Scorched Patience

“ERELLA! ERELLA! EREEEEEEELLLLLLLLAAAAAA!”

Graciella’s shrill call rattled through the house like a cracked bell.

Erella, who was bent over the steaming pot in the kitchen, rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. Her hands continued their rhythm—stir, scrape, ladle—without missing a beat. The summons was familiar; the summons always meant more work, more humiliation, or both.

Here we go again, she murmured under her breath, bracing herself for the storm.

“EEEEEEERRRREEEELLLLLLLLAAAA!” Graciella’s voice doubled in volume. This time, it had real venom.

Erella set the wooden spoon down, wiped her hands on her apron, and hurried toward the stairs. She darted through the corridors, breath coming short from the climb, until she reached the landing just outside Graciella’s bedroom. Knuckles trembling slightly, she pushed the door open.

“What can I do for you, big sister?” she asked politely, voice steady though the panic tried to climb her throat.

The scene inside the room answered for her: a chaos of scattered ribbons, overturned cushions, a ruined vanity strewn with broken combs. Feathers lay like snow across the floor. Immediately, she knew who had orchestrated the mess. Two sisters lounged atop the bed—Graciella with her bright, cruel eyes and Audrey with the cold smile of someone born to sneer.

Very childish, Erella thought. Very predictable.

“WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU? ARE YOU DEAF?!” Graciella demanded, pacing like a caged bird. “How many times must I call before you come up here?”

“I’m sorry, big sister—” Erella began, and stopped as Audrey cut her off with a toss of the head.

“Don’t give us excuses!” Audrey snapped. “You’re just lazy.”

Erella bowed her head for a moment out of instinct, then lifted it again with an even, careful expression. “What can I do for you, big sister?”

Silence hung for a heartbeat—and then Audrey’s face flushed with fury. “How dare you ignore me?!” she shouted. Her hand lashed out and struck Erella across the cheek.

Pain exploded bright and hot on the side of Erella’s face. She stumbled, clutching the swollen cheek, breath snatched away in a ragged gasp. Her fist curled automatically with the urge to retaliate. Her knuckles whitened—then relaxed. She could not afford to fight. Not here, not now; not with this frail body that ached in all the wrong places.

Just wait, she thought, kneading hurt into determination. When I have the strength—when I’m with the prince—this will end. You will pay for every slap, every insult.

Audrey recoiled at the look that flashed in Erella’s eyes. For a brief, shocking second, fury mirrored back at her, raw and deadly. But she recovered quickly, the arrogant smirk returning as though nothing had happened.

“How dare you look at me like that?” Audrey hissed, and reached to yank Erella’s hair.

Before her fingers closed, a sharp, familiar ache tightened in Erella’s chest. The world narrowed into a pinpoint of pain that stole her breath. She doubled over, clutching her heart as a cold sweat prickled across her brow. Her face drained of colour.

“Ugh…” she groaned, the sound small and scared.

Graciella’s eyes widened. “What did you do?!” she cried. “We didn’t mean for this—this was only to make her work harder!”

Audrey’s bravado cracked. “Get her away from me—what if she dies? Mother will kill us!”

The sisters – who had planned cruelty as if it were a pastime—suddenly found themselves clumsy with fear, their practiced nastiness no shield against the sight of Erella ashen and shaking.

Audrey backed away, pacing like a cornered animal. “She’s acting! She must be—she’s just acting!” she insisted to herself more than to anyone else.

“ARGHHH, suit yourself!” she spat at Erella, and stalked from the room, heels clicking like mockery on the floorboards. Graciella followed, flustered and scolding, leaving Erella collapsing onto the floor alone.

Unbelievable. Left in a room to choke on her chest and shame. Erella breathed shallowly and forced herself to recite the old quotations she clung to like talismans.

“Sticks and stones may break my bones—words will never hurt me,” she mouthed, though the words felt thin and brittle in her mouth. She inhaled, long and steady. “Life is too short to be angry. Calm down.” She repeated it until the hammering throb in her ribs eased, until she felt the colour creep back into her cheeks.

