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charminglygrouped · 28 days ago

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What's the deal with still-rooms?

Occasionally, in modern fiction set in the Regency era, you'll read of a female character making her own perfume, rose-water, or lavender-water by distilling flower petals (or something of that nature) in the still-room. In this context of course "still" is a shortening of "distill."

On doing some research, I think this is anachronistic. It's true that still-room offices such as making perfumes and medicines fell to the lady of the house and her daughters from at least the 17th century (1600s) and through the early 18th century (1700s)—but not much later.

Because of this shift, the figure of "the still-room" is used in writing of the 18th and 19th centuries to express anxieties about female behaviour and women's "place" inside and outside the home. But more on that later.

History

1600s - 1740s: perfumes, medicines, cordials, waters, spirits

In the 17th and early 18th centuries, many English manors contained still-rooms. Stephen Schmidt and Elaine Leong describe the contents of these rooms:

The stillroom was equipped with apparatus for distilling spirits, wines, syrups, and waters [...] and a waist-high charcoal brazier, or chafing dish, for procedures that required heating. The stillroom was attached to a stove room, a small chamber outfitted with slatted shelves and some sort of furnace, to which items were remanded that required drying or that needed to be kept dry during storage.

The 1696 book The accomplished ladies rich closet of rarities, or the ingenious gentlewoman & servant maid's delightfull companion, gives directions for "The Art of Diſtilling" (which includes recipes for perfumes and medicines); "Making Artificial Wines"; "Making Syrups"; and more.

Women would keep records of their recipes for various medicines (in the forms of cordials, pills, salves, poultices, &c.) in recipe books that were passed down for generations. Jayne Elisabeth Archer argues that "The stillroom (or 'distallorie') and the manuscript receipt book were two of the most important sites of female creativity in early modern England, and yet they have been largely forgotten to history" (p. 212).

The 1736 Dictionarium Domeſticum, Being a New and Compleat Houſehold Dictionary; For the Uſe both of City and Country provides instructions for distilling ale and creating medicinal decoctions, including some that claim to "provoke [...] womens Menſes" (i.e., potentially abortifacients!).

1750s - 1890s: pickles, preserves, desserts, tea, coffee

By the mid-18th century, however, still-rooms were no longer associated primarily with perfumes, spirits, and medicines. In Miss Sophia Lee's “The Chapter of Accidents” (1750), the days when culinary still-room tasks such as distilling spirits were considered as genteel accomplishments are described as belonging to the past. Governor Harcourt has kept his daughter uneducated and doing tasks which ought to be considered too low for her; when he says he means to let Lord Woodville marry her, Lord Glenmore replies:

Lord G. I thank your intention, brother; but am far from wishing the chief accomplishments of Woodville's lady should be the making cream cheeses, goats whey, and elder wine. Gov. H. Let me tell your lordship, women were never better than when those were the chief accomplishments.

What, then, did people use still-rooms for at this time? In short, they were considered as a branch of the kitchen, used in large estates to preserve food (by pickling, canning, making jellies, &c.), make light articles for the table (such as confections), and prepare coffee and tea.

A fictional biography written in 1754 describes culinary tasks being carried out in the still-room:

As great Care was taken to preſerve his Complexion, he was ſeldom ſuffered to ſtir out of the Nurſery or Still-room, where he became ſo great a Proficient in Female Knowledge, that, before he was Fifteen, he was deeply ſkilled in the Doctrine and Uſes of Pickles, Conſerves, and Jellies; underſtood the Value of Cambrics, Muflins, &c. could knit a Pair of Garters [...].

The Dictionary of Daily Wants, published c. 1858, tells us:

With cooking, generally the housekeeper has little concern. Her care of the table is confined chiefly to pickling and preserving; and in preparing confectionery, making ice-creams, arranging the dessert, &c. These preparations are all performed in the still-room, and with the assistance of the still-room maid.

Beeton's Book of household management (1861) says that distilling in still-rooms is mostly a thing of the past, but claims that some households still do it:

The still-room was formerly much more in vogue than at present; for in days of "auld lang syne," the still was in constant requisition for the supply of sweet-flavoured waters for the purposes of cookery, scents and aromatic substances used in the preparation of the toilet, and cordials in cases of accidents and illness. There are some establishments, however, in which distillation is still carried on, and in these, the still-room maid has her old duties to perform.

And The Century Dictionary, published c. 1890, gives us two definitions:

still-room, n. 1. An apartment for distilling; a domestic laboratory. — 2. A room connected with the kitchen, where coffee, tea, and the like are made, and the finer articles supplied to the table are made, stored, and prepared for use.

These tasks were not considered appropriate work for genteel women, but were rather the province of poor relations and servants. A servant in "The Chapter of Accidents" shows this change in attitude, with a gentleman disdaining to enter the still-room:

Mrs. W. Why, methinks you are grown mighty grand, or you would have come to the still-room to ask.

So, in the late 18th and 19th centuries, still-rooms still exist, and they are still used; but they are usually used by the housekeeper (and, in larger establishments, the still-room maid) for the making of pickles, preserves, desserts, tea, and coffee. The head cook and kitchen-maids are then employed in the kitchen with the more regular work of cooking.

(At the turn of the 19th century, we also see indications of still-rooms in estates being used to distill spirits. An account of the estate of James Moore, Esq., which is presented as very large, well-managed, and prosperous, reads:

His yard contains besides the necessary stabling for his horses, waggon, and cart lodges, barns, &c. a counting house with a dry warehouse attached to it; near to these is a large still room, with five copper stills, and without this room is a large horse mill to throw up the liquor into the back. These stills will run off 20 tuns of spirit or oil in 24 hours.

Distillers might also have their own businesses. See this 1806 account of a "distiller" of "liquors" having a "distillery" or "still-room" adjoining his dwelling. I think this "still-room" is quite a different creature from the one which ladies used to distill perfumes in, though.)

Looking back

Throughout the late 18th century and 19th century, any references I can find to still-room tasks as involving distilling herbs or making medicines are used to indicate that action is taking place in the past.

References in fiction

For example: a novel published in 1799 (The witch, and the maid of honour) uses still-room medicines to show that we are reading about the time of Queen Elizabeth. When a young woman's ear is scratched by a cat, the advice is to "take her into the ftill-room, and tell Vincent [the housekeeper] to put fomething to it"; they go to the housekeeper's room, and Vincent "[takes] down a vial" of some medicine (from her room or from the still-room, it's not clear) to use.

In 1849, Anne Manning published a novel about John Milton's wife, which she set in 1643: it contained 17th-century spellings, an imitation of a 17th-century typeface, and several references to a young woman performing still-room tasks (a child "came in with her Lap full of Butter-burs, the which [Mary] was glad to ſee, as Mother eſteemes them a ſovereign Remedie 'gainſt the Plague"; Mary lays "them out on the Stille-room Floor"; later, she spends “a full Houre in the ftille Room, turning over ever foe manie Trays full of dried Herbs and Flower-leaves,” as a prospective suitor speaks to her father).

Again, in 1857, a novel with archaic spellings (The Noble Traytour: A Chronicle), set in the court of Queen Elizabeth and featuring knights, earl-marshalls and such, gives us an emotional sick-room scene, which contains the sentence:

As for Dame Elizabeth, ſhe was in the ſtill-room brewing a caudle poſſit of grewel, for which a nice [i.e. neat, clean] maiden was grating ginger.

And an 1861 novel entitled My daughter Marjorie: 17th centuary, also stylised so as to resemble something published in the 1600s, describes an idealised young woman thustly:

She hath a ſweet voice, and toucheth the virginals with much ſkill, and is very apt in the ſtill room. She affirmeth there will be a superabundance of marygolds for curing in the fall, which is well.

References in nonfiction

Non-fictional writing also describes the making of perfumes and medicines in still-rooms as a 16th-, 17th-, or very early 18th-century thing. An 1812 description of “an Elizabethan country house” describes distilling in still rooms as a decidedly outdated habit for gentlewomen:

Among the rooms on that floor was one called the still-room, an apartment where the ladies of old much amused themselves in distilling waters and cordials, as well for the use of themselves and of their poor neighbours, as for several purposes of cookery.

Cassell’s Domestic Dictionary, published c. 1850, defines the term thusly:

Still-room.— The still-room in the old sense does not now exist. In the reign of Queen Anne [1702-1714] it was quite a common institution for an English lady to have what was called her still-room, in which were distilled perfumes, such as rose and lavender water, and cordials intended to be used medicinally for the benefit of the family, or to be distributed charitably amongst the poor. Even at the present time, in some large establishments, the still-room is to be found, though very different in the arrangement of its work to that of old times. In modern still-rooms the tea and coffee are sometimes made that are needed for the use of the family.

In The merrie days of England; sketches of the olden time we find a quote from Macaulay describing the lifestyle of country ladies and gentlemen in the 17th century:

The ladies of the houſe, whoſe buſineſs it had commonly been to cook the repaſt, retired as foon as the diſhes had been devoured, and left the gentlemen to their ale and tobacco. [...] [The country gentleman's] wife and daughter were in taſte and acquirements below a houſekeeper or a ſtill-room maid of the preſent day. They ſtitched and ſpun, brewed gooſeberry wine, cured marigolds, and made the cruſt for the veniſon paſt.

What does it all mean?

If still-rooms aren't used by ladies to distill things for medicinal or culinary purposes anymore, why is this practice so often referenced? Why is this particular usage of this particular room still present in the cultural consciousness, if you will, of the readers of 18th- and 19th-century England? Why is it iconic enough that it can be used to signal to a reader, "we're in the 16th or 17th century now"?

I think it comes down to a nostalgia about the (supposed) feminine behaviour of the past. This nostalgia was already present in the mid-18th century, and would continue until at least the mid-19th. To return to "The Chapter of Accidents":

Lord G. I [...] am far from wishing the chief accomplishments of Woodville's lady should be the making cream cheeses, goats whey, and elder wine. Gov. H. Let me tell your lordship, women were never better than when those were the chief accomplishments. Cream cheeses, quotha! no, no, making cream faces [that is, giving birth] is an accomplishment which the belles of these days oftener excel in.

In Governor Harcourt's opinion, the ladies of "these days" (i.e. the 1750s) are too educated, too divorced from homely household duties, too uselessly fine, and perhaps too mannish.

Of course, any idea about European genteel femininity is also perforce an idea about race; proper "femininity" always entails and defines "whiteness." Gov. H. puns that women these days are producing white ("cream") children, and yet are no longer capable of performing the necessary tasks to feed their (white) children, or tend to the practical upkeep of their (white / European / civilised / appropriately domestic) homes. White gentlewomen must be constrained to domestic servitude because they are the ones who create and police the environment in which the white race is created, raised, and educated; theirs is the power to advance or degrade the white race.

