Waurpel

8. The Black Maid (Part 1)

Added 2025-08-07 22:29:57 +0000 UTC

My name is Jace Miller. The ‘Black Maid’ of the Everest Household.

I have been at the service of the family for almost 15 years, and during that time, I was always kept away from the scrutinising eyes due to my appearance: black hair and golden eyes.

These traits are a inherited from the goddessf Scorn, something I received through my father’s bloodline. A distant gift from to the goddess of discord and hate herself. In Salland, and by extension the county of Oblon, where Meiriem kins are dominant, my presence drew many eyes. Their vibrant, colourful features contrasted starkly with mine.

Among Meiriem followers, Scornkin aren’t well-liked. There is a common belief that Scorn directly opposes Meiriem’s teachings. While not entirely untrue, it isn’t entirely correct either. Religious doctrines are complex, and if one took time to read both scriptures, they’d find more overlaps than you'd expect. And eitherway, heritage does not dictate worship… Not always at least. The Everest family, for instance, is a mix of Meiriem and Seeir, the goddess of order, descent, yet they solely worship Meiriem.

Funnily enough, there are more opposing core ideologies between Seeir and Meiriem than between Meiriem and Scorn.

Nevertheless, it was typical for worshippers to despise the kins of gods of opposite mentalities, due to ignorance.

Prejudice runs deep. So, how was I allowed to serve here?

The answer is simple: blackmail.

My last name may be Miller, but that is not my father’s name. My father is Davon Fauger, who as it turns out is also the father of Merilia Fauger, now known as Lady Everest, Marchioness of Oblon.

The mistress of this household and my half-sister.

My father began having my mother as a mistress over thirty years ago while the duchess still lived. When the duchess died, I had already been born.

My existence remained hidden for political reasons. Or at least, that's what I used to think before I came here.

When I reached the age of 13, my parents married and my mother used her newly found leverage to arrange for me to be placed in the Everest estate under the guise of service.

Merilia had known nothing of my existence when I came to the estate, sealed letter in hand.

Under normal circumstances, this blackmail would not have been very effective. Bastard children were not uncommon, and as they were now married, the outrage could be swept under the pretence of a ‘precocious consumption’ of their union. But the moment she read the letter in my hand and saw the traits I bore, the connection was undeniable. The black hair. The golden eyes. Traits that revealed not only my Scorn heritage but also our father’s hidden lineage.

Had the truth become public, her marriage, secured under the guise of preserving Meiriem and Seeir's purity in the Everest household, would have been shattered. Her reputation, her house, her children’s futures all but gone. My sister had no choice but to bend to my mother’s request.

I lived comfortably, despite the disdain of the other servants. I had my own room within the residence, limited duties, and plenty of time spent on 'errands’.

Out of sight, out of mind.

I stayed away from the children. From her children. But I kept an eye out for my nephews and nieces as I watched them grow from afar.

But everything changed the day Silika fell from that tree.

Up until then, Silika had always been a difficult child; rambunctious, impolite, wild. Frankly, a thorn in the family’s otherwise pristine image. But this also what made her the most resilient.

She was in a coma for over a month, several ribs, both her legs and an arm broken… As well as a a large gash on the back of her head.

The marquis had brought the best healers in the duchy, which the Orthodox Church of Meiriem had been more than happy to provide in exchange for generous tithes.

The Orthodox were an odd bunch. Despite following the teachings of the gods of love, who normally preached acceptance and love, they were known for following strict and harsh doctrines in order to properly ‘worship the gifts of the gods’.

Most annoyingly to me personally, an obligatory vegetarian diet which never ceased to irritate me. Well, that was given for most kins of Meiriem, but meat being banned from the entire county had nearly driven me mad in my youth.

Despite their ways, they had become an especially powerful religion in the south-west of the kingdom, especially here in the duchy of Salland.

Silika eventually woke up. But the estate did not celebrate. That night, something screamed from the east wing. Not someone. Something. The sound was unnatural. A feral, dying scream had echoed through the halls. By the time someone had realised it came from Silika’s room, they found her collapsed on the floor in her own vomit.

When she woke up again days later, the priests had been present and had given their diagnosis.

They determined that the fall had rendered the lady ‘simple’.

A catch all term that meant she would never amount to anything. Harmless, but useless. If she’d been born to a family of peasants, she would probably have been abandoned on the streets, but nobles had too much pride to cast out even the most useless member of their family. Perhaps they had thought of keeping her to be married off to seal an alliance someday, or some other noble business I couldn't care for.

They claimed the fall had altered her head. That she could no longer walk. That her words were senseless. That she was, for lack of a better term, broken.

And no one questioned them. For good reasons.

Silika was constantly grunting. For entire days at a time, she made only wheezing noises and nothing anyone did could make her stop. I heard rumors that a guard resigned from his post after a day where she was constantly singing unrecognizable versions of children's songs.

In time, all servants had begun avoiding her room.

Her siblings stopped visiting.

Even the marquis stopped acknowledging her.

And for reasons I still do not fully understand, I volunteered to care for her.

Perhaps it was some strange repressed motherly instinct or sense of obligation toward my niece, but I did. I believe what I felt was not a sense of pity, instead, it was a sense of camaraderie. I may not have suffered the same kind of debilitating handicap, but I could relate all too well with being shunned by my own family. To me she was not a strange nor annoying child, but instead a confused and frightened girl.

She was not what they claimed. I knew that immediately. She could not speak clearly, but her words had rhythm. Structure. Purpose.

One day, she called me something.

“Gledi!”

It was barely a word. A sound, really. But every time she said it, she looked at me with intent.

So I responded to it.

I tried wrapping my head on the nature of her condition. She watched people speak, though she didn’t always respond. She would get startled when I touched unexpectedly, but didn’t react to something suddenly being dropped right behind her.

It didn’t take me long to realise that something was missing.

I was not the only one who noticed something was off.

Her younger brother, Dalton, would still sometimes visit to play checkers. Silika wasn’t good; she'd forget the rules, doze off mid-game, or tip the board over. But her movements were thoughtful, sincere. She knew how to play and how to win, she just couldn’t do it.

One day, after she fell asleep during a match, Dalton turned to me.

“They say Silika is stupid,” he said. “But I think they’re stupid for saying that.”

I stopped and looked at him.

“Why do you say so, young lord?”

“She can play checkers. Dumb people can’t play checkers. I know because I was dumb before and I couldn’t play.”

I smiled at his logic.

“Maybe she just remembers, the same way she remembers how to eat or drink.”

He shook his head.

“No. She’s not dumb. She just can’t talk… Or maybe she can’t hear.”

I felt my heart clench in my chest. He had no idea how dangerous that truth could be.

I kneeled beside the bed and looked at the young boy.

“Young lord… You can’t tell anyone about this.”