When she could stand, she dusted herself off and went back to the kitchen. The three mice—Tubby, Eddy, and Suzy—greeted her at the stove with wide, worried eyes. They had been fussing over the carrots, plates, and the small tasks a household permitted tiny creatures to undertake.

“Erella…” Suzy whispered, her voice trembling. “What happened to your cheek?”

Eddy’s face hardened. “Did those two do this to you?” he demanded. His paws balled into tiny fists.

“If I were there, I’d show them a proper punch,” Tubby said stoutly, puffing out his chest, though his bravado cracked with an honest tremble underneath. “I would—” He punched the air with a dramatic, miniature flourish. “—I would teach them to respect a mouse and you dear Erella!”

Eddy snorted. “You’re scared of their cat, Tubby. You wouldn’t last a tick near them.”

Tubby flinched. “I’m scared because of the cat! But if that cat were gone—poof!—they’d feel my super punch!”

Erella couldn’t help it; the sight of them—so earnest and valiant in their tiny bodies—made the corners of her mouth twitch. She burst into a breathy laugh that shook the last of the fear from her. “Okay, okay,” she said, smoothing Tubby’s fur lovingly. “I’ll wait for your super punch. Until then, just guard the pantry, okay?”

Tubby’s cheeks flushed crimson and he ducked his head. The little trio exchanged conspiratorial looks that made Erella’s chest ache with a sweetness that was almost painful.

Suzy handed her a cool cloth and Erella pressed it to her cheek, eyes wet for reasons she could not fully explain. Gratitude swelled in her like a new, fragile bloom. “Thank you,” she said softly. “You three are my treasure.”

“We’re with you, Erella,” Eddy said, more quietly than he usually spoke. “No more slaps. We’ll stop them.”

Erella folded the cloth and held it to her face for a moment, letting their devotion be a small, fierce shield. “We’ll make it through,” she said firmly, looking at each of them. “Just a bit longer.”

The day unspooled into chore after chore. The sisters made certain her work was never finished: they muddled what she had just scrubbed, smeared the silver, trampled the flowerbeds she had just tidied. Each time, Erella returned to repair the deliberate wreckage, her hands raw from soap and soot, her sleeves always damp with labour.

Leftovers—cold, a taste worn thin by time—were what she ate. Sleep came late and frayed. She scrubbed until her nails hurt and her wrists ached. The house grew smaller around her until it felt like a cage.

No wonder she thought bitterly, she’s so small and bony for her age. The thought pricked at her pride.

“I need to plump up,” she murmured to the empty kitchen, half to herself and half to the little mice. “I need to look like someone the prince would notice. If I meet him as I am—a child’s frame and a woman’s sorrow—he’ll think I’m nothing.”

She pictured the prince as she had always imagined him in the tales—handsome, assured, his smile like sunrise—and a ridiculous, stubborn plan pieced itself together from the fragments of hope and rage inside her.

Wait for me, my prince, she whispered, fingers chasing a phantom crown in the air. I’ll meet you when I’m ready. I’ll be strong. I’ll be dangerous when I need to be.

Night drew its velvet curtain over the manor. The mice curled against her, a warm, living weight that soothed the aches she could not name. Before she closed her eyes, she leaned toward the empty air and spoke quietly, apologetically.

“I’m sorry, Erella,” she whispered to the image of the girl whose life she wore. “I misjudged you. You weren’t a doormat by choice.”

Sandy—the woman whose memories sat like coals in her mind—felt a pang as sharp as regret. The real Erella, she believed, had died of a fever a week before Sandy’s arrival. The thought of her—small, sick, mistreated—stole a breath from Sandy’s chest.

“Don’t worry,” she promised into the dim. “I’ll have your revenge. I swear it.”

The mice gave soft, sleepy squeaks as if to echo her vow. Erella closed her eyes with that promise heavy but steady in her heart. Whatever this tale had been before she arrived, it would not end the same way now. Not on her watch. Not ever again.