I was born with nothing and raised with nothing; the daughter of a tenant farmer. Even then, we lived in such dire straits that we could barely scrape together enough to keep our bellies full.
A miserable, grinding poverty defined my days. Struggling through that hunger was the entirety of my existence.
The irony was that even in that state, there were five of us children.
Unable to bear the bone-deep destitution, my mother fled, leaving my father behind to drown his misery in drink and daily violence.
Under his hands, the nursing infant was beaten to death, the fourth child starved, and the second was sold off to a brothel. Only the third child, because of her beauty, was kept like a precious jewel. His intention was to groom her for marriage to a Young Master of a noble family to turn our fortunes around.
And the firstborn—the Ugly One that I was—remained only because I was useful for keeping house.
My days were a cycle of cooking, laundry, cleaning, and serving the third child. I worked at Mark’s bakery in town by day and endured my father’s fists by night. It was an exhausting life that never offered a moment to breathe.
My face stayed perpetually swollen, and a broken leg during a growth spurt left me stunted. An ugly dwarf. That’s what the neighborhood kids called me.
I believed that if hell existed, this was it. I grew jealous of the third child, whose beauty seemed to radiate more brilliantly by the day, and I could no longer endure my father’s cruelty. I tried to hang myself several times, desperate for an end. But I lacked even the luck to succeed; I was either caught, stumbled upon by a passerby, or the rope snapped just before I lost consciousness, leaving me alive.
This place was my prison, and I, a captive serving a sentence for a crime I never committed. I would have preferred an actual dungeon to this.
The only reason my father didn’t sell me to a brothel was the necessity of having a maid. But even that was half a lie. I knew from the village women’s gossip that he had tried to sell the clueless, finger-sucking little me to a brothel, but because my ugliness drove the price down, he kept me and forced me into servitude instead.
My mother called my father a devil’s spawn. I followed suit. My future was to be dictated by that creature.
What could this be if not a tragedy?
However, God did not forsake me entirely.
Just as my stunted height miraculously grew by a span, as my frizzy bangs began to cover my ugly face, and as I reached a blooming age, an elderly gentleman visited our village. I do not know why a man who exuded such nobility would wander into our small, remote corner of the world.
The catalyst was when he, wandering through the village, gestured toward me as I passed by the roadside.
“I would like to hire your daughter.”
The gentleman made the proposal while holding out a pouch filled with gold coins. My father’s mind was instantly captured; he swallowed a dry gulp. His vile brain turned rapidly as he looked between the stranger and the gold.
He clenched his hands, twitching with the urge to snatch the pouch, and forced his face into a mask of humility.
“Sir. It is an honor that my humble daughter has caught your eye, but she only knows menial chores and is lacking in many ways. If, by any chance, you are not satisfied later on…”
“Do not worry about that. Even if she does not meet your expectations, I will not ask for this back.”
The gentleman replied calmly, sliding the pouch toward my father. At that, my father forced down the corners of his mouth, which were rapidly curling upward, and looked at me. It was a gaze that mimicked the warmth of a loving father, and it made my skin crawl.
“Dear, your father respects your thoughts. Money is nice to have, but it is not more important than you. Please, speak your mind freely.”
While saying this, he gripped my thin wrist with his large hand. It was a grip strong enough to crush bone. To an outside observer, he looked like a parent worried for his child, but his eyes glinted with a feverish greed.
The elderly gentleman waited quietly for my answer. I knew that if I showed the slightest sign of refusal, he would leave to find another girl, and my father would beat me to death for my insolence.
“I will go.”
“My dear child.”
My father hugged me, his face filled with performative emotion, his voice laced with artificial tears. I suppressed the urge to shake off his hand as he stroked my back.
I prepared to leave immediately. My luggage was nothing but a single bag; I owned almost nothing. The only difference in my appearance was the dress embroidered with pretty flowers I wore instead of my usual dirt-covered rags.
“Go safely. Be careful.”
My father saw me off at the door, patting my shoulder. That touch contained a silent, biting command to cater well to the gentleman’s every whim.
Standing next to him, the third child, Alicia, smirked.
“Go well, sister. Stay for a long, long time.”
*Don’t ever come back,* Alicia added, moving only her lips. When I didn’t react, she wiped the smile off her face and pouted.
I spat out just one thing toward her.
“Try to take care of that pretty face. It’s all you have.”
“What?!”
Leaving behind a fuming Alicia, I turned away.
The mansion I arrived at was so grand it made my eyes widen. It was far more magnificent than the estate of the wealthiest lord in our village. *Wow.* I let out a soft exclamation and followed the gentleman inside.
“You’ve arrived.”
A middle-aged woman with a neat, stern appearance greeted him. He nodded once and took off his fedora.
The woman noticed me standing behind him and asked, “Who is this child?”
“She is the child who will serve the Master from now on.”
*Master?* As I looked at the gentleman with curiosity, he gestured with his eyes for me to come forward. When I stepped ahead hesitantly, the middle-aged woman scanned me up and down, her gaze appraising. Feeling tense, I swallowed a dry gulp and waited.
“I see.”
Perhaps the evaluation was sufficient, as she nodded and turned around. The gentleman followed suit, heading in the opposite direction. I looked between them, then trailed after the woman.