Little Mouse

The old Lancaster estate was one of the largest and most striking landmarks in the area, and that was exactly why any shadow of awkwardness within its walls felt twice as loud. It was as if every wooden panel, every portrait on the walls, and every heavy curtain knew what was going on and only silently watched this performance, which had already been going on for the third month in a row.

Hannah, or rather, just yesterday, Edward, who still kept mentally slipping up from time to time, unable to accept the fact that the past could not be brought back, froze right on the threshold of the study that once had been hers. Her fingers, already almost professionally, adjusted the ribbon of her apron and her dress behind her back, while her eyes slid over the spilled coffee she was now supposed to clean up. In moments like these, for some reason, she cursed her youth, gained in such a way, more than anything else. Maybe it was influenced by memories of lost power, or maybe it was about how exactly this young body reacted to stress, making her feel helpless where she once controlled every person and every object in this study, and now was… nobody. The thought of that burned the most.

— Hannah. — a female but strict voice of Veronica Lancaster, the mistress of this house, rang out. A voice that once lit a fire in her heart, inspired her, him, Edward, to all those actions he committed, to that very inner steel with which he committed them, to how to be “Edward”, now made her flinch and shrink inside like a schoolgirl caught in the act of a wrongdoing.

She turned sharply and only then noticed how close Edward was already standing to her. He was literally looming over her, and she yelped. Quietly, but enough for his right eyebrow to lift with that same predatory curiosity that made everything inside her tighten. She hated herself for such feminine behavior now, but it was as if it was already part of her, part of her nature that she received along with this body and the youth she had dreamed of so much while being Edward and performing the ritual. The ritual that gave her youth but took away everything he had been so proud of and left him in this body.

— Careful, Hannah, — he said calmly, taking a barely noticeable step back, as if granting her that “freedom” which only made things more unsettling. — You flinch as if you’re hiding something.

— I… uh… forgive me, sir, — she breathed out and felt her back instantly grow damp with sweat under the fabric of the dress. The apron ribbon slipped down again, and a thin strip of fabric brushed against her skin, causing a strange sensation, as if her body itself was reminding her: you’re just a servant now. Don’t forget.

Veronica studied her with a cold gaze for several seconds, as if scanning her with a scanner built into her eyes.

— We’ve been standing here for several minutes already, and the floor is still covered in coffee, — she said sharply, — and you’re still in the doorway, staring, sighing. Maybe you need some help to start moving?

This tone was soft, but that softness only made it worse. As if it wasn’t enough that she had lost everything, but now the very one who once confessed love and loyalty treated her like… like some stupid child.

Hannah humbly lowered her gaze and took a deep breath. She felt how the hem of the light dress lightly touched her legs, how at that moment her breasts seemed to grow heavier and slip slightly out of the bra cup, making her think that she should fix this already so familiar and dear, yet still so чужой piece of flesh. She immediately pushed that thought away, realizing that it would be completely inappropriate right now, and that only made everything inside feel even more humiliating because of this whole situation.

“If only you knew, Veronica… if only you knew who I really am…”, flashed through her mind, but she immediately forced herself to exhale and say:

— No, ma’am, thank you, I don’t need any help, — she finished and lifted her gaze, immediately noticing that Edward, damn him, Edward was looking straight at her breasts. And yet not so long ago he himself had been Hannah, that modest 22-year-old girl who completely forgot who she was because of the spell. Now “he” is being assured by everyone that it’s just “amnesia” and that “he” has always been Edward, which, of course, has its effects.

He looked openly, without embarrassment, as if examining a well-known piece of furniture that had suddenly revealed new shapes. And she knew, she knew perfectly well that she wouldn’t be able to do anything if Edward decided to go further. She knew this too well. From the inside. No one would say anything to him, not even Veronica, because such things used to be considered normal in the Lancaster house.

— Hannah, are you sure you’re managing your work? — Veronica said, stepping forward so that the lace of her dark blue dress swayed slightly, as if emphasizing the pause.

— Yes, ma’am, — Hannah lowered her head again, feeling how her breasts softly pulled downward when she took a breath. The dress seemed to remind her of every movement: the thin fabric of the hem touched her legs, the apron rustled slightly, and the ribbon behind her back again seemed to ask to be adjusted.

But touching it now would be like shooting herself in the foot.

Veronica slowly stepped around the spilled coffee, and her heels rang loudly against the parquet.

— Because from the outside it gives the impression, — she continued, — that you’re having… trouble concentrating. Even though the task seems simple enough.

Edward, standing almost at Hannah’s shoulder, let out a quiet, barely audible chuckle. She felt his gaze sticking to her just as confidently as he used to look at subordinates when he was still a man.