On the flip side, degraded, improper, abusive, over-sexualised relations between the sexes are what supposedly mark out non-European cultures as uncivilised, lower / lesser, an anterior stage in the evolution of humanity, &c. White women have to do [insert whatever the present writer wants them to do], or else we all might as well be savages, and so on and so forth.

But to return to examples of the figure of "the still-room" indexing the idea of "feminine accomplishment of past centuries." The Edinburgh Review, no. 222, for 1859 contains an article entitled "Female Industry," which begins with a history of female labour, and moves to consider the question of what kind of work women (including working-class women) ought to be doing today. The author complains about the completeness of the change that had taken place over the past “three centuries,” such that genteel women could no longer cook:

[W]e have therefore every reason to believe that our wives and sisters would be no worse for understanding the business of the kitchen. […] Well! is the art to be lost? or will an effort be made to recover it ? Why is it not a branch of female industry now to give such instruction, instead of leaving those departments of knowledge a blank […]? It may not be necessary or desirable for young ladies to spend so many hours in the still-room, among conserves and quackeries, as the damsels of three centuries ago, when kitchen cookery was gross and wholesale; and it might be better that they should learn from their mothers how to order and superintend the administration of food; but if their mothers have not the requisite knowledge, skill and ideas, it would be a great blessing to have a professional instructress within reach.

For this author, there's something about the still-room habits of the Elizabethans that went too far: their medicines didn't actually work, their practices were not scientific or modern enough, women were in them for too many hours at a time, &c.; but there is something about them that we should be trying to recapture.

The nostalgia of The merrie days of England is, as the title implies, more straightforwardly positive. The book opens:

How pleaſant are the ideas which are associated with "the merrie days of England;" and how ſtrikingly do they contraſt with our experience of the preſent time! Turn aſide for a moment from the records of the miſdeeds of haughty Plantagenets; the deſolating wars of York and Lancafter; the terrible misfortunes of the Stuarts [...]; and even amid theſe darker ſcenes of our hiſtory, abundant evidence is afforded that England was in truth "a merrie England."

It's very unusual, by the way, to see a long s (ſ) this late (1857)! Unlike the novels described earlier, this work isn't literally trying to present itself as something that was printed in the 17th century; but we still see its nostalgia come through in its typography.

In short, I think "the still-room" is often a kind of synecdoche (a metaphor in which the part stands in for the whole) for "the accomplishments of genteel women of prior centuries." The author can put this metaphor to use in whatever argument about female accomplishment that they like. The figure of the still-room, then, is one through which opinions, anxieties, laments, and advice about modern femininity and modern women's behaviour may be expressed.

Floor plans

So much for what was done in a still-room, and what they symbolised. Where was this room?

Sometimes, a still-room is described as being a room among other rooms on the lower levels (below ground) of a house; on other estates, it is a detached building.

Attached

Palladio Londinensis; or, the London art of building (1755) gives, among its list "Of Architectonical Axioms and Analogies," the following advice:

That the Kitchen be ſpacious and light, and as remote from the Parlour as poſſible, and to be under Ground; as alſo the Pantry, Bake-Houſe, Still-Room, Buttery, Dairy, and Servants Offices in general.

The plans for a "Villa, designed for the Right Honourable Silver Oliver" in 1789, has the following rooms in the "Basement Floor":

a. Butler's room: b. Servants' chamber: c. Servants' chamber: d. Wine, Ale, and Beer cellars: e. Room for bruſhing clothes, &c.: f. Servants' Hall: g. Houſekeeper's room: h. Still room: i. Situation for the Kitchen, Scullery, Larder, &c.

Holkham Hall, in the 1750s, had a horse-powered "pump" (illustrated at top left) that would bring water up to fill cisterns on the roof, from which it could flow as needed to the "laundry and dairy in the south-east wing, the kitchen in the north-east wing and the stillroom along the east side of the main house."

Detached

This seems less common, but still-rooms might also be a in a separate building.

A 1797 notice for the auction of a "SUPERB and CAPITAL BRICK MANSION, called GIDEA HALL, fitted up with great Neatneſs and Elegance, compriſing all the neceſſary Apartments tor a large Family," contains the following description:

The DETACHED OFFICES conſiſt of a Brewhouſe and Waſh-houſe, Laundry, and Bed-Rooms over for Maid-Servants; a Larder, a Still-Room, a Dog-Kennel, a Dairy, and Boiling-houſe, an Ice-houſe, a Dove-Cote, good Stabling for 25 Horſes, and Standing for Six Carriages, all lofted over, with Saddle Rooms, and Bed-Rooms for Men-Servants; a Court-Yard paved, a Drying-Yard, a Fowl-Yard, with ſuitable Buildings […]

Windows?

All of the rooms in that first floor plan have windows, but not all of those in the second one do. Dickens's "The Schoolboy's Story" describes Jane (a "wardrobe woman" who "took care of the boxes"; a "very nice young woman," "neat and cheerful," "comfortable and kind," tends to the schoolboys emotionally—so we can connect this again to ideals of femininity) "look[ing] out of her still-room window." If things have to be dried and boiled in this room, it makes sense that it ought to be well-aired.

So can I write my Regency-era heroine distilling things in a still-room?

Sure, if you want to make a reference to the idealised femininity of past (i.e., pre-Regency) eras, or make the point that your heroine (or her household) is eccentric or retro.

If not, I might suggest: sewing, knitting, tambour, embroidery, netting, flower arranging, the study of botany (she might keep a little notebook in which to draw or paint botanical illustrations or press flowers), drawing, painting, or simply taking a walk.

#stillroom #history #Jane Austen #Regency romance #Regency era #Town and Country

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muiitoloko · 5 months ago

Note

I actually feel nauseous at the ending of the last chapter of difficult woman HE NEEDS TO BELIEVE HERRR

Title: A Cage of Emotions

Summary: Karl's strict measures to keep his wife close lead to a clash of wills and a moment of unexpected intimacy.

Pairing: Karl Hoffmeister × Fem! Reader

Warnings: none.

Author's Notes: After a whole lot of effort, sweat, and probably more tears than I'd like to admit, I finally managed to write this! 😅 I’ll confess it’s not my finest work, but I’m satisfied enough to send it out into the world. Enjoy!

First, Second, Third, Fourth, Fifth, Sixth, Seventh and Eighth part here.

Also read on Ao3

The next morning, Karl woke up and turned to look at you, sleeping peacefully beside him with Mouse nestled near your head. The sight stirred a mix of emotions within him—sadness, anger, and a sense of betrayal. You had tried to leave him without a second thought, and the wound was still fresh.

Karl slipped out of bed quietly, careful not to wake you. He locked the door behind him as he left the room, determined to prevent any further attempts at escape. He then made his way to the guest room where he had been sleeping previously. The cool water of the shower helped to clear his head, and he took his time, letting the steady stream calm his turbulent thoughts.

After dressing in a crisp white shirt, a dark waistcoat, and trousers, Karl descended to the dining room. Elisabeth was already seated at the table, her expression one of nervous anticipation. Hans stood near the table, his posture rigid and attentive.

Karl glanced at Elisabeth briefly before addressing Hans. "Hans, bring [Your Name] her breakfast in the bedroom. From now on, all her meals will be taken there. Also, move my belongings to that room."

Hans furrowed his brow in confusion, his eyebrows knitting together. He hadn’t believed the boss was serious when he mentioned confining Madame the day before. Hans had assumed it was just something said in the heat of the moment. But now, it appeared the boss was actually serious. “Will Madame really be confined to her room, Herr Hoffmeister?” he asked hesitantly.

Karl's face hardened as he met Hans's gaze. "Yes. She has everything she needs there. There is no reason for her to leave."

Hans's expression turned incredulous. "But sir, that's cruel."

Karl's eyes flashed with anger and disbelief. "Cruel?" he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. "She tried to leave me. She lied and deceived me. She deserves to be punished."

Before Hans could respond, Johann entered the dining room, his steps unsteady and his face pale from the effects of last night's indulgence. He groaned, rubbing his temples as he took in the tense atmosphere. "Why does everyone look so tense?" he asked, his voice rough. "What did I miss last night?"

Elisabeth's eyes flicked to Karl, a hint of satisfaction in her gaze. "There was a bit of excitement after you retired, Johann," she said, her tone carefully neutral. "But it's being handled."

Johann raised an eyebrow, looking between Karl and Hans with curiosity. "Handled? What happened?"

Karl's jaw tightened as he spoke. "My wife attempted to leave me. She will be confined to her room until further notice."

Johann's eyes widened, a mix of surprise and concern crossing his features. "She tried to leave? Why on earth would she do that?"

Karl's gaze was cold and unyielding. "Because she is unhappy, Johann. But that does not give her the right to deceive and betray me. She will stay in her room until she learns her place."

Johann opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it, closing it again. He knew better than to argue with Karl when he was in this state. Instead, he took his seat at the table, his mind racing with the implications of what he had just heard.

Elisabeth, sensing the opportunity to solidify her position, leaned forward slightly, her voice soft and sympathetic. "Karl, if there's anything I can do to help, please let me know. I want to support you in any way I can."

Karl nodded, his expression softening slightly as he looked at her. "Thank you, Elisabeth. Your loyalty means a great deal to me."

Hans, still standing nearby, exchanged a worried glance with Johann. The tension in the room was palpable, and it was clear that the situation was far from resolved. The household had been plunged into a state of uncertainty, and the path ahead was fraught with challenges for everyone involved.

Meanwhile, you slowly woke up from your sleep, memories of last night coming back to you in a disorienting rush. Sitting up, you looked around the room, noticing that Karl was no longer there. Mouse, on the other hand, continued to sleep peacefully, curled up on the bed. You sighed, feeling a mix of relief and frustration as you realized Karl had likely locked the door behind him.

You got out of bed, your thoughts a whirlwind of anger and regret. You had been so close to freedom, only to have it snatched away at the last moment. The memory of Karl's grip on you, his possessive words, and his unyielding anger made your skin crawl. You couldn't shake the image of his face, twisted with a mix of rage and hurt, as he dragged you back to the estate.

As you took a shower, the hot water cascading over your body, you mentally scolded yourself. You should have ridden faster. You should have planned better. The thought of Elisabeth, her betrayal still fresh in your mind, made your blood boil. How could she accuse Liselotte so unjustly? You should never have trusted her.

Karl's blind trust in Elisabeth but not you was like a knife to the heart. A rational part of your mind argued that Karl had no reason to trust you, especially after you lied to him. But you didn't want to be rational at that moment. You were hurt, angry, and trapped in a situation that seemed increasingly hopeless.

Stepping out of the shower, you dried off and dressed in simple, comfortable clothes. You looked at yourself in the mirror, trying to muster some semblance of strength. The sight of your own reflection, the dark circles under your eyes, and the determined set of your jaw, reminded you that you were not defeated. Not yet.

