LOGINHAZEL (AUTHOR POV) The fever raged inside her body, burning her from within, but Hazel knew better than to expect mercy. She forced herself out of bed before the sun rose, her legs shaking like jelly, her head spinning so badly she had to hold onto the walls just to move. She looked at herself in the mirror. She was terrifyingly thin. Her skin was stretched tight over her bones, looking like parchment paper. Her eyes were sunken deep into their sockets, surrounded by dark circles. She looked like she was already dead, just walking around. That morning, Mrs. Kingston decided that the entire kitchen floor needed to be scrubbed with a hard brush. “Hazel!” the old woman shouted, throwing a bucket of soapy water and a metal brush at her. “Scrub every inch of this floor! I want it so clean that you can eat from it! Do not stand up until you are done! If you leave even a single stain, you will sleep outside tonight!” “Yes, Mother,” Hazel whispered. She knelt down on the cold, hard tile
HAZEL (AUTHOR POV) The pain was no longer just physical; it had seeped into her very soul, turning her heart into a cold stone. Hazel moved through each day like a walking corpse, her eyes empty, her face expressionless. She had stopped crying long ago because tears were a luxury she could no longer afford. One morning, Mrs. Kingston decided to clean the attic. It was a huge, dusty room filled with old furniture and boxes that hadn't been touched in years. “Hazel!” the old woman shouted, pointing at the stairs. “Go up there and clean every corner! Move all those heavy boxes! I want the place spotless by noon! And wear this old rag so you don’t dirty your clothes!” She threw a dirty piece of cloth at her. Hazel wrapped it around herself and climbed the dark, creaky stairs. The attic was hot, stuffy, and filled with thick dust that made her cough violently. The air was so heavy it was hard to breathe. She started moving the boxes. They were incredibly heavy, filled with old books
HAZEL (AUTHOR POV) The days continued to bleed into one another, a never-ending cycle of labor and pain. Hazel had grown so small, so quiet, that she was almost invisible. She moved like a breeze, doing her work, absorbing the blows, and existing only to survive. One morning, Mrs. Kingston decided that the carpets in every room needed to be taken out and beaten until every speck of dust was gone. "Hazel!" she shouted, throwing a heavy stick at her feet. "Take all these carpets outside! Beat them until they are clean! Do not leave any dust! If I see even one particle, you will repeat it all day!" Hazel looked at the huge, heavy carpets. They were thick and heavy, weighing more than her entire body. But she didn't complain. She grabbed one end and pulled with all her might. Drag... Drag... She pulled them outside one by one. Her arms were shaking, her fingers turning white from gripping so hard. She was sweating profusely under the scorching sun. Her skin was burning, turning red a
HAZEL (AUTHOR POV) The pain had become so familiar that Hazel barely noticed it anymore. It was like the air she breathed—always there, constant and suffocating. She moved through the days like a ghost, her body thin and frail, barely holding onto life. One morning, Mrs. Kingston decided that the windows of the entire mansion needed to be cleaned. Not just wiped, but polished until they were invisible. “Hazel!” the old woman called, throwing a roll of newspaper and a bottle of vinegar solution at her. “Clean every window! From the inside and outside! I want them so clean that birds will crash into them because they can’t see the glass! If there is even a single streak, you will do it all again!” “Yes, Mother,” Hazel whispered—She started with the lower windows. She sprayed the solution and wiped it with the newspaper, her arms moving up and down, up and down. Her muscles screamed, but she ignored them. When she finished the ground floor, she had to go up the ladder to clean the s
HAZEL (AUTHOR POV) The morning sun was barely visible through the thick curtains when Hazel opened her eyes. She felt like she had slept for only a minute. Her body was heavy, and every movement felt like a struggle. She sat up slowly, rubbing her aching back, and looked at her reflection in the small, dusty mirror on the wall. She barely recognized herself. Her cheeks were hollow, her skin was as pale as paper, and her eyes were surrounded by dark circles. She looked like a walking corpse, kept alive only by sheer will and the love she held for her father. She stood up and went to the kitchen. It was still early, but she knew that if she didn't start working immediately, Mrs. Kingston would have a fit. Today was laundry day again. But this time, it was worse—The family had decided to change all the curtains and bedsheets in the entire mansion. There were piles and piles of heavy, wet fabric waiting for her. “Hazel!” Mrs. Kingston shouted, pointing to the mountain of clothes. “Was
Hazel (author POV) The pain was a constant companion now, a dull ache that lived in every bone and muscle of her body. Hazel woke up before dawn, as she always did, her body stiff and sore from the hard floor she slept on. She looked at her arms in the dim light—covered in old bruises that were turning yellow, and new ones that were still dark and painful. She stood up slowly, feeling the world spin a little. She was so hungry, her stomach felt like it was eating itself. But she knew there would be no breakfast for her unless she finished all her work first and if the family allowed it. That morning, Mrs. Kingston decided that the entire house needed to be scrubbed from top to bottom. “Hazel!” the old woman shouted, throwing a bucket and a rough brush at her feet. “I want every tile in this house cleaned! Scrub them until they shine! Do not use the mop! Use your hands and knees! If I see even a speck of dust, you will do it all over again!” “Yes, Mother,” Hazel whispered. She fi
HAZEL (AUTHOR POV) Days turned into weeks, and Hazel’s life remained the same—a never-ending cycle of labor, hunger, and insults. The mansion was beautiful, filled with luxury and expensive things, but for her, it was nothing but a prison. She lived in the corners, invisible unless they needed som
HAZEL (AUTHOR POV)Darkness engulfed her senses. The pain was no longer a sharp sting, but a dull, heavy ache that had settled deep into her bones. She was burning up, her skin hot to the touch, yet she felt as if ice water was running through her veins.Her breathing was shallow and ragged. Every
HAZEL (AUTHOR POV) The night was long and freezing. Hazel sat huddled in the dark storage room, her body trembling violently. The rain was pouring heavily outside, and the cold wind seeped through the cracks of the walls, biting her skin like needles.She had no blanket. She had no food. Her stoma
HAZEL (AUTHOR POV) The days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months. For Hazel, time didn’t fly, it dragged slowly, like a heavy chain pulling her down.Life inside the Kingston mansion remained a living hell. Every day was a repetition of pain, hunger, and humiliation.Hazel had gotte







