The Pastry

The tea had cooled enough not to scald, and I forced myself to sip. The warmth unfurled slowly down my throat, settling like an ember in the hollow place inside me. I stared into the dark liquid, searching for words that wouldn’t come.

“Thank you,” I whispered at last. My voice sounded strange, small. I lifted my eyes briefly to hers. “For… the tea. And the pastries.”

Her brows softened almost imperceptibly, the barest flicker.

“You are welcome,” she said.

I set the cup down carefully before my trembling hands betrayed me further. The honey-glazed pastry waited untouched on its plate, fragrant and golden, but the idea of sweetness felt foreign, unreachable. Still, I broke off a small piece and placed it on my tongue, more from duty than desire.

Mistress Orion watched me in silence. Not as Cain had - cold and appraising - but with an intensity that made me want to shrink and stand taller all at once.

The words slipped out before I could catch them. “Why are you doing this?”

She tilted her head slightly, as though considering how honest she wished to be. “Because,” she said, “I am allowed small mercies.”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “I cannot unmake what has been done. But I can make sure you are not left to rot in it.”

My throat tightened. I didn’t know if that was kindness, or pity, or simply strategy, but it cracked something in me all the same.

“You should eat,” she said more softly. “Then rest. The body obeys better when it is cared for.”

I nodded, unable to speak.

She rose with slow, fluid grace, gathering her untouched pastry and cup. At the door, she paused and looked back at me. “If you need something, Thea,” she said, voice low, “come to me. No one else.”

And then she left, quiet as the dawn, her presence retreating like warmth from a dying fire.

When the door clicked shut behind her, silence filled the room again - but not the same silence as before. This one was softer somehow, though still heavy, pressing against the edges of my thoughts.

I sat perfectly still, staring at the place where Mistress Orion had stood. The faint scent of her perfume - something dark and floral - lingered in the air, twining with the warmth of the tea. The room felt different in her absence, emptier and yet… changed.

My eyes fell to the pastry she’d left behind. Its glaze had cooled, turning slightly tacky to the touch, the golden surface catching the morning light. I picked it up gingerly, unsure why my hands still trembled, and tore off a small piece.

It tasted of honey and butter and something delicate I couldn’t name. The sweetness startled me, flooding my mouth with warmth that made my chest ache. I hadn’t realised how long it had been since I’d tasted anything made to be enjoyed.

I ate another bite, slower this time, letting the flavour linger on my tongue. It felt almost sinful to take comfort in it, as though joy itself had become forbidden. But still, I ate until it was gone, until only crumbs remained on the plate.

When I finally set it down, the weight of everything crashed over me at once.

The collar at my neck. The faint marks still visible through the thin fabric of the shift. The memory of his teeth, his voice, the humiliation. The strange gentleness of his wife.

I pressed my palms to my eyes and sat there, breathing through the ache that swelled inside me. I didn’t cry - not properly. I was too emptied out for that. My eyes burned, my throat tightened, but no sound came.

Thea Vire. Property of Alpha Cain. Yet alive.

I leaned back in the chair, my fingers tracing the rim of the teacup, and thought of Mistress Orion’s words:

I cannot unmake what has been done, but I can make sure you are not left to rot in it.

The phrase repeated in my mind until it dulled to rhythm. Maybe it was nothing more than pity. Maybe it was a lifeline. I didn’t know.

All I knew was that, for the first time since arriving, I didn’t feel entirely invisible.

And that small, flickering thing - whatever it was - kept me sitting upright long after the tea had gone cold.