Katharina didn't remember falling asleep, but she must have done so while still in Lian's embrace, because as they woke to the morning light, they were both squeezed in on the narrow mattress, still wearing their brown dresses, which were now wrinkled and a little sweaty.

  The morning air was cool again, but with the dress already on, it wasn't as jarring as yesterday.

  Neither of them was in a rush to get out of bed; instead, they lay in the comfort of each other's presence, listening to the sounds of the morning.

  The bustling sound of activities outside was the first thing to notice; they were the loudest. It wasn’t people talking; no one spoke on the morning march. It was the sound of animals, of many feet on their way toward the fields.

  The next sounds Katharina noticed were those of the manor.

  Their room was on the upper floor and connected to a long hallway where it seemed many small rooms were. She could hear the sounds of their neighbours waking to meet the day.

  The manor had a buzz of routine, and theirs was about to begin as well. Katharina felt heavy knowing that today would likely bring nothing new from yesterday's exhaustion.

  The breakfast offered the same gray mush. Katharina now knew what to expect when they joined the waves of people in the mess hall, and their quiet ritual of learning a new word a day could begin again.

  "?ψ??∞!"

  Lian exclaimed as she held up her wooden spoon, blocking Katharina's shoveling of mush.

  Katharina parroted back, "Spoon?", and while she was at it, she pointed at her bowl, "Bool." She knew immediately that she wasn't quite right, but Lian had the patience to gently correct her.

  "???χ. Bowl. Bowl."

  Her repeated enunciation was slow and deliberate, making sure Katharina could catch every little nuance.

  The mess hall offered many more useful things that Lian could point to as they ate: ‘table,’ ‘chair,’ ‘door.’ It was disheartening to feel like a child, having to relearn even the simplest words. But with each small triumph, when a word stuck, Katharina felt her world grow a little larger around her.

  But soon their ritual was ended at the silent tug of the bell calling their brands.

  Here we go again, another 12 hours of smiling like a maniac.

  But instead of leading them to the mirror room, their feet led them to a completely new part of the manor. They followed a long, gloomy corridor, where many closed doors hid the purpose of the rooms behind, and they entered through a seemingly random door.

  The door led to a storage room packed with exotic vases, taxidermy animals, ornate furniture, and really anything you might find in a hoarding grandma's attic.

  The clutter was so dense, she thought they were left to their own devices at first. But that assumption was quickly corrected when a short-statured old man emerged from between a bald ostrich and a coat hanger, armed with half of a sad feather duster, and brows so thick you could barely tell if he had eyes underneath.

  He tickled her nose with the only three mangled feathers left on the duster.

  Why is everything feathery in here going bald? And who is this guy?

  He turned out to be their instructor for the day, and his lesson, apparently, was to pick the ‘right’ item from the overwhelming sea of clutter and hold it steady in outstretched arms. Or maybe it was something else entirely, Katharina couldn’t tell, but now she stood, the sorry remains of a once-gilded angel figure held out in front of her, slowly making the acid build up in her arms. Every so often, they were allowed to lower it for a short moment before having to raise their item again.

  I don't get the point of this.

  Yesterday was at least about posture and how to look flattering.

  When am I gonna need the skill to hold a figurine in front of me for hours?

  The exercise was grueling; there was no way she would last an entire day like this. Her shoulders were already feeling warm, and her fingers were stiff and weak. The fifth time they lowered their item, the brand told Katharina to stand on one leg as the next exercise. She stood like that until she faltered, then did the same thing with the other leg. And then it was back to holding the figure, forming a cycle of grueling exercise.

  The girls were spread out in the room, standing wherever the clutter would allow. The small furrow-browed man would dive into the chaos and emerge in unexpected locations, flicking his dusters at his next unsuspecting victim.

  Lucky for Katharina, her wooden figurine wasn't particularly heavy, and she had decent balance, but the girl across from her was starting to waver. Her petite frame was shaking under the weight of a large vase with swirling flower patterns she held. And with Furrow-brows' unpredictable antics, it was only a matter of time before that vase would hit the floor.

