Chapter 2 Good Help is Hard to FindThree Years Later

-Three years later-

*Ana*

“I can’t take it anymore.” The maid screams and throws down the brush. Her face almost as red as her hair. She’s still huffing and puffing through her fangs as I reach down to pick it back up. 

“But my hair-” I see the wild mess in the mirror. I can’t remember how long since the last maid combed it. And it was bad then. 

But now, I can’t even pass my fingers through parts. The long, curly silver hair is starting to lock up. It’s going to hurt even more than usual to untangle it.

But, it needs to get combed.

“I know no one wants to touch it, but it will only be worse if you don’t-”

“I can’t touch it,” The maid goes again, making a face. “It’s gross! Don’t make me touch it!”

“But -” How am I to get the knots out? 

“Today was supposed to be the designated day.” I go. “We agreed, didn’t we?”  but the maid charges for the door.

“Well, I changed my mind. I’m not doing it..” 

“Please-” I try once more. “IF you just do the back-” I can do the rest. But, I don’t get another word in before the maid whips off her apron.

“I quit!” The maid shouts and opens the door just in time to see Aunt Funda standing, ready to knock.

“Your Empress? What is-” Aunt Funda seems almost as stunned seeing the maid as she is her, but the maid quickly comes back. 

“Forgive me, Lady Funda.” The maid bows her head. “But I can’t do it.” And she walks past her.

“What?” Aunt Funda blinks after her. “Wait, where are you-” But the maid is gone. She won’t come back. 

They never do.

“Empress!” Aunt Funda turns back to me. “You! What have you done now?”

“Nothing,” I hold up the brush. “It-” It’s combing day, but I don’t get the words out before Aunt Funda turns.

“This one didn’t even last till the end of the month.” Aunt Funda holds her head. “Did you have to be so difficult?” 

“I-”

But Aunt Funda waves her hand. She doesn’t want to hear it. 

“You are not even eight; you are such a pain.” She looks at me before shaking her head.

“It was the last one I could find. There isn’t anyone else.”

“I’m-” I try apologizing again, but Aunt Funda is turning away.

“No one else wants to do it. Not even with how much your uncle pays  them.” 

“Aunt Funda, I really didn’t mean to.”

“I’ll have to advertise from the outside at this point forward.” She grumbles to herself as she makes for the door. “It’s going to be so expensive.”

“Wait,” My hair; I get up from the chair with the brush. “I need help-” I can’t get the tangles. But I am too late. 

She is already gone and down the hall.

“Aunt Funda?” 

I don't think she'll be coming back anytime soon.

I am now alone. Again. 

“I just wanted my hair combed,” I whisper and sit back down. My hands cradle the brush before it starts. The tears are coming up.

“No,” I shake them away. I don’t want to cry.

Crying will make things worse.

“I will have to try myself then.” Instead, I pick up the brush to start combing what I can. But it’s not long before I feel the first snag. 

“Ah,” a tear slips out when I do. But I quickly wipe it away and try again, although I can already see it’s a fool's mission. 

There are just too many knots. And my arms are too short. I won’t be able to get all of it.

“But I have to try.”  Because it’s better than nothing.

And Anything is better than nothing at this point. 

I stop as a strand of hair falls down my lap. I pick it up to look after it. The silver color shines easily in the light. 

It’s a beautiful color on its own. And If it were anything else, it would be very pretty. But when it’s hair- my hair,  especially, it’s anything but. 

It’s just painful.  

I let it go as I needed to wipe away another tear. But I’m doing better today. A few missed tears are a great improvement.

And I have something else to look forward to.

“I hope the new maid comes soon.” I go and try for the comb again. 

And Maybe she'll even stay this time.

-x-

*?*

“You understand the gravity of this mission, Mrs.-” King Alexander stalled to look at his butler and oldest friend, Johan, for the name.

“Bustlier,” Johan went, not surprised his majesty had already forgotten.

“Yes, Mrs. Bustlier-”

“I prefer Maddie.” The middle-aged woman with greying bangs went. “Mrs. Bustlier was my mother. And she’s long dead, thank god.”

It was meant to be a joke, but it seemed to fly past both men. King Alexander only sat back to regard her.

“Do you understand what your mission is, Agent Maddie?” King Alexander lifted the advertisement. 

“I do.” 

“We have been waiting for an opportunity like this to arise for the past few years,” Johan added. “There may not be another chance to get inside without raising suspicion.” 

“This means you can not fail.” Johan met the woman’s brown eyes as if to measure her out. 

“You have to get in.”

“You can trust me, Your Majesty.” Maddie went to bow. “I will not fail you.”

“If they catch you-” King Alexander started, but Maddie lifted her head with the most confident smile.

“Have no fear. Mission reconnect with your estranged daughter will be a success. I will bet my life on it.”