The years turned slowly, each one heavier than the last, as Anna's life unfolded in quiet misery. From her earliest memories, Anna understood that she was not wanted, not loved, and certainly not needed.
Every morning, the ritual was the same.
The sun had barely risen when Anna would slip out of her tiny, windowless room. Her dress, patched and threadbare, hung loosely over her growing frame. The shoes she wore pinched her feet, and the soles were nearly worn through, but they were all she had.
Her first task of the day was to tend to the animals. The estate boasted a grand stable of fine horses, rows of elegant birdcages, and sprawling grounds where dogs roamed freely. But none of these creatures welcomed her.
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The horses snorted and stamped their hooves when she entered the stable. She moved cautiously, murmuring soothing words, but her voice seemed to anger them further. One particularly restless stallion reared back, slamming its hoof into the ground near her feet. She scrambled away, her hands trembling as she placed their hay and water.
The dogs were no better. They barked and snarled, their teeth bared, snapping at her legs as she tried to feed them scraps. On more than one occasion, their sharp teeth grazed her skin, leaving small, bleeding cuts that stung in the cold morning air.
The birds in their gilded cages fluttered and shrieked when she approached, some managing to peck at her through the bars as she cleaned their perches. Even the garden critters—the squirrels, rabbits, and stray cats—treated her with hostility. They would claw at her hands as she tried to lay out seeds and water, their tiny, sharp nails leaving trails of red across her skin.
Even the garden itself seemed to rebel against her. Trees whipped their branches against her shoulders as she passed beneath them, the wind tugging at her hair as though it wanted to pull her away. Roots and stones seemed to appear out of nowhere, tripping her feet and sending her tumbling to the ground.
Despite it all, Anna never stopped.
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Each night, as she nursed the day's fresh cuts and bruises, Anna wondered if she had done enough.
"Maybe I didn't give them enough food," she whispered to herself, staring at her bandaged hands. "Or maybe I didn't clean the stalls properly. Maybe the water was too warm or too cold..."
Her voice trailed off, her brow furrowing as tears welled in her eyes.
"They hate me because I'm not doing enough for them," she concluded. "If I work harder tomorrow, maybe they'll stop hating me."
It was the same thought she had every night before sleep overtook her, and every morning, she woke with a faint glimmer of hope.
But nothing changed.
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Isabella's Golden World
While Anna toiled in solitude, her twin sister Isabella lived a life of radiant perfection.
The Duke and Duchess adored their golden-haired daughter. Isabella's laughter rang through the halls, a sound that seemed to brighten the entire estate. Every morning, she was dressed in fine silks and adorned with ribbons in her hair. The maids fussed over her endlessly, ensuring she always looked perfect.
Her days were filled with lessons from the finest tutors, who praised her intelligence and grace. She learned to play the piano, her fingers dancing over the keys as nobles applauded her performances. She was taught etiquette, dance, and languages, each skill adding to the ever-growing list of her accomplishments.
Every birthday was a grand affair. The estate was transformed into a palace of light and music, with chandeliers glittering like stars. Isabella would descend the grand staircase in a gown of gold or silver, her hair shining in the candlelight, as guests showered her with gifts and adoration.
Servants scurried to fulfill her every whim. If Isabella wanted a particular dessert, the chef would spend hours crafting it. If she wished for a new dress, tailors were summoned immediately. The Duke and Duchess often whispered to one another, proud of their perfect daughter and the future she promised.
Holidays were even more extravagant. While Isabella received jewelry, fine art, and other treasures, Anna remained invisible. No one even thought to acknowledge her existence.
Anna would stand in the shadows during these celebrations, clapping quietly as the birthday song was sung for Isabella. Her smile was small and timid, but genuine.
"She deserves this," Anna would think. "She's wonderful, and everyone loves her. I should be happy for her."
But late at night, alone in her tiny room, Anna's smile would falter.
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Food was a constant struggle for Anna. Though the Duke's estate had more than enough for the entire household, Anna was an afterthought. The kitchen staff rarely spared her more than scraps—stale bread, a half-eaten potato, or the crusts of pies left over from feasts.
Her stomach often growled, an ache she had grown used to ignoring. She learned to forage for herself, wandering the grounds in search of berries and fruits. Sometimes, she would find a bush heavy with ripe, juicy berries. Other times, she would only find bitter, unripe ones that made her stomach churn.
There were days when hunger gnawed at her so fiercely that she wept silently in the garden, clutching her knees as the world spun from weakness.
Still, she blamed herself.
"If I just worked harder," she would whisper, picking at the last of the berries she had gathered. "If I just worked harder, maybe they would like me."
A Glimpse of Hope
It was on Isabella's twelfth birthday that Anna's life changed, though she didn't yet know it.
The grand hall was alive with light and music. The Duke and Duchess had spared no expense, inviting noble families from across the region.
Anna lingered at the edge of the ballroom; her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She had cleaned herself as best she could, her dress mended with clumsy stitches, her hair neatly combed.
That was when she saw him.
The young duke stood near the staircase, his black hair gleaming under the golden chandeliers. His emerald-green eyes scanned the room, his expression calm yet confident. He looked to be about thirteen, tall and poised, his bearing regal.
Anna's breath caught in her throat. She had never seen anyone like him before—so kind-looking, so perfect.
Her chest tightened as she watched him greet Isabella. The two exchanged warm smiles, and the boy even bowed slightly as Isabella giggled and curtsied in return. The sight of them together was like a scene from a storybook, too perfect to be real.
Anna pressed herself against the wall, her cheeks flushed. She didn't belong here. She knew that. But for a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to imagine what it might be like to speak to him.
As the laughter and music swelled around her, Anna quietly slipped away, retreating to the garden. She sat beneath the same tree she always did, its branches scratching at her shoulders as the wind picked up.
Her heart ached, but she forced a small smile.
"I'm happy for her," Anna whispered, staring at the faint light spilling out from the ballroom windows. "She deserves it all."
The scratches on her arms throbbed painfully, but Anna didn't flinch. Instead, she leaned back against the rough bark of the tree, her eyes drifting to the stars above.
Somewhere, deep within, she still hoped that one day someone might notice her.
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Anna wasn't sure how much time had passed before she noticed the soft crunch of footsteps on the grass. She quickly wiped at her face, brushing away the tears she hadn't realized were there, and sat up straighter.
"Why are you out here all alone?"
The voice was gentle yet curious, and Anna turned her head to see the boy from the ballroom standing a few feet away. His emerald-green eyes studied her intently, not with pity or disdain, but with genuine curiosity.
"I-I just wanted some fresh air," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.
The boy tilted his head, as if trying to understand her. "You were at the party, weren't you? You didn't stay long."
Anna's hands clenched the fabric of her dress. "I wasn't really supposed to be there."
His brow furrowed slightly, but he didn't press the issue. Instead, he took a step closer. "What's your name?"
"Anna," she replied, hesitant.
"Anna," he repeated thoughtfully, as if committing it to memory. "Well, Anna, it's nice to meet you."
Her heart fluttered in her chest, a strange warmth spreading through her despite the chill in the air. She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, the distant sound of someone calling his name broke the moment.
"I have to go," he said, a hint of reluctance in his voice. "But... I hope I'll see you again."
Anna nodded quickly, watching as he turned and disappeared back into the light of the ballroom.
For the first time in as long as she could remember, Anna felt seen.