“What are you laughing at? You’re even worse than I ever was…”, flashed through her mind.

— I… — she swallowed, feeling as if the coffee on the floor was glowing with her shame. — I’ll clean everything up right now.

— It’s not about the cleaning, dear, — Veronica sang softly, stepping closer and lifting Hannah’s face by the chin. Her fingers were burning-cold, even though they were the same fingers that once…

— Look at me, — she demanded.

Hannah obeyed. Resisting was pointless, not only because she was no longer the mistress of this house, but because her new neck itself seemed to submit, thin, flexible, almost obedient under the touch. Everything was far too humiliating.

Veronica studied her in silence. Not the way a woman looks at a maid. And not the way she looks at a rival. But like furniture that might need to be moved somewhere or slightly remade.

— God, what a little mouse, — Veronica finally said so quietly that Hannah’s skin went cold from the words. — Small, beaten-down… and completely not understanding where she’s standing.

Hannah felt her breath catch on its own. The word “mouse” seemed to bite into her skin like a mark you can’t scrub off. Once they had called her “Lord Lancaster,” “master of offices,” “owner of the study.” Now — a mouse.

Veronica leaned even closer, so that her dark-blue dress lightly brushed the hem of Hannah’s. From that touch, Hannah involuntarily swayed back, as if stepping into her own shadow, but at that moment she felt, with her ass… Edward’s hand. It landed on her left butt cheek as if by accident, but the hand was firm and sure. It didn’t twitch, didn’t try to move away, it just lay there, as if measuring the flesh through the thin fabric of the dress, and Hannah froze, torn between Veronica’s icy gaze and the hot touch behind her back, not daring to move.

— You look like you’re about to cry, — Veronica noted without the slightest sympathy, and Hannah felt her eyes really moisten, betraying her with the same stubbornness with which this чужая ribcage rose on every breath.

— No, ma’am, I… I... let me clean it… — she breathed out, feeling the words cling to each other, as if trying to break into a completely different sound.

But she wasn’t allowed to finish the sentence.

With the lightest motion, Veronica lifted her chin higher, only by half a centimeter, but it was enough for Hannah to feel again how her breathing pressed into her breasts, growing heavier with each inhale. The hem of the dress barely touched her knees when she instinctively shifted her weight onto one leg, and that movement gave away the tremble she had hoped to hide.

— Let you? — Veronica repeated, as if tasting the word. — Sweetie, you’re talking like you have a choice.

And before Hannah could lower her gaze, she felt Edward’s hand behind her back squeeze her left butt cheek just a little harder. It wasn’t even bold — it was simply хозя́йски, just a “check.” From that simple, almost businesslike touch, it was like something pushed through under her ribs: some mix of humiliation she’d been carrying for three months, and a furious, desperate desire to break free anywhere, even one step, even just in her mind.

But the body answered differently. The body of this age, with skin that reacted faster than consciousness. And she hated that most of all, hated that she actually liked it.

Edward quietly leaned forward, as if examining her hair gathered into a neat bun. He reached out and slightly fixed a loose strand. His fingers slid along her neck, and Hannah felt heat run down her back from the back of her head to her lower spine, to where the apron fabric was pulling unevenly and where the ribbon already, it seemed, had finally given up.

— Hannah, — he said softly, — I’d like to watch how you clean. Right now. Very closely.

Veronica smirked with the corner of her lips.

— Of course, dear. Let her show it. Since she’s insisting so much.

Veronica’s hand, as if conspiring with Edward’s hand, released her, and inside Hannah a breath of relief ran through her, immediately replaced by even greater anxiety. She immediately stepped toward the stain and slowly bent down, trying not to show how unpleasant it was that both of them were standing behind her, watching. But even this bend betrayed her femininity now. The dress stretched over her breasts, the apron slipped slightly, the hem lifted. She heard Edward exhale a little deeper. She caught that old, familiar intonation again, one she knew too well, because she herself had used it for so many years while looking at maids.

“God… no… not this… did they really mold my worst version out of you? That… that means that he… that back then I with him… no, just don’t think about it, just clean. You still have a chance… you just need to stay in the estate.”

Her fingers trembled as she picked up the rag. It felt as if the entire study was staring at her, not just those two who were clearly enjoying it. She knew it. She knew it for sure. Since the moment of the “amnesia,” Victoria had been shaping this person out of “Edward,” and it seemed she had succeeded.

Hannah bent lower to blot the coffee, and at that moment her heel slightly slipped on the floor. Edward immediately lunged forward, grabbing her by the waist — hard, firm, the way one holds property that might fall and get damaged. His palm landed just above her thigh, his thumb pressed into the soft fabric of the dress, and Hannah sharply inhaled.