You heard the bedroom door opening before Anna announced her presence. "Madame, I am bringing you breakfast," she said softly, entering with a tray.

You turned from the dressing table, your eyes narrowing with suspicion. "Where is Liselotte?" you asked, your voice sharp.

Anna hesitated, setting the tray down on a small table by the window. "Liselotte is fine, madame," she replied carefully. "She will now help in the kitchen and will no longer serve you directly. Herr Hoffmeister has assigned that task to me."

You frowned, confusion and irritation mixing in your expression. "Why?" you demanded. "Why has Karl made this decision?"

Anna's hesitation was palpable. She avoided your gaze as she straightened the napkin on the tray. "Herr Hoffmeister believes it is best for Liselotte to have different duties," she said finally. "He does not want her near you, fearing that you might plan another escape attempt together."

You felt a surge of anger. "It wasn't Liselotte who helped me escape," you repeated, your voice trembling with frustration. "It was Elisabeth!"

Anna nodded, her expression sympathetic but resigned. "Even if that is true, madame, the boss believes otherwise."

You clenched your fists, trying to contain your growing rage. "This is absurd," you muttered. "I will get ready and speak to Karl. He needs to hear the truth."

Anna's face grew tense, her eyes filled with concern. "Madame, you cannot leave this room," she said softly. "Herr Hoffmeister has forbidden it."

Your eyes widened in shock, the reality of your situation crashing down on you. "What do you mean?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "He's keeping me locked in here?"

Anna nodded sadly. "Yes, madame. Herr Hoffmeister is serious about this. He has ordered that you are to remain in your room until further notice."

The words echoed in your mind, a cold chill settling in your chest. You were trapped, truly trapped, and the man who claimed to love you was the one holding the keys to your prison.

"This can't be happening," you whispered, your voice filled with disbelief and despair. "I can't stay here like this."

Anna stepped closer, her expression gentle but firm. "I'm sorry, madame. I will do my best to make you comfortable. But for now, you must abide by Herr Hoffmeister's orders."

You turned away, unable to look at Anna any longer. The weight of your confinement settled heavily on your shoulders, a mix of fear, anger, and hopelessness swirling within you. The walls of the room seemed to close in, the air thick with the suffocating reality of your captivity.

As Anna quietly left the room, you sank down onto the bed, hugging Mouse tightly. The small comfort of his presence did little to ease the storm of emotions raging within you. You were a prisoner in your own home, bound by the whims of a man who claimed to love you but whose actions spoke of possession and control.

Karl confined himself to his office after breakfast, the heavy oak door closing behind him with a resounding thud. He poured himself a generous measure of whiskey, the amber liquid glinting in the soft morning light that filtered through the room's tall windows. He stared into the glass, his mind replaying the events of the previous night. The hope you had given him, the tentative promise of a new beginning, only to make a fool of him by attempting to run away—it hurt him deeply. Karl didn't accept betrayal. Ever.

He took a long sip of the whiskey, the burn of the alcohol doing little to numb the pain and anger churning inside him. How could you have lied to him so convincingly? He had believed you, dared to hope that things might change, and now he felt like a fool.

There was a knock on the door, interrupting his thoughts. "What is it?" Karl responded harshly, his voice edged with frustration.

The door opened slowly, and Elisabeth entered, her expression tentative. Karl's gaze softened slightly at the sight of her. "What do you want, Elisabeth?" he asked, his tone less severe.

Elisabeth closed the door behind her and stepped into the room, her eyes filled with concern. "I just wanted to see how you were," she replied, her voice gentle.

Karl let out a bitter laugh, swirling the whiskey in his glass. "I'm fine," he said tersely, but his eyes betrayed the lie.

Elisabeth moved closer, her expression sympathetic. "No, you're not," she said softly. "I know you're lying, Karl. Last night was hard on you. I can see it in your eyes."

Karl's grip on the glass tightened, his knuckles turning white. "What do you want me to say, Elisabeth?" he snapped. "That I'm hurt? That I'm angry? That the woman I thought I could finally reach out to tried to leave me in the dead of night?"

Elisabeth's eyes flickered with a mix of guilt and determination. "Maybe it's time to consider letting her go, Karl," she said carefully. "She's not good for you. She's making you miserable. You deserve someone who truly cares for you."

Karl's anger flared at her words, and he slammed the glass down hard on the table, the sound echoing through the room. "Enough!" he barked, his voice a dangerous growl. "I will not hear this from you. I don't need your advice on what to do with my wife."

Elisabeth flinched, but she held her ground. "Karl, please," she pleaded, her voice shaking slightly. "I only want what's best for you. You deserve to be happy."

Karl's eyes blazed with fury as he stood up, towering over Elisabeth. "And you think getting rid of my wife will make me happy?" he spat. "You think giving up on her is the answer? No, Elisabeth. I will not let her go. She is my wife, and she will remain my wife. Do you understand?"

Elisabeth's eyes filled with tears, but she nodded, her voice barely a whisper. "Yes, Karl. I understand."

Karl turned away from her, his hands trembling with anger and hurt. "Leave me," he commanded, his voice cold and unyielding.

Elisabeth hesitated for a moment, her eyes lingering on him with a mix of sorrow and frustration. But she obeyed, quietly leaving the room and closing the door behind her.

Karl stood alone in his office, the silence heavy and oppressive. He picked up the glass of whiskey again, downing the rest of the liquid in one gulp. The burn did nothing to quell the storm raging within him. He had to find a way to make you understand, to make you see that you were his, and there was no escaping that truth. No matter the cost.

Karl didn't know how long he sat in his office drinking, seething with silent anger and sadness. The hours passed slowly, the light in the room shifting as the day wore on. Hans knocked on the door around lunchtime, offering to bring him something to eat, but Karl sent him away with a sharp dismissal. The whiskey provided a bitter solace, its warmth doing little to dull the ache inside him.

Karl sat brooding, the silence of his office punctuated only by the ticking of the clock and the occasional clink of glass against wood. His thoughts were a chaotic mess, swirling with the events of the previous night and the sense of betrayal that gnawed at him. He couldn't believe how you had deceived him, how you had shattered the fragile hope he had held onto.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Karl straightened, the interruption pulling him out of his thoughts. "Come in," he barked, his voice rough.

The door opened, and Anna stepped inside, her expression a mix of concern and determination. Karl's eyes narrowed as he looked at her. "What is it, Anna?" he demanded, his patience thin.

Anna took a deep breath, her eyes meeting his with a steady resolve. "Herr Hoffmeister, madame has refused to eat both breakfast and lunch," she stated, her tone firm yet respectful.

Karl felt a surge of anger rise within him, and he stood up abruptly, staggering slightly from the effects of the whiskey. "What is she planning now?" he muttered, his voice laced with frustration. "Starve herself to get rid of me? Does she hate me that much?"

Your words from the previous night echoed in his mind, the disdain and contempt cutting deep. "Fat old man," you had called him. The memory stung, fueling his anger further.

Anna stepped in front of him, her expression pleading. "Herr Hoffmeister, she's very sad that she can't leave the bedroom," she said gently. "Please, consider her feelings."

Karl ignored her, pushing past Anna as he stormed towards the door. "I don't care," he growled. "She will eat, whether she wants to or not."

Anna followed him, her voice filled with concern. "Herr Hoffmeister, this isn't the way to handle things. Forcing her won't help."

But Karl barely heard her, his mind consumed with the determination to confront you. He reached the bedroom door, unlocking it with a swift motion and pushing it open, ready to unleash his fury.

But the sight that met his eyes stopped him in his tracks. You were sitting by the window, hugging your knees close to your chest, tears streaming down your face. You looked broken, defeated.

For a moment, Karl's anger faltered, replaced by a pang of sorrow and guilt. He took a hesitant step forward, his voice softening. "[Your Name]," he said quietly, his tone a mix of frustration and something gentler. "You need to eat."

You looked up, your tear-streaked face filled with pain and defiance. "I don't want to eat," you replied, your voice trembling. "What's the point? I'm a prisoner here."

Karl's heart clenched at your words, the raw emotion in your voice cutting through his anger. He moved closer, his eyes filled with a mixture of determination and desperation. "You are not a prisoner," he insisted, though the words felt hollow even to him. "You are my wife. I want to take care of you."

You shook your head, wiping the tears from your face and straightening your posture, determined not to let Karl see your vulnerability. "You don't understand," you whispered. "I feel trapped. Suffocated."

Karl reached out, trembling as he gently touched your shoulder. But you flinched, standing up and moving away from him. The sight of your retreating form, the rejection, ignited a fresh wave of anger within him.

"I said you need to eat," he ordered, his voice sharp.

"I won't," you replied, your tone taking on a challenging edge. "Not unless you let me out of this bedroom." your sadness dissipated in the heat of the confrontation.

Karl's eyes narrowed, his fists clenching at his sides. "You have no right to demand anything," he snapped. "You will eat, and you will stay in this room."

You shook your head, your resolve unwavering. "I won't eat unless I can leave this room and have Liselotte serve me again."

Karl's face twisted with fury. "That's not going to happen," he growled. "You will eat, or there will be consequences."

"I don't care," you shot back, your voice filled with steely determination. "If you don't let me out, I won't eat. Not ever."

Karl's fists clenched tighter, his knuckles turning white. He was torn between his anger and a deep, unsettling worry. "You're a difficult woman," he muttered, his voice barely audible.

"And you're a cruel man," you replied, your eyes meeting his with defiance. "But I won't be broken by you."

The tension between you was palpable, a silent battle of wills that neither of you was willing to lose. Karl's anger simmered beneath the surface, but a flicker of something else—an unwilling admiration for your unyielding spirit—crept into his mind.

Karl's fists unclenched slowly as he took a deep breath, his eyes locked onto yours. The tension in the room was palpable, but there was a glimmer of reluctant understanding in his gaze. He stepped closer, his voice low and measured.

"Fine," he said finally, the words heavy with reluctance. "You can leave this bedroom and Liselotte can serve you again. But you must swear to me that you will not try to escape anymore."

You looked at him, your eyes wide with surprise and a hint of suspicion. "And if I don't?" you asked cautiously.

Karl's eyes darkened, his jaw tightening. "If you try to escape again," he said, his voice low and threatening, "I will fire Liselotte. And this time, there will be no reprieve."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you weighed his words. The prospect of freedom, even within the confines of the estate, was too tempting to resist. You nodded slowly, meeting his gaze with a mixture of defiance and resignation. "I swear," you said softly. "I won't try to escape."

Karl's expression softened slightly, though the intensity in his eyes remained. "Good," he murmured, stepping closer until he was mere inches from you. "Because I can't bear the thought of losing you. You're mine, and you always will be."

You were irritated by Karl's possessive words. You were not a possession, an object that people could possess. "I'm not yours, Karl," you said, your voice trembling with frustration and anger. "I am a person with my own thoughts, feelings, and desires. You can't just claim me like some object."

