Chapter 3: The Ill Favored Clove

OPENING UP THE CELLAR DOORS, Clover hesitantly walked in. Hearing chops and grunts of anger, she slowly resented her decision.

Standing over a table was a girl with brown, curly hair, who was intently focused on chopping what looked like an animal’s foot with a cleaver. A cleaver that dripped blood onto the wood cutting board. Hearing the creak of Clover stepping off the steps, the girl's head shot up, teeth bared and ready to fight. The torches hung on the walls highlighted the purplish bruise on her caramel skin around one of her brown eyes.

Gasping, Clover treaded closer. “Did she?”

The girl shook her head in dismissal, a little taken aback someone cared but she was too guarded to show it.

“She may be a bitch but she wouldn’t touch me.” The girl landed another hard chop on the meat and moved another slice off to the side. “That doesn’t excuse that stupid head guard.”

The chopping got so rapid that Clover was afraid she’d chop her own hand off. “That fat, balding, donkey of a man, that’s why he never had a wife and NEVER GOING TO!”

“Ok,” Clover said, starting to walk over to her. She disarmed the girl and put the cleaver beside the cutting board. “Why don’t I take over and you focus on the pies in the oven?” Finding no error with that, the girl nodded and took off her apron, passing it to Clover.

Minutes into their work, the unnamed girl started up a conversation.

“So, where are you from? I haven’t seen you here before.”

“Oh, um, Tenebris Nubilum.” Shenaya nodded.

“Debacle or Domain?” Clover looked confused.

“...There are two?”

“It was a joke,” Shenaya answered awkwardly before changing the subject. “You walked a day’s trip just for pie that’s badly washed and stuffed with addictive, witchy herbs?”

“Actually, I have no idea why I came here at all. My mother’s been brisk about the explaining part.” She nodded before turning back to the oven.

“So, what's it like? Living near a village, seeing other people daily?” She turned, puzzled at Clover’s question.

“Well you're not missing out,” she said with a jagged smirk before sighing and stretching, her hands supporting her back. “People suck in Rendaven. Especially to people in service. They're also cruel. I’m guessing from the question you asked when you saw me that you realized that cruelty is all my auntie knows.”

Reliving the woman’s insult, Clover’s face softened before continuing to chop.

“She’s a blunt woman,” the girl consoled, trying to be empathetic but not really understanding how based on lack of experience. “Your face isn’t really that bad, anyway! It’s just...unique.”

Clover frowned. Looking at her reflection in the cleaver, for the first time in her life, Clover felt doubt. She had never felt it before but it was a very draining feeling. Suddenly she wanted to fix her lips which were tilted in a bizarre angle. Her nose which she suddenly wished would shrink and widen by the nostrils. Her eyes, which had nothing wrong with them but she wished were smaller and were spaced a little bit more. The mild acne, the uneven proportions, she started to get sick. Tears started welling.

“May I use the bathroom-” The door of the cellar opened and in came Regina who was running down.

“Stay quiet,” she warned, finger to her lips.

Suddenly she heard a trail of heavy feet above her, like running.

“Bring the meat and pretend you're the only one down here,” Regina whispered, untying the apron off Clover and throwing it to the girl, who Clover still did not know the name of. She nodded and did what she was told. Regina turned to her, “And you, rest up. We’ll leave when it’s dark.”