, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. Startled, I pulled it out and saw a text from Charmel.
I read the text, and a small frown tugged at the corners of my mouth. Charmel was complaining about her mother, mentioning that she had stolen her hobbies once again.
I felt a pang of sympathy for Charmel. Her mother, a successful businesswoman, often spent most of her time away on various business trips, leaving Charmel alone at home to deal with the fallout. It was a common occurrence, and Charmel had confided in me many times about how isolating it felt.
Just as I was about to put down my phone, my mother's voice pierced through the air. She had noticed the frown on my face and asked if anything was wrong.
"No, it's nothing," I replied, quickly attempting to force a smile. "Just a text from Charmel, that's all."
My mother's eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of concern etched on her features. She was always observant, and I could tell she wasn't entirely convinced by my response.
"Is Charmel alright?" she inquired, her voice laced with a touch of skepticism. "She doesn't usually make you frown like that."
I took a deep breath, deciding to come clean. "She's having a rough day," I replied, sighing. "Her mother's on another business trip, and she's feeling frustrated. Her mother keeps taking away her hobbies and leaving her alone at home." My mother nodded understandingly, her expression softening at my explanation. "Ah, I see," she said, her tone sympathetic. "She's never changed." My mother giggle.
It was a typical reaction from my mother, and her comment about Charmel's mother not changing was met with a slight chuckle. It was no secret that my mother and Charmel's mother had an uneasy relationship, with the latter's constant absence often causing strife between them.
As breakfast wrapped up, I finished my morning meal and excused myself from the dining table. My father went off to his office, while my mother retreated to her study to catch up on some work. With my family's daily routine in motion, I found myself with some free time on my hands. I decided to spend it lounging in my room, scrolling through my phone and checking my emails.
The house was quiet, and other than a few distant footsteps and the hum of the air conditioning, there was no sound to break the solitude.
With not much else to do, I figured it was a good time to indulge in one of my favorite hobbies – playing the piano. I made my way to the music room, a room filled with various musical instruments and a grand piano standing majestic in the center.
I took a seat on the velvet stool, positioning my feet over the pedals and resting my fingers on the keys. The familiar feel of the ivory and black keys always gave me a sense of comfort.
With a deep breath, I began to play. The room was soon filled with the mellifluous strains of a classical piece, the notes reverberating through the air. I concentrated, letting the music flow through me, losing myself in the rhythmic patterns and melodic progressions.
As I continued to play, I realized that something was amiss. The music lacked depth, lacking the emotional expression that usually surged through my fingers and into the keys.
Frustrated, I stopped playing and leaned back on the stool. The applause from the servants caught my attention, and I looked up to see them watching me, their hands clapped together in admiration. A chorus of compliments filled the room, but there was a false ring to their words.
"Wow, excellent performance, my lady," "So melodious and beautiful," "You're truly gifted."
Their praise fell flat, and it was evident they were merely saying what they thought I wanted to hear. I sighed inwardly, aware that the servants' compliments held no sincerity. It was their job to always speak positivity and avoid any form of criticism.
"Thank you," I replied with as much graciousness as I could muster, but inside, I longed for a true and honest critique of my music. The thought of Charmel's blunt honesty made a small smile tug at the corners of my mouth. If she were here, she would never hesitate to voice her opinion, no matter how harsh.
"Lame," she would say, her voice dripping with exaggerated disappointment. "Boring. I've heard better music played by my little cousin's dog."
Despite the harshness of her words, I secretly appreciated Charmel's brutal honesty. She had a way of cutting through all the artificial praise and telling me exactly what she thought. It was refreshing, in a way.
But right now, I could use a little bit of that honesty, especially when it came of my music. Just as I was about to try playing the piano again, my phone vibrated with a new notification. I picked it up and saw that Charmel had sent a bunch of pictures. Curious, I swiped open the images and couldn't help but let out a shudder followed by a chuckle.
The pictures were of some creepy, spine-chilling scenes – spiders, horror movie stills, and even a picture of a particularly creepy-looking doll. Charmel knew that I couldn't handle anything scary, and she loved to tease me with those kinds of images. I shook my head, amused and slightly irritated by her antics.
I sighed and muttered to myself, exasperated with Charmel's mischievousness. "That idiot," I murmured, shaking my head yet again.
Charmel had an uncanny knack for finding the perfect bait to mess with me, knowing full well my weak spot for anything spooky.