But Karl didn't even seem to hear you. His eyes were fixed on your lips, a dark intensity simmering in his gaze that you didn't notice while you continued to lecture him. The anger and defiance in your voice only seemed to fuel his desire, the raw, untamed emotions stirring something primal within him.

"Karl, you need to understand," you continued, unaware of the shift in his demeanor. "You can't control me, no matter how much you try. I will never be truly yours."

Karl's breathing grew heavier, his gaze unwavering as he stepped closer, the space between you growing smaller with each passing moment. His eyes roved over your face, lingering on your lips, and for a moment, the world around him faded away.

Without warning, Karl closed the remaining distance between you, his hand reaching up to cup the back of your neck. His grip was firm, almost possessive, as he pulled you closer, his lips capturing yours in a fierce, demanding kiss. The shock of his sudden action left you breathless, your anger momentarily forgotten in the heat of the moment.

The intensity of his kiss sent a jolt of electricity through you, a mix of anger, confusion, and an unexpected surge of desire. You tried to push him away, but his grip only tightened, his other hand moving to your waist, pulling you flush against his body. The raw passion in his touch was undeniable, and despite your anger, you couldn't help but respond, your body betraying you as you kissed him back.

Karl's lips moved with a hunger, a desperate need that mirrored the turmoil within him. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, demanding entry, and you found yourself parting your lips, allowing him to deepen the kiss. The taste of him was intoxicating, a heady mix of whiskey and something uniquely his. The sensations overwhelmed you, the feel of his lips, the heat of his body pressed against yours, igniting a fire that you had tried so hard to suppress.

Suddenly, the two of you were interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat. Startled, Karl broke away from the kiss, turning to see Anna standing in the doorway, her face struggling to maintain a neutral expression as a suppressed smile played on her lips.

You blushed furiously, stepping back from Karl and wiping your lips with the back of your hand. "How dare you kiss me without my permission?!" you exclaimed, your voice shaking with a mix of anger and embarrassment. "You're indecent!"

Karl smiled slightly, an infuriatingly confident expression on his face. "You kissed me back," he stated calmly, his eyes locked onto yours with a smug glint.

"That's a lie!" you shot back, your cheeks burning. You glanced at Anna, who quickly averted her gaze, trying to maintain her composure.

Mouse, sensing the tension, barked sharply from the bed. You moved to pick him up, cradling the small puppy in your arms as if seeking comfort. Mouse's presence provided a small measure of solace, his soft fur soothing against your skin.

Karl's smile widened as he watched you with an air of satisfaction. "You can deny it all you want," he said softly, his voice tinged with amusement. "But we both know the truth."

You glared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. "You're impossible," you muttered, turning your attention to Mouse, who licked your cheek in an attempt to comfort you.

Anna, sensing the need to diffuse the tension, stepped forward. "Herr Hoffmeister," she said gently, "perhaps it's best to give Madame some space for now."

Karl glanced at Anna, his expression briefly flickering with annoyance before he nodded. "Very well," he said, his voice still carrying an undertone of authority. He turned back to you, his gaze softening slightly. "Remember what I said. You stay in the house, and Liselotte can continue serving you."

You didn't respond, your focus remaining on Mouse. The room fell into an awkward silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily in the air. Karl sighed softly, running a hand through his hair before turning to leave.

As he walked past Anna, he paused, his voice low but firm. "Make sure she eats," he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Anna nodded, her expression serious. "Of course, Herr Hoffmeister."

With one last glance at you, Karl exited the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The tension in the room eased slightly, but the lingering effects of the encounter remained. You sank down onto the bed, holding Mouse close as you tried to steady your racing thoughts.

Anna moved quietly to the tray, arranging the food with a gentle touch. "Madame," she said softly, her voice filled with compassion, "please, you must eat something."

You looked up at her, your eyes filled with a mix of frustration and resignation. "I don't know what to do, Anna," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I feel so trapped."

Anna's eyes softened with sympathy as she sat beside you on the bed. "I know, madame," she said gently. "But you must stay strong. Take it one day at a time. And remember, you are not alone."

You nodded, grateful for her kindness. The road ahead seemed daunting, filled with uncertainty and challenges. But for now, you took comfort in the small act of defiance, knowing that you still had your spirit, your loyalty to Liselotte, and the love of a small, loyal puppy.

Anna then got up, ordering you to eat while she would call Liselotte to help you prepare for dinner later. You were excited at the prospect and placed Mouse on the floor, who ran to play with his ball that was in the corner of the bedroom while you picked up your plate to eat your lunch. The warm food provided a small comfort, and you realized how hungry you had been after the emotional turmoil of the past day.

As you ate, Anna left the room quietly, her soft footsteps barely audible. You savored each bite, the simple act of eating bringing a sense of normalcy back to your life. The thought of seeing Liselotte again lifted your spirits, and you found yourself looking forward to the evening despite the lingering tension with Karl.

After finishing your meal, you set the plate aside and watched Mouse chase his ball around the room, his playful antics bringing a smile to your face. There was a knock on the door, and you called out, "Come in." Your heart lifted when you saw Liselotte enter, her familiar presence a balm to your troubled mind. You stood up, moving to embrace her, but she remained at the door, bowing slightly with a professional demeanor.

"Liselotte," you began, your voice filled with emotion, "I'm so glad to see you."

Liselotte's expression was neutral, her eyes not meeting yours. "Madame," she replied formally, "how may I assist you today?"

You felt your enthusiasm deflate, understanding the reason for her coldness. She had every right to be upset, having been wrongly accused and almost losing her job. The guilt weighed heavily on you, but you were determined not to lose her friendship.

"Liselotte, I'm truly sorry for what happened," you said earnestly, stepping closer. "I never meant for you to get involved or to put your job at risk. You mean a great deal to me."

Liselotte remained silent, her posture rigid. "I understand, madame," she said after a moment, her tone clipped. "But it was a difficult situation. I have worked here for many years, and my loyalty has always been to the household."

"I know," you replied, your voice softening. "And your loyalty is something I value deeply. Please, forgive me. I never wanted to cause you any harm."

Liselotte's eyes finally met yours, and you saw a flicker of emotion there—hurt, anger, and perhaps a trace of understanding. "It was a close call," she admitted, her voice quieter. "I have never been accused of something like that before."

You nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat. "I promise it won't happen again. You are more than just a servant to me, Liselotte. You are my friend."

There was a long silence as Liselotte studied you, her expression softening just a little. "I hope you mean that, madame," she said finally. "Because friendship is built on trust and honesty, and that has to go both ways."

"I do mean it," you assured her, taking her hand in yours. "I need your friendship now more than ever."

Liselotte nodded slowly, a small smile appearing at the corners of her lips. "Thank you, madame. Your friendship means a lot to me," she said softly.

You returned her smile, feeling a genuine warmth towards her. "I'm glad we can trust each other, Liselotte. We need to stick together in this house."

Liselotte's eyes sparkled with a mix of relief and gratitude. "I agree, madame. It's been difficult, but knowing we have each other makes it more bearable."

Her words reassured you, and you felt a renewed sense of determination. "We will get through this, Liselotte. Together."

Liselotte hesitated for a moment, then asked, "Madame, was it really Elisabeth who helped you escape?"

The mention of Elisabeth's name made your blood boil, and your expression hardened. "Yes, it was Elisabeth," you replied, your voice laced with anger. "She helped me escape and had the audacity to lie and accuse you unfairly."

Liselotte's eyes widened in surprise and disbelief. "How could she do such a thing?" she said, her voice trembling slightly.

"Because she's manipulative and selfish," you replied bitterly. "But she made a mistake by lying about you. Now she has made an enemy of me."

Liselotte looked at you, a mix of admiration and hope in her eyes. "Thank you, madame. Your support means everything to me."

You nodded firmly, your determination strengthening as you let go of Liselotte's hands. "I will take revenge on Elisabeth," you declared, your voice resolute.

Liselotte watched you with a mixture of concern and curiosity. "How will you do that, madame?" she asked softly.

You blushed a little, feeling a rush of uncertainty. "I'm not entirely sure yet," you admitted. "But I will find a way."

Liselotte thought for a moment, then a mischievous glint appeared in her eyes. "If Elisabeth likes Herr Hoffmeister so much, why don't you use his devotion to you to upset her?" she suggested.

The memory of Karl's kiss flashed through your mind, making you blush even more. You shook your head, trying to dismiss the thought. "It's a good suggestion," you conceded, "but I don't want to give Karl false hope. It would only complicate things further."

Liselotte nodded, understanding your hesitation. "Very well, madame," she said, a small smile playing on her lips. "Then let us make you beautiful for dinner tonight. If we can't use Herr Hoffmeister directly, we can at least make Elisabeth jealous and ensure that Karl can't take his eyes off you."

You smiled at Liselotte's enthusiasm, feeling a spark of excitement at the prospect. "Alright," you agreed, standing up. "Let's do it."

Liselotte led you to the vanity, her hands deftly arranging your hair and selecting the perfect accessories to complement your features. As she worked, you felt a sense of camaraderie and support, knowing that you weren't alone in this struggle.

Liselotte’s skillful hands worked quickly as she finished arranging your hair, a delicate yet sophisticated style that framed your face beautifully. She then selected a deep burgundy dress from your wardrobe, its rich color and elegant design accentuating your figure in a way that was both understated and alluring. The fabric felt luxurious against your skin as Liselotte helped you into the dress, adjusting the fit to perfection.

When you were finally ready, Liselotte stepped back, her eyes filled with pride. “You look stunning, madame,” she said softly, a smile playing on her lips.

You glanced at your reflection in the mirror, surprised by the transformation. There was a certain confidence in your appearance that hadn’t been there before, a reminder that even in the midst of your confinement, you still had control over how you presented yourself. “Thank you, Liselotte,” you replied, returning her smile. “I feel ready.”

With that, Liselotte accompanied you to the dining room. As you approached, you could hear the clinking of cutlery and the murmur of voices from within. Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the door and entered the room.

Karl, Johann, and Elisabeth were already seated at the table. Johann was engrossed in his meal, while Elisabeth picked at her food, her expression thoughtful. Karl, however, hadn’t touched his plate. As you stepped into the room, his gaze immediately locked onto you, his eyes widening slightly in surprise.

For a moment, there was silence as Karl took in your appearance. The flicker of admiration in his eyes was unmistakable, and you could feel his gaze lingering on you as you moved towards the table. Despite the tension between you, there was an undeniable connection, a pull that neither of you could fully ignore.

Determined to maintain some distance, you deliberately chose a seat further away from Karl, hoping to avoid any direct confrontation. However, the moment you sat down, Karl's expression darkened, his earlier anger and resentment, briefly softened by the kiss, came rushing back. He gestured sharply toward the chair beside him. "Come here and sit next to me," he commanded, his voice calm yet leaving no room for disagreement.

