The Vossmer estate bustled with its usual morning activity, but deep in the servants' corridors, the air carried a different energy—one thick with silent animosity.
Alina, her small frame burdened with a heavy bucket of water, trudged silently through the narrow hallways, the weight of the task feeling heavier with every step.
She could feel their eyes on her—the older servants, their gazes sharp and full of disdain. Their whispers slithered after her like shadows.
"Charity case," one muttered, just loud enough for her to hear.
"A stray," sneered another. "Her and those other orphans. Lucky Lord Graviel has a soft heart. They don't belong here."
Alina clenched her jaw, her grip on the bucket tightening. Let them think what they want, she thought, It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter anymore.
