The early winter air in the room felt damp and cold. I lay in the soft, warm sheets, feeling exhausted, not wanting to move at all. But I knew I had to get up, as the bell had already rung. It was now five in the morning, and I needed to be dressed and ready in twenty minutes to go downstairs for breakfast.
I am an ordinary lower servant on the Mormont estate.
Quickly, I washed my face with cold water and donned my silver-gray wig.
My jacket, a black-striped servant's uniform, had been carefully ironed the night before. With gloved hands, I picked it up, put on my leather shoes, and fastened the small silver buttons on my sleeves.
When I opened the door, I saw Simon hurrying down the hall from his own room. We barely had time to greet each other before heading down together.
The downstairs hall was bustling. A lower servant girl was attempting to light the fireplace, with smoke from the damp wood filling the room. One look at her white apron stained with soot confirmed she was a new hire, lacking experience in lighting the more refined fireplaces in the master's quarters.
Just as I expected, Selena, the housekeeper, arrived, shocked at the smoky scene. "My God, girl! Are you trying to suffocate the master first thing in the morning? Open the windows and air it out immediately! You three, get over here and show her how it's done!" she barked orders at a few other servants.
Selena is the head housekeeper at Mormont Manor. Already in her forties, her brown hair is always pinned into a neat bun, and her black dress is devoid of any decoration. Stern and unsmiling, she has an aura that intimidates anyone under her watch, including the trembling young maid she scolded.
When we entered the servants' dining room, the table was already packed with people. Seated along the long table were four male servants dressed like me and about ten women in light pink cotton dresses. I took my place at the end of the table, alongside Simon, who whispered about a new maid across from us, mentioning how pretty she was.
Our whispers died as soon as Aaron, the head butler, entered. We all stood, waiting for him to take his place at the head of the table.
Aaron has been with the Mormont estate for nearly forty years. Starting here as a young man, he has grown old in service. He often tells us his son will one day continue the family's service. Though time has changed his appearance, Aaron's unwavering routine in serving the estate remains the same. After he sat, he gestured for us to sit, and we all ate quickly, speaking as little as possible.
Just as breakfast concluded, the bell chimed again. On the wall hung two rows of bells connected by thin wires, and one of the bells was trembling slightly.
"The lady of the house is awake. Bring her coffee immediately," instructed Selena.
Two personal maids quickly left their plates, hurrying to the kitchen.
One by one, the servants left the dining room. Simon and I headed to the main dining hall, folding yesterday's tablecloth and replacing it with a fresh one. I poured hot water into a kettle to smooth out the wrinkles on the new cloth, ensuring the table was perfectly set.
"Hurry up! Aren't you done yet?" one of the higher-ranked servants barked at us, glancing dismissively as he passed by with a tray of silverware.
Simon, who was hoping to observe their work, was shooed away, as if they couldn't allow us to learn what was "above our station." Begrudgingly, we headed to the kitchen, where the head chef was issuing commands like a king to his staff. After collecting trays of food covered with silver lids, we positioned ourselves by the main dining room entrance, ready to serve.
"Look at those smug senior servants," Simon muttered under his breath, irritated by their arrogance.
"Shush," I whispered back. "Be quiet, or they'll hear."
"One day, I'll be the master's personal servant," Simon said, his eyes gleaming with ambition.
"To be a personal servant, you need to know how to read," I replied quietly.
"I'm already learning to spell. I asked Uncle John to buy me a book recently," Simon added, glancing outside at the gray, foreboding sky. "The weather looks bad. Are you still planning to go home today?"
"Three months ago, I asked Butler Aaron for it, and only got a half-day leave. No matter the weather, I have to go."
"To give all your wages to your drunkard mother?" Simon sneered.
"She has three children to feed; she needs the money," I replied.
Simon snorted. "I bet she'll just spend it on drink. You should use that money to buy yourself a new pair of shoes."
I looked down at my leather heels, polished and clean but showing signs of wear at the seams. It was disgraceful, and if Aaron noticed, he'd surely reprimand me for "bringing shame to the estate."
"They just need mending," I said, glancing at my shoes, though my socks needed replacing, too.
Worn shoes, patched shirts—this life felt more meager than the first time I'd been here.
I remember when I first became a lower servant at Mormont Manor, clutching my hard-earned wages tightly in my hand. Filled with ambition and determination, I spent my wages on new, formal clothes, bought books to study spelling and arithmetic, and even bribed the senior servants to teach me the proper etiquette...
In those days, I never dreamed that one day I would find myself trudging back to a run-down village along a narrow dirt path, with only the occasional shepherd or shaggy-coated dog in sight.
I took a deep breath of the cold air, my nose stinging from the sharp chill, feeling strangely unsettled, as if something distant yet familiar had resurfaced in my memory...
...
On a decrepit bed lay a man breathing heavily, his labored breath echoing in the quiet.
The priest standing by the bedside whispered to him, "Are you Owen?"
The man's pale face turned slightly, a trace of fear in his eyes. "Father... why are you here? Are you... here to give me... my final rites?"
The priest shook his head, "No, I am not here to administer last rites. I'm here only to offer you a chance to confess, a moment to make peace, if you will... perhaps an opportunity to find some absolution."
After a long silence, the man nodded, his breath shallow and uneven.
The priest's voice was gentle yet firm, guiding him, "Repeat after me: 'I confess to the Almighty Lord... to the Blessed Virgin Mary...'"
The priest paused between phrases, allowing the man to keep up. At last, he said, "Now, confess your sins..."
The man's words were barely a murmur, but each one seemed to sap his remaining strength. "I deceived him, betrayed him..."
The priest repeated solemnly, "You bear guilt for deceiving and betraying another..."
Tears fell from the man's face, his lips moving soundlessly as he whispered over and over, "Deceived him... betrayed him…"
With a final tremor, his breathing slowed and then stopped altogether.
The priest placed a cross upon his chest and turned to a nearby villager, asking, "Does he have any family?"
The villager shook his head, "I wouldn't know. He's lived alone for as long as I can remember..."
...
A gust of cold wind snapped me out of my trance, scattering my thoughts like fragments of ice. The cold grip of death felt as if it had just happened yesterday.
I was disoriented, unsure if I was still dreaming.
I am a lost soul, a sheep gone astray.
I do not know if the Lord has forgiven me.
If he has, then why do yesterday's sorrows still repeat today?
And if he has not... why has he let me return, with all my memories intact...