You hesitated, your heart pounding. The last thing you wanted was to sit so close to him after the kiss. “I’d prefer to sit here,” you replied, your tone polite but firm.

Karl’s eyes narrowed, and his voice took on a dangerous edge. “That wasn’t a request,” he stated, the words carrying a weight that made the air in the room feel heavier. The lightness of the earlier conversation evaporated, replaced by a tension that gripped everyone at the table.

The room fell silent, the atmosphere charged with a palpable sense of unease. Johann paused mid-bite, his fork hovering in the air as he looked between you and Karl, sensing the shift in the dynamic. Elisabeth’s eyes darted nervously from you to Karl, her expression betraying her discomfort.

You stopped, the force of Karl’s tone catching you off guard. He had never spoken to you like this before, and it was clear that something had changed within him since your attempted escape. The authority in his voice was unsettling, a stark reminder of the power he held over you.

Slowly, you rose from your seat, your movements deliberate as you made your way to the chair beside Karl. The silence in the room was suffocating, every eye on you as you reluctantly took the seat he had indicated. The distance you had tried to maintain was now gone, and you could feel the intensity of his presence beside you, an overwhelming force that seemed to dominate the space.

Karl didn’t speak for a moment, his gaze fixed on you. The tension in the air was thick, the unspoken words hanging between you like a dark cloud. Finally, he leaned in slightly, his voice low but firm. “You will sit beside me from now on,” he said, his tone brooking no dissent. “Do you understand?”

You weren’t intimidated by Karl’s tone. Instead of answering him, you pushed your chair as far away from him as you could, maintaining your silence. The scrape of the chair’s legs against the wooden floor echoed loudly in the tense room, causing everyone at the table to flinch.

Karl’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing at your defiance. His patience, already worn thin, snapped. Without a word, he reached down and grabbed the leg of your chair, forcefully pulling it back toward him. The sudden motion made the chair lurch violently, causing you to gasp in surprise as you were abruptly brought closer to him. The noise of the chair scraping against the floor was harsh and grating, the sound amplifying the tension that already hung heavy in the air.

"Enough of this nonsense," Karl growled, his voice low and dangerously controlled. His grip on the chair was unyielding, his eyes boring into yours with a mix of anger and something darker, more possessive. "You will sit beside me as my wife. This is not up for discussion."

His words, spoken with such finality, sent a shiver down your spine. There was no doubt in his voice, no room for negotiation. Despite the kiss earlier softening him a little, Karl was still deeply hurt and angry over your attempt to flee. The betrayal he felt was evident in his every action, and the raw emotion simmering beneath the surface was both frightening and overwhelming.

You stared back at him, your heart pounding in your chest, but you refused to let him see your fear. Your eyes met his with defiance, though the close proximity made it difficult to maintain your composure. "You can force me to sit here," you said quietly, your voice steady despite the tension, "but you can’t force me to accept this."

Karl’s expression darkened, a flicker of something akin to pain crossing his features before being replaced by cold resolve. "You can pretend all you want," he murmured, his tone low and edged with frustration, "but you will learn to accept your place by my side. You are my wife, and nothing will change that."

The finality in his voice was suffocating, his words a chilling reminder of the control he exerted over your life. The power dynamic between you was stark and inescapable, and the reality of your situation pressed down on you like a weight.

Elisabeth shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her eyes darting between you and Karl with a mixture of anxiety and something else—satisfaction, perhaps, at seeing you so clearly under Karl’s thumb. Johann, on the other hand, looked deeply uneasy, his brow furrowed as he watched the exchange, clearly disapproving of Karl’s behavior but unwilling to speak out against it.

Despite the oppressive atmosphere, you maintained your silence, determined not to give Karl the satisfaction of seeing you falter. You focused on the meal in front of you, forcing yourself to take small bites even though your appetite had all but vanished. The taste of the food was bland in your mouth, your mind too occupied with the implications of Karl’s words to truly register the flavors.

Karl’s presence beside you was suffocating, his proximity a constant reminder of the power he held over you. His hand, still resting on the leg of your chair, served as a physical manifestation of his control, and you could feel the tension radiating from him in waves.

As the meal continued in tense silence, you couldn’t help but reflect on the events that had led you to this moment. Your failed escape, Karl’s furious pursuit, the kiss that had left you confused and unsettled—everything had culminated in this power struggle, and it was clear that Karl had no intention of relinquishing his hold on you.

But even as you sat there, outwardly compliant, your mind was already working on your next move. Karl might have won this battle, but the war was far from over. You would bide your time, gathering your strength and waiting for the right moment to strike back. This wasn’t over, not by a long shot.

For now, though, you had to play the part of the obedient wife, at least outwardly. You allowed Karl to believe he had the upper hand, even as your resolve hardened. You would survive this, and you would find a way to regain your freedom, no matter what it took.

Karl, for his part, seemed to sense the undercurrent of defiance still lingering within you, and though he didn’t say anything further, his grip on the chair remained firm, a silent reminder of his control. The atmosphere in the dining room remained thick with tension, and though the meal continued, it was clear that nothing had truly been resolved.

Karl finally let go of the chair, his fingers uncurling slowly as he hesitated, his hand hovering just above your thigh. For a brief moment, he seemed torn, wanting to reach out to you, to establish some physical connection, but the memory of your earlier defiance flashed in his mind. The thought of you swatting his hand away in front of everyone stopped him cold. With a quiet sigh, he withdrew his hand, placing it back on the table. His eyes remained fixed on you as you took small, measured bites of your food, which had been placed in front of you by an employee.

The atmosphere in the room remained tense, with the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. Karl watched you closely, his brow furrowing as he noted the slow, almost reluctant way you ate. After a few moments, he couldn’t hold back his frustration any longer.

"Why aren't you eating properly?" Karl's voice was low, his tone carrying a mixture of irritation and genuine concern.

You glanced at him, your expression cool and defiant. "I could ask you the same," you replied, your voice edged with subtle humor.

Karl blinked, caught off guard by your retort. His gaze flickered down to his own plate, where the food remained untouched. He hadn’t even noticed that he hadn’t taken a single bite. With a quiet, self-deprecating sigh, he acknowledged the truth in your words.

"You’re right," Karl admitted, his voice softer now, tinged with a reluctant understanding. "But I still want you to eat properly." His tone held a trace of the old authority, but the anger that had fueled his earlier outburst was noticeably absent.

You shrugged slightly, still playing with the food on your plate. "I had lunch late," you explained, though there was a hint of irritation in your voice. "That's why I'm not very hungry now."

Across the table, Elisabeth’s fork paused mid-air, her knuckles tightening slightly as she overheard the exchange. Her eyes darted between you and Karl, a flicker of jealousy darkening her features as she took in the surprisingly soft tone Karl had adopted with you. She forced a smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Karl, however, seemed oblivious to Elisabeth's reaction. His focus remained solely on you, his eyes searching your face for any sign of the vulnerability he’d glimpsed earlier. The kiss in the bedroom had softened something within him, but the sting of your attempted escape still lingered, a raw wound that refused to heal. He wanted to reach out, to mend the growing rift between you, but pride and anger held him back.

He watched as you continued to take small, disinterested bites, and his own appetite seemed to vanish entirely. "Fine," he said quietly, conceding the point. "But from now on, try to eat at the proper times."

You gave a noncommittal nod, your attention turning back to your plate, but the brief exchange had shifted something between you, lightening the tension just a little.

As the meal continued, the earlier tension slowly dissipated, though it never quite vanished. Karl remained quiet, his thoughts clearly elsewhere, while you focused on finishing your meal, your mind already planning your next move.

Elisabeth, on the other hand, couldn’t quite hide the frustration bubbling beneath her composed exterior. She picked at her food, her thoughts clouded with jealousy as she watched the subtle, almost tender way Karl interacted with you. It was a side of him she rarely saw, and the realization gnawed at her, feeding her resentment.

In the corner of the room, Johann finally cleared his throat, attempting to break the lingering tension. "So," he began awkwardly, glancing between the three of you, "perhaps we should discuss something more pleasant. The weather has been quite nice lately, hasn’t it?"

The mundane comment was met with silence, but the absurdity of it finally broke through the tension. You couldn’t help but let out a small, involuntary laugh, the sound light and almost surprised. Karl’s lips twitched, the ghost of a smile playing on his face as he shook his head at Johann’s clumsy attempt at humor.

The moment passed quickly, but it left a lingering sense of normalcy, a reminder that not everything between you and Karl had to be a battle. It was a small, fleeting victory, but in the midst of everything, it felt like a step in the right direction.

#alan rickman #alan rickman x reader #karl hoffmeister x reader #a promise

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kingcons · 2 months ago

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The substance is the most upsetting movie of the year to me. Full disclosure, this isn’t any ground breaking stuff you’re about to read, just me writing down my thoughts. Most of which have probably been said before by now. But it you want to read my ramblings, here ya go:

Spoilers for the whole movie below. If you haven’t seen this movie and like extreme horror (specifically body horror) please watch it. It’s fantastic and possibly my new favorite movie.

Sue and Elizabeth both deserved a chance at happiness. That is the thing that kills me about that movie. Under all the gore and grimness and camp it’s just so fucking sad.

Anything one does to the other is just them doing it to themselves. You can try to kill the part of you that hurts or fails or is ugly or weak or older or more scarred or not as nice - but it’s part of you. You are one, as the movie says over and over. This is such a tragic movie to me.

Aging is body horror. This is partly because of societal pressures and toxic beauty standards, but it’s also a slow crawl to death. It’s watching something you need to live break down and fall apart in front of your eyes and not being able to permanently fix it. Death is an inevitability that comes for us all, but aging can be worse for some. When we die, whatever may happen to our soul or if anything even happens at all, it’ll happen whether we want it to or not. There’s nothing to fear in the inevitable, but there’s also no reason to rush what may be your only shot at existence. And if you do want to live a long filled life, you have to accept that aging is a part of it.

Elisabeth being so desperate for perfection and for her career back is a story that’s as old as time. It’s not really her fault she was pushed to use the substance, but it is her responsibility that she fully carried out making a new ‘better’ version of herself. She doesn’t really have any friends or family more than that, just a big luxury apartment with a giant picture of herself at her peak. It stares at her all the time, and it’s what she tried to be everyday. But even as Sue, suddenly that wasn’t even enough. She needed to be better and more beautiful.

It broke my heart when Elisabeth tried to kill sue despite how she ended up looking. She didn’t care anymore, she just wanted to live as pain free as she could. And it was a further tug on my heart strings when she regretted this. Because Elisabeth had accepted sue as a part of herself, and was tired of hurting that part because it was hurting her. She just wanted it to end. She just wanted things to go back to normal and they can’t and it’s all her fault and she literally has no one in the world but her and her ‘more perfect’ self for comfort. And her ‘more perfect’ self then proceeds to brutally kill her.

