Okay, so real talk—Felicity was one of the worst people of all time.

  Or at least, that’s what Caruncle thought.

  Ten minutes after the hug, she had calmed down enough to wipe the stupid smile off her face (thankfully, because grinning like an idiot right then would have been a terrible idea). She stayed quiet, trying to blend into the background.

  “Your maid really got attached to Evelyn, didn’t she?” one of Felicity’s friends remarked.

  “Yes, Evelyn, what on earth did you do?”

  “I think she just wanted someone who didn’t bully her so much,” Evelyn chuckled.

  “Oh, please! We’ve been nothing but kind to her!” Felicity scoffed. The room burst into light laughter.

  “But alright, back to work,” Felicity said with a dismissive wave.

  “No, wait. Let her stay.” Evelyn cut in.

  Felicity narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

  “It’d be good for her to socialize a little.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yes, really. Besides, I’m not going to send her back to work like this. Are you okay?” Evelyn turned to Caruncle, who nodded quickly.

  “Good.” Evelyn patted her shoulder, and Caruncle nearly melted into a puddle right then and there.

  “When I used to work at my father’s store as a teen, I barely got to talk to other girls, and that annoyed me so much,” Evelyn continued.

  “Yeah, talk,” Felicity muttered, rolling her eyes.

  “Anyway,” she changed the subject, “I don’t know if I told you all, but Percival is coming next week. That’s why I wanted you here again.”

  “Oh?” Evelyn tilted her head. “What for?”

  “He’s moving back to the capital. Says he wants to open a circus or something.”

  “A circus?” Evelyn asked, still absently patting Caruncle.

  “Yes.”

  “…Why a circus?”

  Felicity shrugged. “I don’t know. He said he liked the idea and wanted to set one up. Maybe when he gets here, he can tell us more about it.”

  “I see.”

  “Maybe he’ll recruit people like Caruncle for his exhibit! Hahaha!”

  That was the thing—the constant mocking, the bullying. Caruncle once overheard Felicity talking with her father in his office.

  “I’m telling you, she’s weird! She’s always so quiet, and when she looks at me, it’s like I’m some kind of exotic animal!”

  “She’s mute, Felicity.”

  “But she’s like her father! I’ve told her to write down what she hates about him, but she never does! She always avoids the topic—sometimes she even frowns! What if she’s just as weird as that old man? Or worse, like Caruncle? I think she actually liked him! She always pays attention when I talk about him!”

  “Well, what do you want me to do?”

  “I don’t know! Fire her? Shape her into someone more decent? She just creeps me out! We can’t accept people from houses like that!”

  Her father sighed. “First of all, we took her in as a favor to your own friend. I thought you cared about him?”

  “Yes, but couldn’t you have made an excuse? At least scolded her? Just remind her who’s in charge here!”

  “Look, Felicity,” her father’s patience was running thin, “Elena might not be the best maid, and she still has a lot to learn, but she does what she’s told. And unlike the other maids who bicker all day, it’s good to have someone who actually stays quiet while working. That’s final. Now leave—I’m busy.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Oh, come on!”

  When Felicity couldn’t get Elena thrown out, she switched tactics.

  “Remember when Caruncle said he’d rather live in a monastery because he couldn’t understand women? What a fucking loser!”

  First of all, that wasn’t even what he said. He was joking about how Evelyn got mad when he stayed silent during arguments. He had laughed and said, At this rate, I might as well swear myself to a monastery—at least they allow silence there! Evelyn had understood it. She never threw it back in his face. But Felicity? She took that joke and ran with it, calling him Reverend, Brother, Archbishop—like some deranged church-themed nickname generator.

  Other times, she’d say, “What about when Caruncle said his parents’ legacy was a complete disappointment? What a piece of shit!”

  Again, not what he said. What he actually said was, Ah yes, my birthright—the grand estate of dust and disappointment. He was talking about how his father’s wooden ship business was dying out. But Felicity twisted it into him insulting his entire family’s existence.

  And then there was the worst one.

  “To think he wanted us to put Lady on his tombstone if he killed himself! He said he was going to kill himself! The horror!”

  No. What Caruncle had really said—back when Percival had jokingly called Evelyn the "man of the relationship"—was, Yes, in fact, by all means, let’s carve ‘Lady of Misfortune’ into my tombstone now! It had been part of a joke about how Caruncle didn’t have the confidence to be the “commanding one” in a relationship. Percival had said he was too in love with his own misfortunes, and that’s where the whole thing had spiraled from.

