privilege ? h.s

Chapter III

Judith

The light is softer this morning, stretching longer across the walls. But the stillness remains. It clings to the corners of the room, settling like a heavy blanket. My thoughts refuse to quiet, turning over and over in the silence. I can't explain it—the way everything feels different now. The air feels thicker, as though something is shifting, waiting to break free.

I sit up in bed, the coolness of the sheets a stark contrast to the warmth of my thoughts. My mind keeps drifting back to him—the man I saw yesterday in the garden. I don't even know him, yet somehow, he occupies a space inside me that I can't explain.

There's a knot in my stomach, a curiosity that won't leave, and I can't decide if that makes me more unsettled or intrigued.

I slide out of bed, the sound of my feet on the wooden floor almost too loud in the silence. The house feels emptier today. The usual hum of voices and footsteps seems distant, muffled. I pause for a moment, my gaze drifting to the window, the sun's golden light spilling across the garden, the place where I saw him.

My heart beats a little faster, but I push the feeling aside. It's ridiculous. I shouldn't even be thinking about him this much.

I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts, and make my way downstairs, the sound of my footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway. The house feels different today, somehow—like it's too large, too empty. Even the grand staircase feels like it's too much space for a single person to fill.

As I step into the dining room, I'm met by the soft clink of silverware and the murmur of conversation. The place is already bustling with the household staff, but the conversation stops abruptly as I enter. The air shifts, like it always does when I walk in, and for a moment, I feel the weight of their gaze on me. It's nothing overt—just subtle shifts, the slight lowering of voices—but it's enough to make me self-conscious.

"Morning, Miss Judith," Miss Dane greets me softly, her voice kind and warm as always.

"Good morning," I reply, offering a polite smile as I take my seat at the table. The smell of freshly baked bread fills the air, mixing with the earthy aroma of coffee. I take a deep breath, trying to focus on the familiar comfort of the morning routine.

But even as I sit, I can't shake the feeling that something is off. I glance around the room and spot Octavia, standing by the window, her back to me as she watches the garden outside. Her posture is perfect, as always, and there's something about the way she stands that exudes control, like she's always in charge, even when she's not saying anything.

I know what she's doing—she's looking for something. She always is.

I want to say something, to break the silence, but there's no need. Octavia doesn't do small talk. She's always been the kind of person who's either talking about something important or nothing at all. The contrast between her and my father couldn't be more stark.

"Judith," she says after a moment, her voice cool and sharp, "how are you this morning?"

Her question feels more like a test than genuine curiosity, but I answer anyway, forcing a smile. "I'm fine. Just tired, I guess."

She doesn't respond immediately, her eyes flicking back toward the garden. I follow her gaze, but there's nothing there—nothing out of the ordinary. The garden is still, quiet in the way it always is at this hour.

"You're becoming quite the early riser," Octavia notes, her voice still detached. "Perhaps you should make a habit of it. It's a good quality, you know."