  The ambush was predictable, yet the girl's body recoiling ever so slightly was still enough for her to lose grip of the fragile vase. Panic followed the initial surprise in her eyes.

  But Furrow-brows did not remain still to witness the vase shatter; instead, he let himself plummet to the floor face-first, reaching beneath the falling ceramic, meeting it with a softening catch.

  Instead of setting the vase down, the little man slowly rose into a one-handed handstand, while still holding the vase in his other hand, completely still, not even the slightest quiver.

  What was the purpose of this weird display of acrobatics? Katharina watched bewildered as Furrow-Brows started up at the trembling girl, the room echoing with the sharp sound of his tongue flicking in disappointment.

  The girl turned stiff, eyes staring straight, and mechanically she started moving toward the door, leaving the room by the invisible pull Katharina knew all too well.

  They were left to ponder what was happening to the unfortunate girl, but a punishment was surely being carried out.

  Inside the manor, there weren't as many guards to take care of dishing out reprimands. Katharina had seen a few of them while walking through the hallways, but just as yesterday's lesson, their instructor seemed to be the only authority keeping tabs on their behavior.

  As her mind was starting to compare the days of fieldwork with the happenings on the inside of the manor, her eyes drifted toward the only unobscured window in the room, and just then, the answer to what happened to the girl presented itself. She came running past on the gravel path leading to the rose gardens, eyes focused stiffly on the path ahead, as though in a hurry to reach some unknown goal. Maybe she's being sent to work the fields.

  A rather harsh punishment for dropping a vase, but it seemed fitting for the general theme of the manor.

  Katharina let her eyes wander the room, but soon found her gaze resting on the outdoors again. The weight of the small figure was slowly getting to her, and it felt heavier by the minute. So as a distraction, she found herself imagining what it would feel like to be the one running out in the summer sun. Then something surprising appeared in the window; it was the girl who came running past again.

  It took a while each time before the girl appeared in view, half an hour, maybe a little bit less. But each time, she certainly got slower. She kept appearing, seemingly running laps around the manor. The day passed slowly, with Katharina measuring the time by the girl passing the window, first in a brisk sprint, slowing to a short-breathed run, finally a stumbling jog.

  She counted the laps until seven. Maybe eight. Then the window remained empty. The girl didn’t return.

  Instead, the door to the clutter room opened, and the girl stepped inside, soaked in sweat, her chest heaving as she sucked in shallow breaths. She didn’t look at anyone, didn’t say a word. She just walked back to her spot, picked up a small, ornate jewelry box from a nearby table, and lifted it in front of her with trembling hands, falling back into the same silent stance as if nothing had happened.

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  This is borderline torture.

  Katharina watched the heaving girl, thankful to not be in her place.

  If I'm gonna survive here, I'll have to learn how this place works.

  Katharina knew that waiting till her language abilities were up to par wasn't an option; she constantly found herself in a state of confusion simply because the words spoken to her were unfamiliar.

  The only times when she knew exactly what to do were when she allowed herself to surrender to the brand's command. And that's when an idea hatched in her mind. She would let herself go numb, obedient, succumb to the ebbs and flows of the invisible stream, constantly trying to drag her down. From now on, she would listen diligently to the brand and bide her time, waiting for any opportunity that might present itself.

  If I'm lucky, I might not even have to stay here.

  The brand punished the thought immediately by stabbing her with a spear of searing pain. But Katharina was determined now, and she would remain unflinching at her punished thoughts, hiding behind a perfect mask of obedience.

  The lesson ended in the afternoon, with sore arms and fingers locked in the stiff shape of the figurine she had been holding, but most notably, a ravenous hunger was gnawing. In the fields, they at least had three meals, but that wasn't the case anymore. Katharina wasn't sure whether it was the act of straining her arms to hold a figurine, for what felt like a million years, or her scheming and concentration to suppress any sign that her brand was reacting, that had caused this hunger. But she was quivering with anticipation for this evening's gray mush.