I know it was mostly to hurt Elisabeth’s feelings but sue’s tv interview where she made up a story of her family is also oddly sad to me. She doesn’t have that. She has memories of Elisabeth’s life, but she has defined herself as a different person now. A person who came into existence in their early to mid twenties combined with the split consciousness of what was essentially her own mother. Of course she’s fucking terrified of switching back. Not only does Elisabeth herself like Sue’s body more, but to switch would mean she’s no longer in control and it would mean having to live in a decrepit and dying body who she herself has twisted beyond recognition. Then for Sue to be almost killed by her own giver of life (herself), lash out and try to kill the part of her who is unloved, and realizing that part of her even from after death is having the last laugh almost, as she literally falls apart piece by piece on what was supposed to be a magical night just for her.

Of course, we have to talk about their final form. Monstero Elisasue. Quick side note, I honestly don’t think Sue was stupid or irresponsible for using the activator even though it warned it was for single use. I think literally anyone in her shoes would do the same thing. She was breaking down in front of her very eyes and dying in such a slow and horrible way that she was desperate to do anything to stop it - to do anything to still be beautiful. She was in a crisis both physically and mentally.

Back on track, I think there’s definitely something to be said about although this was never meant to happen, the substance still made this in an attempt to create ‘a better version of both Sue and Elisabeth’. And it IS. not physically, of course, but emotionally this is when they finally accept themselves as one person and love themselves again. It’s so sad to me because elisasue was not evil or violent, but because she looked so horrific, it didn’t matter that she was happy to the crowd. They were terrified of her and killed her. Elisasue is not a monster, despite looking like one. She’s a new being. A copy of a copy. When she says “it’s still me” it breaks my heart because she genuinely thought she’d be accepted and loved just the same but instead she was met with violence and fear. She lived for only a few hours, and in that time she was shown nothing but hatred. Because it didn’t matter that she was happy, it only mattered that she couldn’t make money anymore. That is of course reading into the symbolism, the reality of what happened showed some understandable reactions even if they weren’t kind. Being disgusted and terrified of elisasue is pretty reasonable given how she looks and just what she is. I’m not saying she’s gonna win any modeling competitions any time soon. But I am saying that she finally figured out there was more to life than looks and youth and fitness and that, right there, is what thematically gets her killed.

At the end with her on the star, I felt almost relief for the first time watching that movie. She’s genuinely happy. She doesn’t care that she’s literally just a face and some fleshy tendrils, she’s truly happy and at peace. I don’t even know if she’s aware she’s dying at that point or if she just doesn’t care. Maybe she can’t comprehend it because her new form is so different from her first one. She dies after melting into her stardom. She gave everything to her career and it gave her nothing back. But at the very end, she’s at peace. She’s finally who she wants to be without the pain of toxic beauty standards. And she just fades away, like the universe finally decided she’d suffered enough for being human.

There’s a lot I could talk about with cinematography, music, sound design, lighting and practical effects, but I’ll do that another time. This is just me talking about my thoughts on the story and characters.

I rate this movie:

9/10. The only reason it’s not 10 is because I think the origin and creation of the substance is a bit poorly explained. However, that’s such a small detail that it doesn’t offend me. Also because I HATED the nail in the elevator scene that made me cringe. But yeah, this movie fucks hard. If you think you have the stomach for it, do not miss out. It’s very hard hitting and surprisingly sad. It blends crazy body horror with tragedy quite well.

very reminiscent of the fly, Raw/grave, it follows, the thing and even somewhat doctor who (anyone remember the eleventh doctor two part episode ‘the flesh’?) Demi Moore and Margaret Qualley are phenomenally talented. I am desperate for them to do horror or drama in future, they fucking killed it. Such talent and skill. Bravo. Coralie Fargeat is a very very good director, too. This idea and execution for this movie were wild and brilliant and awful and terrible all at the same time. She’s a true artist and I hope she does a lot more fucked up things in future.

#the substance #spoilers #the substance spoilers #movie review

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irisbleufic · 5 months ago

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Of all the current Devil’s Minion writers your playlist is the one I want to see. Do you have one? If not, are there particular songs you’ve been listening into to while you write? The vibe of your prose with them is hypnotizing like the short story about them in the books, it’s impressive, and does your music also inform this choice if at all?

Intense question, anon. Fourteen-year-old me fucking hyperventilated after reading the DM chapter in Queen of the Damned (me, on the floor of my bedroom at 3am because I don’t want to get caught reading this book, staring dazed at the ceiling; me, now, three weeks ago, sitting shellshocked on the sofa after watching S1 and S2 over two days as a binge; me, over two of those weeks following the binge, rereading the first half of the Chronicles and starting to see double, tilt the prism, see what happens when the narratives are overlaid and blurred), and it still feels like that. Likely my prose turning out the way it is in these stories is about 90% my giddy teenage self having access to my adult self’s writing experience to finally write this beloved pairing without fear of litigious letters (IYKYK, my fellow elder Millennials in the fandom). I don’t often love film and TV adaptations of my favorite books, but I adore this show. It’s flawlessly transformative; its improvements only make the resonances and overlaps that much more meaningful. No notes.

However, I have been listening to the same small handful of songs on repeat for 6 days as I write these pieces. I imagine they are affecting my sense of scansion at points; my writing life didn’t begin with fiction, it began with years of poetry before I ever tried prose. These tracks are as meaningful to me as poems as they are songs. It’s as good a starting point for a playlist as any; I’ll keep adding and put it together on Spotify at some point.

1. Vesuvius - Sufjan Stevens

Vesuvius, I am here

You are all I have

Fire of fire, I'm insecure

for it is all been made to plan

Though I know I will fail

I cannot be made to laugh

for in life as in death

I'd rather be burned

than be living in debt

This song was my entire first 72 hours of writing. I’m that Autistic weirdo who will listen to a single song on repeat for a month and think nothing of it. Villa of the Mysteries in Pompeii being the nexus point of their love story from beginning to end in QotD, this is everything to me; I was never going to be able to write about the show incarnation of them without integrating this location and this imagery in the most reverent love letter I know how. This is why my series title for these stories is Caldera. Volcanic crater blowout if ever I saw one; I ran with it.

2. I Forget Where We Were - Ben Howard

Hello love, my invincible friend; hello, love, the thistle and the burr. For you, I have so many words—and I, I forget where we were. I haven’t known this song for all that long in the grand scheme, but it found me via Spotify shuffle in 2022 right after something awful happened. The longing in this song hinges on one of the lovers in it waking up to something they’ve forgotten about their relationship, something precious, and I’m thrilled to finally have a fandom application for it.

3. Make You Better - The Decemberists

I sung you your twinges

I suffered you your tattle-tales

and when you broke sideways

I wanted you, I needed you, oh

to make me better

Oh, to make me better

But we're not so starry-eyed anymore

like the perfect paramour you were in your letters

And won't it all just come around to make you

let it all un-break you to the day that you met her

No excuse for this one; it does a great job of speaking for itself. Front-man Colin Meloy is one of my all-time favorite songwriters, and his work is frequently dark, creepy, and/or gothic enough in flavor that I could find a few more.

4. Song to the Siren - Elisabeth Fraser & This Mortal Coil

On the floating shipless oceans

I did all my best to smile

till your singing eyes and fingers

drew me loving to your isle

and you sang, “Sail to me,

sail to me, let me enfold you—

here I am, here I am,

waiting to hold you.”

This cover of Tim Buckley’s folk masterpiece completely transforms the vibe of the song, and in the kind of way you need for this pairing. This one is at responsible for the events and imagery in my “Still Life with Sunken Treasure.”

5. Hal - Yasmine Hamdan, Only Lovers Left Alive OST

لأ ما أقدرشي

لأ مش ممكن

لأ ما أقدرشي

لأ مش ممكن

يا عزيزة اطلعي

لأ ما أقدرشي

يا حبيبتي شرّفي

لأ ما أقدرشي

وطلعت يا ناس، مغلوبة يا ناس

يا عزيزة اتريحي

لأ ما أقدرشي

يا حبيبتي اتلحلحي

لأ ما أقدرشي

وسمعت يا ناس، مغلوبة يا ناس

لأ ما أقدرشي

لأ مش ممكن

لأ ما أقدرشي

لأ مش ممكن

لأ ما أقدرشي

لأ مش ممكن

يا عزيزة اتفرفشي

لأ ما أقدرشي

يا حبيبتي قربي

لأ ما أقدرشي

فرشنا يا ناس، مغلوبة يا ناس

يا عزيزة اقلعي

لأ ما أقدرشي

يا حبيبتي اتجرأي

لأ مش ممكن

شلحنا يا ناس، مغلوبة يا ناس

لأ ما أقدرشي

لأ مش ممكن

لأ ما أقدرشي

لأ مش ممكن

يا عزيزة اتغندريله

يا حبيبتي اتذوقيله

افهمي يا سي��ي مش قادرة

وطبعا تقنعني مش واخدة

ايه يا عزيزة؟

ايه اللي إنتي عملاه ده؟

يا يا يا راجل يا هوه!

مش عيب عليك اختشي ونو

لأ ما أقدرشي

لأ مش ممكن

يا عزيزة اخلعي

لأ ما أقدرشي

يا حبيبتي اتشخلعي

لأ مش ممكن

يا خيبتي يا ناس، مغلوبة يا ناس

يا عزيزة اتبغددي

لأ ما أقدرشي

يا حبيبتي جربي

لأ ما أقدرشي

وجينا يا ناس، غلبنا يا ناس

جينا يا ناس، غلبنا يا ناس

I don’t think the Arabic justified to the correct side when I copied this, but the translation is very easy to find. I don’t speak Arabic, but honestly the English translation is dull compared to the beauty of this language. If you haven’t watched Only Lovers Left Alive, what the hell are you even doing with your vampire-loving, monster-fucking life? All the tracks on it have the right vibe for DM, really.

#iwtv #iwtv s2 #devil's minion #armand x daniel #armandaniel #armand #daniel molloy #interview with the vampire #only lovers left alive

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polyamzeal · 1 year ago

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got any polyam book recs

How many time do I need to reccomend the Smart Girl's Guide To Polyamory by Dedecker Winston! I feel like I never shut up about it and still people have never heard of it! I am just going to create a quick list of all the polyam books I have read. Because when I was first learning about polyamory it felt like you were required to read certain books before you could get your polyamory license yet so many other people haven't read any books! One day I might write out longer reviews for these.

The Ethical Slut: A Practical Guide to Polyamory, Open Relationships & Other Adventures by Dossie Easton and Janet W. Hardy- This is one of the first ever books focused on polyamory. As such it is a bit dated. Despite that I think it is still a good book that people can get a lot out of. Just keep its age in mind.