— Careful, — he said quietly, almost tenderly.

Veronica crossed her arms.

— So, how is she, dear? Remembering anything? Shall I leave you alone with her?

“Alone?!” Hannah thought, trying not to think about what exactly Veronica meant, and freeing herself from his palm as carefully as if her own skin had become thinner than paper.

But Edward didn’t let go right away. His fingers lingered for another moment. They were confident, studying, far too calm for a man who supposedly remembered nothing. Hannah felt something turn cold in her stomach, while under her ribs, on the contrary, something flared up. This new body seemed to confuse sensations, mixing shame with something like… interest? God, no.

She finally slipped out of his hands. Too sharp a movement, but she couldn’t bear it any longer.

— I… I’m finished, ma’am, — she tried to say, but it came out too quiet, too soft, almost like that Hannah she now was. Halfway through the words her lips trembled, and she pressed the rag to her breasts, as if it could somehow protect her.

Edward straightened unhurriedly. His gaze slid over her from top to bottom — slowly, like a piece of merchandise he was considering buying. He leaned against the edge of the desk, and everything about him said: yes, leaving them alone — that was an interesting thought.

— She is… quite beautiful, — he said, as if assessing a new kind of household item. — And obedient.

Hannah clenched her stomach as if she’d been hit there, even though no one touched her at that moment. She lowered her head so far that she could see only the toes of her shoes and the hem of her dress, which barely brushed her ankles.

Veronica slowly turned toward Edward, and her earrings swayed softly.

— But you didn’t answer, dear, — she said, looking at her husband as if measuring his reaction millimeter by millimeter. — Do you remember anything… old? Something connected to… young maids?

Hannah froze. Her breathing faltered, and she involuntarily pressed her palms to her knees, as if trying to hide herself entirely.

Edward tilted his head slightly back, looking at the ceiling, then slowly shifted his gaze to Hannah. He stepped closer — and she, already knowing that any movement would betray her trembling, stood rooted to the spot.

— You know… — he said, stopping almost right in front of her. — Sometimes it feels like I really do remember something. Some vague habit… keeping girls like this close at hand.

Hannah felt something snap inside her, as if her last “self” was being taken away.

Veronica leaned toward her husband and lightly touched his elbow.

— Then maybe I really should step out? — she said quietly, almost tenderly. — So you can… sort out your memories.

No.

Panic rose inside Hannah, faster and stronger than before. She took a step back and pressed her back against the large cabinet.

— Ma’am… sir… please let me… — her voice broke halfway through. She didn’t know what to say. What could you even say in a situation like this?

Veronica turned toward her slowly, as if the silk of her dress itself was unfolding the movement.

— Let you? — she repeated with a thin smirk. — That word again. Do you want to work here or not?

Hannah nodded convulsively. Her throat was so dry that the words didn’t want to come out at all. Through the pounding of her own pulse, she heard how the study became… too quiet.

Veronica stepped closer.

— Then stop mumbling, — Veronica said evenly. — And answer clearly. Do you. Want. To work. Here?

Hannah’s hands were shaking. The dress pulled tight over her breasts so that she felt every millimeter of fabric. The apron ribbon started slipping again, and it felt like if she moved even a little, it would come undone completely.

She forced out:

— Yes… I do…

Veronica narrowed her eyes.

— Then don’t be so scared. Nothing has happened yet.

Hannah nodded almost inaudibly.

Her legs felt like cotton. Her heart pounded too loudly inside her, echoing with a heaviness that pulled down in her bra and threw her off balance.

Edward reached out his hand, and Hannah froze. She didn’t know whether he would touch her face, her shoulder, or her thigh again — but he, as if deliberately dragging out the pause, simply took the rag from her hands.

— It’s all right, sweetheart, I don’t bite, — he said calmly, examining the cloth as if it were evidence. — You don’t need to be afraid of me.

Hannah wasn’t breathing anymore — at least that’s how it felt — but her heart was pounding like mad.

Veronica stood there for a second. A long, agonizing second. And then she gently ran her fingers along Hannah’s cheek.

— A good girl, really, — she finally said, — she’ll manage.

At those words, her palms suddenly turned cold, and something twisted in her stomach. She’ll manage… She’ll manage!?

Veronica inhaled, as if making a decision, then turned toward the door and stopped at the exact moment her fingers touched the handle.

Hannah froze. In that instant, her entire world — all her past and future — shrank to a single point: would she leave, would she leave him with “him,” and if she did leave, then what would happen next.

Hannah knew the answers to those questions perfectly well, knew them, but didn’t want to hear them, pushing them away along with that sensation burning somewhere low in her belly and growing stronger and stronger with every second.