  That night Katharina slept soundly in a blissfully dreamless sleep induced by her absolute exhaustion.

  To her utter surprise, when she awoke, their regular brown dresses were gone from the table, and in their place lay a pair of satin dresses, the same kind she had worn when presented to the master just three days ago. Someone has been in during the night and replaced our clothes. And I just slept through it.

  She was frightened at how complacent she had gotten, and she resolved to stay vigilant from now on. Today, she would pay attention to the people of the manor, starting with the girls from her lessons. Maybe if I play nice, I can make a few friends over time.

  Today's lesson took place in a long, airy hall, its marble floors buffed to a shine that made her worry every step might end in a fall. Sunlight poured through arched windows, catching on the gold trims around the edge of the room. Someone had opened a set of high balcony doors to let the breeze in, and the silk curtains swayed softly with each gust, making the scene look ethereal.

  On a small chair at the other end of the room sat a woman in the same dress they were wearing, reading a book. This was the first time Katharina had seen an actual book in this world, and it had to be precious.

  As the girls filed in, the woman got up, leaving the book on the chair behind her.

  She spoke a few short sentences, showed off some exotic dance moves, and started clapping in threes, the rhythm of a waltz.

  Then she went back to her seat, still clapping, but as she picked up the book, she let her foot continue the rhythm, seeming utterly disinterested in anything but her book.

  The brand started tugging. Katharina let it guide her every move, leaving her mind free to take notice of every little detail about the other girls.

  There were six of them in total, and now they were paired up and starting to move, slowly beginning a waltz to the rhythm of the stamping foot.

  They all shared similar straight brown hair; four of them, Lian included, had it cut similarly: thick bangs, two long pieces cut bluntly around the collarbone framing their faces, and the rest left long and thick down their backs. Only one of the girls did not have bangs, and instead carried a long, thick braid.

  Katharina's own hair, on the other hand, was blond and curly, sporting a jellyfish cut in need of a trimming by now.

  As their lesson continued, so did the waltz. Now and then, the instructor would pause and have them switch partners, which gave the opportunity to study each girl up close.

  Her first partner was the tallest among them, and Katharina was fairly certain she had been the one who had snickered at her ugly smile. She seemed rather unfriendly and was quite literally looking down on Katharina during their entire dance. Maybe she's not the first one I should befriend.

  Next up was the small girl who had been running for most of yesterday. She seemed timid and younger than Katharina, but overall, she seemed like she wanted Katharina to dance properly and gave awkward smiles whenever the instructor commented on them.

  The prominent nose and sharp facial features were the first thing Katharina noticed about the third girl; it made her look regal. And her elegance in dancing matched her appearance. Then there was the girl with the braid, who was easy to tell apart from the others. I'm hoping she doesn't change her hairstyle anytime soon, that's for sure.

  Finally was Lian, who again seemed so familiar with the steps and the whole setup. But it was comforting to dance with her; she would whisper "Good" whenever Katharina did something right, and firmly lead their steps when Katharina wavered.

  As they danced, all the girls grew sweaty and rosy-cheeked. Katharina rotated through every partner a few times, and after just a few rounds, she had their names down, her nicknames for them at least.

  Tall girl. Runner. Princess nose. Braid girl. And Lian, of course. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

  The first step to making friends, after all, was remembering who the hell they were.

  The lesson ended much earlier than expected, and instead of carrying them to the mess hall, their feet brought them to the baths. Here, a line of neatly folded, clean brow dresses waited for them on the long table.

  Without making her stare obvious, Katharina carefully observed the other girls as they were undressing. All of them, as expected, carried a brand somewhere on their body; the brands were all similar, some larger and more ornate, others simple, but they all shared the crescent cross symbol. We are all under the same spell.