More Than Two: A Practical Guide to Ethical Polyamory by Franklin Veaux and Eve Rickert - When I started learning about polyamory this was the holy bible of polyamory that everyone insisted that everybody must read. I honestly liked The Ethical Slut better though. Since then though the book has been utterly condemned by the community and people are now very quick to scream how nobody should read this book because Franklin Veaux was revealed to be abusive in his relationships so now suddenly the book is a guide to teach people how to be abusive in relationships. I guess??? Eve Ricket has put out multiple statements about the book about if people should still read it or not but I am sure I will miss something if I dive into that. Like more The Ethical Slut, just keep in mind it might have some problematic aspects. But I personally think there is still some good stuff in it that people might find value in. It has been a while since I read it but I don't remember it being problematic, just a bit dry and boring.

The Smart Girl's Guide To Polyamory by Dedecker Winston - I'm skipping right to this to say this is my favorite polyamory book! It is very unfortunate that that the title isn't great. And indeed it is written to be aimed at women but honestly I found very very little in the book to feel exclusive to women and not apply to me (a cis-male) just as much. I love this book so much that I re-typed up a passage from it, had it printed on a large poster, and framed.

Sex At Dawn: How We Mate, Why We Stray, and What It Means for Modern Relationships by Christopher Ryan and Cacilda Jetha - This is another book that used to be worshipped in polyamory circles and wholehearted reccomended. I am so glad that it is now mostly forgotten. Why? BECAUSE THIS IS NOT A POLYAMORY BOOK! This is a very scientific anti-monogamy book. So I was waiting for all this set-up to talk about why polyamory fixes all these problems of monogamy it has taken so long to explain. Spoilers! Polyamory is only briefly mentioned in the epilogue of the book in a half-hearted, "Maybe this solution works for some people". Let's be clear, this is not a bad book. It is a very good book at using scientific evidence to point out flaws with monogamy and can lead to interesting discussion. But it is not a polyamroy book and shouldn't be recommended as such.

Love's Not Color Blind: Race and Representation in Polyamorous and Other Alternative Communities by Kevin Patterson - Another great book that is highly underrated. But note this is not a Polyamory 101 book. I consider this a "next-level" polyamory book. And to be clear I am white/Caucasian and I learned so much from this book and really love it! It opened my eyes in so many ways.

The Polyamorists Next Door: Inside Multiple-Partner Relationships and Families by Elisabeth Sheff - This isn't a bad book but I also didn't really find it to be a good book either. It feels neither pro-polyamory or anti-polyamory. Just a whole lot of stories and facts. I think it might be most interesting for a monogamous person to read.

Polyamory by Marissa Blake - Worst book I have ever listened to and I am pretty sure it is plagiarized. Been meaning to do a project where I research that claim but just haven't been interested in doing so. it is utter garbage.

The Polyamory Breakup Book: Causes, Prevention, and Survival by Kathy Labriola - Another advanced level polyamory book. But I think an especially important one for everyone to read. When you date more people you have more breakups. And when "cheating" is far less of an issue it is becomes hard to understand when you should breakup.

Polysecure: Attachment, Trauma and Consensual Nonmonogamy by Jessica Fern - The new holy bible of polyamory that everybody in every polyamory group will recommend immediately. It is a good book but honestly I think it is overrated. I think it is aimed at a very certain kind of person struggling with polyamory but it didn't resonate a whole lot with me on a polyamory level. I thought Secure Attachment was very interesting but I felt the actual polyamory aspects of the book were a little lacking to me. I do recommend the book but maybe not as someone's first polyamroy book. I think there are better polyamory 101 books. To note I have not read Polywise yet, the authors sequel book that just came out. I think I have higher hopes for that one though.

Ready For Polyamory by Laura Boyle - Most recent book I read and I had wanted to write a full review but I forgot. This is a fairly good book. I feel like it doesn't stand out much from the other Polyamory 101 books but overall solid. The one place where I give it the most praise is it has the most up-to-date definitions of terms which over the years have evolved and changed over time. The spectrum of polyamory styles I think is especially important for people to read. Older books didn't mention this at all or it was only Parelle VS Kitchen Table. Now we have a much wider spectrum and I often see a common mistake for newbies is for 2 partners to be at different point of the spectrum and never acknowledging it.

Do you know of any polyamory books I missed that I should read? Please let me know!

#polyamory #polyam #nonmonogamy #Books #Reccomendations #Book Reviews #Book

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archduchessofnowhere · 2 months ago

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I think that that Die Kaiserin (and by extension any Sisi media) would be 100% better if it included a plot line of “Sophie had an affair with the Duke of Reichstadt and Maximilian is his son”. Yes it is a questionable theory, but somehow more accurate than some of the real plot lines the show uses.

But just imagine:

- angsty backstory for Sophie, making her more sympathetic

- Sophie liking Maximilian the most, causing FJ to be bitter

- really interesting dynamic between Napoleon III and Maximilian if they’re secretly related

- and of course in this version Maximilian would be liberal, and then perhaps there is conflict of Elisabeth not knowing whether to side with FJ or Maximilian when it comes to politics

Hi! Some years ago I think I talked about this as well, but I don't feel like searching the post jgjgk but yeah I agree!

Mandatory disclaimer: we are talking about a possible fictional plot line in a historically inaccurate tv series, this isn't a discussion as to whether the theory is true or not (which honestly, the answer is 99% likely no lol).

Die Kaiserin is such a weird series to me, because the screenwriters are not only set in being as inaccurate as they can, they for some reason also chose to be inaccurate in the most boring and uncreative way they could think of. The screenwriters decided to make Franz Josef the illegitimate son of Gustav of Vasa, which is just so... bland? To me at least. It adds nothing to FJ's character because he doesn't know this, it adds no tension because no one but Sophie and Vasa seem to know this. And to add insult to injury, Vasa is literally just Some Guy we see for two scenes and never again. What was even the point of this plot line? Like maybe someone will find out next season and this will create some sort of conflict? But even then, it will be a conflict solved before it even starts, because we know that other than malicious gossip, FJ's legitimacy as emperor of Austria was never questioned.

There's a reason for why Maximilian ended up becoming attached to the rumor instead of his elder brother (because in the early form of the rumor FJ was the love child): it just makes for a far better story. It's everything you mentioned, plus the fact that it gives Reichstadt's anticlimatic death an unexpected epilogue: his story ends now with Max's heroic death in Querétaro. Like, even their coffins were originally placed next to each other, the story just writes on its own.

Again, we are not discussing accuracy, we are discussing which one makes for a more fun to watch story. If you are so set on Sophie having an affair and one of her sons being the product of that affair in your show, then why don't you go for the infinitely more interesting plot of "Maximilian is Napoleon II's son, which automatically adds a fascinating layer to his relationship with Napoleon III, which will be important later"? I feel this is a no-brainer, the fact they went for VASA is just baffling to me (and they don't even adapted him properly, he isn't the exiled son of the King of Sweden, cousin of Sophie, he really is just Some Guy!).

Even with their bizarre characterization of Max him being the illegitimate son still makes more sense, like maybe he is Like That because he suspects the truth! Maybe that's why he and his brother don't get along! This is so easy, I legit don't get what's going on in that writing room.

#maybe they just didn't want to explain who reichstadt was? but other than saying he was napoleon's son what else you need to explain jgjgk #asks #die kaiserin (2022)#the empress (2022)

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totowlff · 1 year ago

Text

chapter forty-four — not a baby

➝ elisabeth has a complicated mission ahead of her: finding out what happened to rosi

➝ word count: 2,9k

➝ warnings: mentions of body image and bullying

➝ author’s note: happy birthday to the old man!

JUNE, 2018

As she laid in bed, Elisabeth lightly caressed the small bump just below her navel. It was still too early for the pregnancy to be visibly obvious, however, she could already notice the difference, especially when it came to zipping up her pants.

— Looks like someone finally decided to show up.

She turned her head to see Toto staring at her belly, a wide smile on his face.

— You think? — Elisabeth asked, as he settled into the bed next to her. He placed his hand on her lower abdomen, lightly caressing the fabric of her nightgown with his thumb.— I do — Toto replied — Which means our aprikose is growing.

— The app said they're the size of a pear now — she murmured, placing her hand over his.

— He will always be our aprikose, and you know it. Our beautiful and precious aprikose.

With a smile, Elisabeth brought her face closer to Toto's, placing a delicate kiss on his lips. She loved when they were able to be alone, savoring the intimacy and emotion of sharing a unique and special secret. However, Elisabeth’s joy turned to confusion as she pulled away from him, and Toto’s expression changed to something that looked more worried than happy.

— Are you okay? — she asked softly, bringing a hand to his cheek.

— Yes, I’m fine — Toto replied, forcing a small smile.

— No, I know you’re not. Tell me, what happened?

His expression collapsed again immediately.

— It's Rosi.

Elisabeth could feel her heart sink a bit. Living with Toto for a few years had led to her developing a genuine affection for her stepchildren-to-be, and she felt a faraway pang of guilt for not noticing anything was wrong. Rosi and Bene were both over at the penthouse for the weekend, and all had seemed normal with the kids until then. They both seemed excited to be there, giving Elisabeth hugs and kisses. Rosi had even asked if she was feeling better, as Elisabeth had been having some morning sickness the previous weekend.

— Did something happen to her?

— Stephanie said she’s acting strange — he explained — Quieter than usual, you know?

— Did she ask why?

— Yes, but Rosi didn't say anything, she said it's nothing. But Stephanie is sure that something happened and that she is hiding it from us.

— Did you try to talk to her? Perhaps…

— I did, but she said that I was only asking because her mother told me to and that she didn't want to talk about it — Toto said, snorting — I'm worried, Liesl. What could have happened that she doesn't want to tell us about? Why is she so resistant to talking about it?

— Well, it could be something that she thinks is silly and doesn't want to share so as not to upset you or her mother. It’s a common teenage girl thing — she replied — When I was her age and I was going through some... Problems at school, I didn't want to tell my parents because I was afraid they’d think it was silly.

— Bullying is not something silly, Liesl. And you know you should have told your parents about it at the first opportunity.

— I know, my love, but I didn't want to bother my parents with my teenage dramas...

— These are not teenage dramas, they are valid concerns and you deserved to be heard, just like Rosi does. But she refuses to talk to me or Stephanie...

Elisabeth nodded slightly. She understood what Toto was worried about; She didn’t want to imagine a situation where her child felt afraid to talk to her about anything, especially if it was something serious.

However, at the same time, she understood the way Rosi was likely feeling, having been a teenage girl herself. “Maybe she needs someone who has been in that situation before, who knows how she feels,” she thought.

— I can try to talk to her — Elisabeth murmured.

— Do you want to? — Toto asked.

— Well, maybe she doesn't feel completely comfortable talking to you or Stephanie about it because she’s afraid of how you’ll react. You’re her parents, I’m not.

— You are her stepmother.