  Caruncle could barely stand it. I could hear her thoughts looping, a frantic spiral of frustration that was very pathetic to hear.

  It was a joke. It was a joke! I swear… Aren’t we human after all? Does humor not exist anymore? Why do you always assume I’m serious—only when it makes me look bad? Why do you hate me so much? Am I really in the wrong? I really am in the wrong, aren’t I? Am I a piece of shit?

  Please, someone, tell that bitch to shut up.

  I’m not a bad person. I’m not a bad person.

  Please, someone, shut her up.

  This had been going on for too long. Before she was sold, after she became a maid—Felicity never stopped.

  Caruncle had finally made up her mind.

  “The only way to stop her is to kill her,” she thought.

  “No!” I screamed.

  “Yes,” she muttered back to herself almost as if actually heard me, like we were having a debate.

  The kitchen was empty. One maid had gone to take out the trash, another was looking for dish soap, and a third was outside, feeding the animals.

  The perfect chance to ruin everything.

  Caruncle grabbed the rat poison. Just a pinch. A tiny, insignificant dusting of white powder. Easy.

  The meal already looked disgusting—some kind of thick, lukewarm fish custard. It jiggled when she nudged the plate, a sickly, grayish-white mush that smelled like stale ocean water and regret. The mealy texture clung to the spoon like it was begging for mercy. The smell alone made me want to puke.

  Her hands shook. Her teeth chattered. A single bead of broth dripped from the spoon, plopping back into the viscous mess.

  This was it. Just a flick of the wrist.

  "Caruncle, don’t be stupid. Please, stop."

  Felicity’s laugh rang out from the adjacent room—sharp, grating, like glass shattering in slow motion.

  Caruncle tipped her palm. The poison tumbled in. Gone. Swallowed by the sludge.

  She stirred.

  One turn.

  Two.

  Three.

  Her breath hitched. The room felt smaller. The walls loomed, watching her, whispering.

  "Caruncle!"

  She grabbed the plate. Walked towards the dining room.

  Felicity was alone, reading. Everyone else had gone to sleep.

  One step.

  "For fuck’s sake!"

  Two steps.

  "Stop acting like a moron for once!"

  The food wobbled in her trembling hands, threatening to spill.

  She was laughing.

  Tears slid down her cheeks.

  “You fucking bastard, fucking cunt, fucking bitch, fucking stupid cunt bitch—die, die, die, die, fucking die, die, die.”

  Okay. That was enough.

  “I’m taking over.”

  Before Felicity could look up, I shoved my way into Caruncle’s body and seized control.

  And immediately regretted it.

  Her heartbeat was thrumming like a drumline in my skull. Her skin burned hot. Everything looked too bright, too sharp, as if the world had been dipped in oil. My hands shook. Her pupils were blown wide.

  And God, the feelings.

  I could barely think.

  A thought slithered through me, invasive and awful. Maybe it’s better to go through with it. If we turned back now, wouldn’t that look more suspicious? Maybe Caruncle could just feign ignorance. Maybe someone would assume the poison had mixed in accidentally. Maybe—

  I wanted to do it.

  I wanted to watch Felicity spasm on the floor, foam bubbling from her lips.

  Caruncle’s thoughts were loud—and deeply cringe. Why shouldn’t I? What does anything matter in this putrid system? I will be the god of death. Judge, jury, executioner. Because anything else takes too long. Because I don’t care. Because she deserves it.

  This was an emergency.

  I turned on my heel and sprinted back to the kitchen. The plate of poisoned food hit the bottom of the garbage bin with a wet splatter. I shoved two fingers deep into my throat, past hesitation, past dignity, and wretched violently over the remains. Bile burned my throat, and the sour stink of vomit mixed with the already putrid scent of old lentils and greasy fat. The air felt thick with it, clinging to my skin like a heavy, rotting fog.

  The smell was unbearable.

  Good. No evidence.

  “Oh my god! What happened here? Are you okay?” One of the maids entered just in time to see us holding the bin.

  I yanked myself out of Caruncle’s body and collapsed beside her. She was panting on the floor, still coming down from whatever that was.

  I sighed, running a hand down my face.

  “Caruncle, you are a fucking moron.”