The woman in the portrait was a ravishing redhead, her striking beauty captivating. Deep blue eyes sparkled like sapphires, fringed with luscious lashes. Her innocent gaze seemed to hold a hidden vulnerability.
But it was the girl, , who stood before him, alive and tangible had sttirred something within. Her resemblance to the portrait was uncanny, as if she'd stepped out of the canvas,but her eyes wasn't as gentle as that of this woman in the portrait, the girls eyes was pained ,they had no live in them no amazing color no happiness.
********
The bell rang loudly echoing in Ophelia's ears as she slept.
Ophelia eyes fluttered open,the morning Bell's clang piercing her dream,she rubbed her Temples,shaking off the tiredness.
Her gaze shifted to the clock on the wall ,even tho the sun was already out,it was stop early 5:56 "maybe too early" Ophelia thought as she got off the bed ,she used her hand to smother her hair that looked as a bed nest,as she stood up the floor beneath her creaked.
She went into the bathroom splashed water on her face , to clear off the sleep in her eyes,
Ophelia descended the creaky stairs, her footsteps echoing through the silent hallway. The kitchen's warm glow welcomed her as she entered, the scent of freshly polished wood and simmering water enveloping her senses.
With precision, she prepared the red tea, just as Caitlin had taught her yesterday. She measured the leaves, poured the boiling water, and let it steep for exactly three minutes. The aroma wafted up, rich and inviting.
As she arranged the delicate china cups on the serving tray, Ophelia mentally assigned each one: Mr. and Mrs. Brooks, Rebecca and Grace and then Reginald.
She carried the tray stepping out of the kitchen and that was when she recalled she hadn't been given a tour yet,she didn't know anyone's rooms.
Here's the continuation:
Ophelia's eyes scanned the hallway, searching for a solution. That's when she spotted it – a small, discreet map of the house pasted to the wall, near the kitchen door. Each room was labeled with its occupant's name: Mr. and Mrs. Brooks, Rebecca, Grace, Reginald, and even Caitlin.
She committed the map to memory, taking a mental screenshot of the layout. The east wing housed the family's quarters, while the west wing seemed reserved for staff.
With renewed confidence, Ophelia ascended the stairs, tray in hand. She began her deliveries, starting with Mr. and Mrs. Brooks' room, located in the east wing. The door was slightly ajar, allowing a glimpse into their elegant suite.
Here's a revised version with some minor adjustments for clarity and flow:
Ophelia stood before the door, clearing her throat. "Madame, sir, I've brought tea," she announced loudly enough to be heard inside.
"Come on in," Mrs. Brooks' voice called out.
Taking a deep breath, Ophelia entered the room. Her gaze fell first on Mrs. Brooks, poised at her dressing table, expertly applying makeup. Her polished appearance belied the early hour.
In contrast, Mr. Brooks lounged on the bed, scanning the newspaper.
"Good morning, ma'am, sir," Ophelia greeted with a subtle curtsey.
"Good morning, Ms. Johnson," Mr. Brooks replied.
Mrs. Brooks' gaze met Ophelia's through the dressing mirror, her sharp eyes lingering on her attire. "Ms. Johnson, it would be preferable if you could rise earlier and dress more suitably. You look like a disheveled little bird serving us."
Ophelia felt a flush rise to her cheeks, but she maintained her composure, setting the tea tray down with precision.
"Noted, ma'am," Ophelia replied, her voice soft and deferential, as she delicately set the silver tray on the elegant side table. The morning light dancing through the window highlighted the fine china and sparkling tea, filling the room with a warm, inviting aroma.
With precision, Ophelia distributed the cups, presenting the first to Mr. Brooks, who accepted it with a nod, his eyes scanning the newspaper. She then turned to Mrs. Brooks, who paused her makeup application, her slender fingers momentarily still on her cheek. Ophelia handed her the second cup, and Mrs. Brooks took a sip, her gaze lingering on Ophelia's attire.
"For your first time, this isn't bad, darling," Mrs. Brooks said, her voice honey-sweet, glancing at her husband, who nodded in approval, his lips pursed in a subtle smile. Mr. Brooks sipped his tea, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his expression a picture of quiet satisfaction.
"I think it's fine," Mr. Brooks murmured, his deep voice low and soothing.
"You may leave now," Mrs. Brooks instructed, her tone crisp, dismissing Ophelia.
Ophelia curtsied, her skirts rustling softly, gathered the tray, and departed. As she stepped outside into the hallway, she overheard Mrs. Brooks' hushed comment, her voice laced with subtle disapproval:
"Fine is not enough."
Ophelia didn't catch Mr. Brooks' response, but she didn't dwell on it. Instead, she proceeded to serve Rebecca, her footsteps echoing softly down the corridor.
Rebecca's room was conveniently located near her parents', a testament to her privileged status as the baby of the family. Ophelia stood before the door, tray in hand, now lighter after delivering tea to Mr. and Mrs. Brooks.
She gently tapped on the door.
"Who?" a sultry, slightly malicious voice called out from within.
"It's me, I've brought your tea, Ms. Rebecca," Ophelia replied.
A two-minute silence ensued before the door swung open, revealing Rebecca. She emerged looking like a celebrity, her face expertly masked with makeup.
"Like mother, like daughter," Ophelia thought, noting the striking resemblanceand the routine.
"Good morning, Ms. Rebecca," Ophelia greeted, opting not to curtsey since Rebecca wasn't the head of the household.
"Keep the morning to yourself; just give me my tea," Rebecca said, extending a manicured hand.
Ophelia handed her the cup, and Rebecca snatched it, slamming the door shut. The loud echo reverberated through the hallway.
Ophelia felt a sting of offense but reminded herself of her position as a maid. She swallowed her pride and continued to Grace's room, her footsteps a gentle rebuke to Rebecca's brusqueness.