— Not yet, but that's not the point — she said — What I want to say is that I'm not a stranger, but I'm not her parent, and maybe she feels more comfortable talking to me because of that. Plus, she knows I had a rough time in school.

— Would you really do that? — he asked softly.

— Like I said, I can try. I cannot guarantee that she will actually open up to me, but maybe I can get more information than she gave you or Stephanie.

Her words seemed to inspire some sort of hope in Toto; Elisabeth could see it in his eyes.

— Thank you, my love — Toto whispered, before placing a soft kiss on her lips.

The next day, early in the morning, they decided to put their plan into action. After getting up and getting dressed, Elisabeth found Rosi sitting on the living room sofa. She was still in her pajamas, scrolling through something on her phone, her expression noticeably passive and almost listless. She looked more like a girl who had just been through several days’ worth of grueling exams, and not one on a weekend without any commitments. Rosi glanced at Elisabeth as she stepped into the living room, looking her up and down as Elisabeth adjusted her earrings. Seeing Elisabeth up and dressed seemed to pique the girl’s curiosity.

— Are you going out, Liesl? — Rosi asked.

— Yeah, I'm going to a store to pick up some clothes I bought. Do you want to come with me?

She sprang from the couch almost immediately and ran to her bedroom, seemingly to change, which calmed Elisabeth’s nerves a bit. After she re-emerged from her bedroom in a pair of dark jeans and a t-shirt, they left the penthouse as Toto watched from the kitchen, giving Elisabeth a wink as she stepped out of the door.

As Elisabeth drove her black Mercedes through the streets of Vienna towards Mariahilf, she managed to get Rosi to talk a bit, but she became noticeably more reserved when Elisabeth asked how school was going.

“I guess the problem really is with school”, she thought, taking the exit off of the expressway that followed the contours of the Donaukanal.

The possibilities of what could have happened at school continued to torment Elisabeth's mind until she parked in front of a store called Imperio. She took a deep breath and smiled at the girl as she turned off the car.

— Shall we go inside?

Elisabeth commented about a cute print in the window display as they stepped inside, and It didn't take long for them to be greeted by a saleswoman, who soon led them to the back of the store to give Elisabeth the bag of clothes she’d ordered.

— There are three dresses, a blouse and two skirts, right? — the woman asked, while checking the invoice with a description of what was there.

— That's right — Elisabeth replied.

While waiting for the saleswoman to check that everything was inside the bag, she looked back and found Rosi looking at some dresses with an unreadable expression. Stepping away from the counter, she approached the girl in silence, watching the way her fingers ran through the fabric.

— Did you like that dress? — she asked.

Rosi looked up, a small smile forced on her lips.

— Yeah, but I don't think it would look good on me.

— Why not?

The girl crossed her arms, looking down.

— Because it wouldn’t, Liesl.

— Do you want to try it on?

— No need — Rosi replied, turning away from the dress and walking towards some blouses that were hanging on the wall. Her reaction made something tighten in Elisabeth's chest. “There’s definitely something wrong”, she thought.

After they left the store, she invited Rosi to go to the café next door, which the girl accepted. However, as soon as they stepped up to the counter to order, Rosi’s demeanor shifted again.

— Do you want the usual double caramel donut? — she asked.

— I won't want anything, Liesl — the girl replied.

Elisabeth blinked.

— Why? I thought you loved it…

— I'm not hungry.

— Rosi, you didn't eat anything this morning.

— Because I'm not hungry.

Giving a sigh, Elisabeth looked at the cafeteria worker.

— I'll have two double caramel donuts. Plus chamomile tea and a cappuccino.

With their drinks and donuts in hand, they sat at one of the tables near the window. The silence between them seemed to last forever as Rosi poked at the caramel glaze with an impassive expression. The scene was so familiar to Elisabeth that it hurt.

— So, who said something to you about your body?

Rosi looked up at her, eyes widening in shock.

— What are you talking about?

— Rosi, I've known you long enough to see that there's something wrong with you — Elisabeth said, placing her hands on the table — And I've been bullied enough to know that, when someone refuses to eat something they've always liked, it's because someone was talking about their body.

— Liesl…

— Who talked about your body, Rosi?

— Nobody — she said, in a low voice.

— Then, you’re thinking bad things about yourself. Tell me, please.

The girl let out a long, heavy sigh, placing her hands in her lap.

— I hate my body.

— Why? — Elisabeth asked, confused — What's wrong with it?

— It's... just… weird.

— My dear, your body is perfectly normal.

— For a child, not a teenager — she murmured, her eyes on the foam dissolving into her cappuccino.

— But, what do you think is wrong with it?

Rosi huffed, frustration clear in her posture.

— I don't have breasts or ass, okay? I'm completely ridiculous, I’m as flat as a board, and it’s frustrating because I’m the only girl who is.

— And how did you come to that conclusion? — Elisabeth asked.

— I have a mirror at home — the girl replied, acid in her voice. However, she limited herself to focusing on the most important issue there.

— But you need a reference to think that your body is not suitable for your age. Was it one of your classmates that said something?

The girl clenched her jaw.

— At swim practice, some of the other girls in the locker room were talking about how they had to buy new swimsuits because the ones they had were getting too tight over their chests, because of their boobs — she replied, her finger circling the rim of the coffee cup in front of her — And that was when I realized that I didn't have to buy new swimsuits because nothing about my body has changed. And I realized that the rest of them are starting to get more curves, they look really grown-up, but I still look like a kid.

Elisabeth smiled bitterly.

— With me it was just the opposite.

— It was?

— I started to develop before the other girls in my class. I was one of the first to get my period, I was the first one to have to buy a bra, — she said, before taking a sip of tea — I never cared about it until I realized that I was different from the other girls. And the worst part was when others noticed and started making fun of me.

Rosi's expression softened.

— But why?

— Because I wasn't thin, I wasn’t very tall, I had pimples, and I had crooked teeth — Elisabeth explained — I was in my ugly duckling stage before anyone else in my class.

— But you’re beautiful. I’ve seen the pictures of you at your dad’s house, you were always so pretty.

She smiled at the girl.

— I appreciate the compliment, but for a long time, I didn't think so. I felt a lot of insecurity, a lot of fear, a lot of sadness. That's exactly what I don't want to happen to you, Rosi.

The girl looked down at the still-uneaten donut.

— But, it’s different…

— No, it’s the same. You're feeling bad about yourself, about your body and you're dealing with it the same way I dealt with it, by shutting down and shutting out the people that care about you, which is the worst way possible. You can tell your mother and father how you feel instead of withdrawing, they’ll understand.

Rosi snorted and shook her head.

— My parents wouldn’t understand, Liesl. They don't take me seriously...

— What do you mean?

— I mean they still see me as a child. They still treat me like a little girl, that I’m too young to worry about these things — she explained — I know I'm the youngest in the family, but... Fuck!

Elisabeth couldn't help but giggle, not because of the outburst or the fact that Rosi had used such coarse language, but because she knew that she was no longer the youngest in the family. “Maybe this is the right time”, she thought.

— You really have no idea how your parents see you, do you?

— I told you, Liesl, they see me as a baby.

— No, I know otherwise. They see you as an intelligent, thoughtful, wonderful young lady who is going through a difficult time and deserves all the affection in the world. And I know they don’t see you as a baby, because you’re no longer the baby of the family.

— But I’m the youngest…

— I know, Rosi, but not for much longer.

As she sipped her tea, Elisabeth could see the gears turning in Rosi's head.

— You mean…

— I'm pregnant.

The girl's eyes widened, her lips parting in shock.

— Are you serious?

— Do you think I would lie to you? — Elisabeth returned the question with a wide smile on her face.

— But you said that…

— We weren't planning on having a baby just yet, but it happened...

— How… far along are you? — she asked, joy spreading over her face.

— Three and a half months.

— When did you find out?

— While we were in Monaco.

— Who else knows?

— Just me, your father, and my doctor. And now, you.

Elisabeth’s answer made Rosi beam, clearly happy to be the first in the family to know about her new sibling. As they were eating, they talked more about the baby and the pregnancy, with Elisabeth revealing that the clothes she had just picked up were maternity clothes.

When they returned to the penthouse, Rosi was noticeably more cheerful, which made Toto happy. He asked Elisabeth about their conversation, and Elisabeth said that everything had gone well, leaving it at that.

— Excellent — he murmured, kissing her cheek.

The day continued at a leisurely pace, with the four of them having lunch together and then getting together to watch a movie in the living room, as they did every weekend.

— Can I choose? — Rosi asked.

— No, Rosi — Benedict replied.

— Why not?

— Because Liesl picked it last week, and now it’s my turn.

— But I know a good one…

— Leave it for when it's your turn.

— Bene, please…

— As the youngest, you choose last, Rosi, that's the rule.

— I'm not the youngest anymore — Rosi shouted, causing Elisabeth to freeze halfway to the living room, her eyes wide as she held the bowl of popcorn.

— Rosi — Toto scolded, while Benedict turned to his father.

—What is she talking about, dad?

Running a hand through his hair, Toto hesitated for a few seconds, seemingly trying to search for the right words. His eyes went to Elisabeth, who was standing still.

— Well…

— Liesl is pregnant — Rosi blurted out.

Silence reigned in the living room. Benedict's eyes met Elisabeth's for a few seconds, before dropping to her belly.

— Is it true, Liesl?

She set the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table with a sigh, and stared at the boy for a few moments.

— Yes, darling — she finally managed to say — I'm pregnant.

— Since when?

— I’m already in the second trimester.

— We found out a little while ago — Toto hurried to add, as if he was afraid that his son would think they were hiding it from them — And we were planning to tell you this weekend.

— Liesl told me this morning — Rosi added — She even showed me the baby's ultrasound pictures.

The living room was silent for another moment.

— Does that mean I'm going to have a brother? — Benedict asked.

— Or sister, we don't know yet — Toto said — We prefer not to know the sex so as not to make Niki more anxious since he wants to have a granddaughter anyway.

Looking at Toto, Elisabeth's stepson-to-be looked somewhat skeptical. And it was that doubt about his opinion that gnawed at her insides like acid.

— I wouldn't complain if it were a boy — he finally said, looking at his father with the shadow of a smile on his face. Elisabeth’s shoulders dropped in relief with Benedict’s seeming acceptance of the news.

— But it'll be a girl, I'm sure — Rosi said, smiling.

— Whatever it is, I hope you love them the same way they will love you — she replied, feeling her throat tighten — Because we are going to teach them to love you just like me and your father love...

Elisabeth's voice broke, tears trailing down her cheeks. The hormones were making her deeply emotional, even more than she liked to show. However, at that moment, she couldn't help but let that avalanche of feelings out.

Then, she was swallowed up in the warmth of her stepchildren's arms. Benedict and Rosi hugged her tightly, asking her not to cry, after all, that was a happy moment.

Of that, Elisabeth had no doubt.

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