  On the fourth day, her feet carried her from the mess hall to the furthest part of the manor she had yet seen. It was on the upper floor, quieter, and fewer people passed them in the hallways.

  They entered yet another small, cluttered room, but this time, there was reason to the chaos. It was a music room, and the walls were covered with peculiar twisting flutes and string instruments, or at least instruments with strings.

  Katharina had played a bit of piano back in middle school, but she was never any good at it, and it had been years since she’d bothered touching a keyboard. This music room didn’t even have a piano; the collection of instruments was so foreign that she doubted you could actually play them.

  The instructor was already there when they entered, a familiar figure seated casually on a small stool, her pale hand cupping the brown binding of her book. It was the same woman from the dance lesson. She didn’t acknowledge them when they filed in, just turned a page and gestured vaguely toward the instruments with one lazy flick of her wrist.

  Why did she care so little when the other instructors cared so much? Again, a large window had been left open, and if it wasn't for the fact that they were currently on the upper floor, Katharina was pretty sure she could have made a getaway without the instructor even batting an eye; that's how little she seemed to pay attention.

  Of course, her thoughts, playing with the idea of escape, were immediately punished, which brought her back to her mission at hand: letting the brand guide while observing.

  It nudged her toward a lopsided, stringed instrument that looked like a ukulele, that had passed through the fourth dimension, and come back not quite right. It had twelve tuning pegs and six strings, and sounded oddly out of tune. But as she sat and let her fingers follow the tapping rhythm of the instructor’s foot, the brand handled most of the work.

  Her hands moved. Her mind wandered.

  Her playing wasn’t good. But it was enough to pass unnoticed.

  She had this weird feeling about the music; it just seemed off, and not just because she was bad at it. It was a few hours into the lesson when Katharina realized that the ugly ukulele she was playing only had six notes. And she was pretty confident that instruments were supposed to have seven notes.

  I think the scale they use is different from the one I'm used to back at home.

  She didn’t dwell on it. By now, it was just another confirmation that she was far from home.

  The next three days didn't have any more odd lessons; instead, they were filled with housework, scrubbing stone floors until her knuckles hurt, peeling vegetables until her fingers were sore and wrinkled. It was strangely comforting in a way. The labor was mindless, repetitive. Like it had been in the fields. And it gave her time to think.

  They were allowed to move between rooms, to carry water and haul laundry, but they were never alone. If it wasn’t the woman built like a fridge watching from the corner, it was one of the guards pretending not to be paying attention.

  On the fourth morning of housework, her feet carried her somewhere new, except it wasn’t new.

  She was back in the mirror room, the tall woman scrutinizing them from her sofa as they entered her domain.

  And that's when a suspicion of hers was confirmed.

  Shit. We are on a rotating schedule, and I'm never gonna leave this manor.

  First came the ‘smile lessons’, more about posture and appearance than smiling, followed by Furrow-brow's pointless clutter lessons.

  On the third day, it would be dance again, where Katharina would stumble through the steps, her legs still trembling from standing twelve hours the day before.

  Each misstep under the hard scrutiny of the instructor would earn a slap if egregious enough.

  The fourth day was spent in a cramped music room, forcing her to learn strange instruments and scales she had never seen before, confirming what she already suspected: this place was different.

  Finally, rounding out the week came three days of scrubbing floors, peeling potatoes, and doing anything else a servant might do in a manor this size. Then the week would start over, repeating itself.

  Having gone through all the lessons, knowing their schedule, it seemed that they were never left out of sight, and never allowed to set foot outside the manor.

  I'll be stuck here forever, or until I'm sold to somebody else... Unless...

  Katharina thought back to the girl who was sent out of Furrow-brows lesson; she had seen the girl running outside the manor, and no one had been following her or watching her. Maybe this was it, her fated opportunity.

  I still have no idea how this magic mark on my back, or whatever, works, but maybe if I get far enough away, it will lose its signal?

  A small glimmer of a plan was forming in her head.