Trimming Task
Annabelle stood by her door, listening as Riccardo’s footsteps faded down the hall. A part of her wanted to chase after him, to ask the questions swirling inside her. But she held back, knowing it would only make him withdraw further. Riccardo was a mystery she wasn’t sure she could ever solve, and his world felt even more out of reach. Was she even going to be able to survive here?
A knock on the door snapped her from her thoughts. “Come in,” she called, straightening up.
The door opened, and there stood Verona, her expression as cold and sharp as ever. Every time Annabelle saw this lady, she felt a strange, icy chill, as if Verona’s gaze could pierce right through her.
“You have work to do,” Verona announced, her tone flat and commanding.
Annabelle blinked, thrown off guard. “Work?” She hadn’t expected to be given tasks here, especially not in Riccardo’s world.
Verona’s lips twitched in what might have been a smirk. “What? Did you think you were some kind of VIP guest?” Her voice held a mocking edge.
Annabelle shook her head, heat rising in her cheeks. “I... I just didn’t think…”
“Follow me,” Verona interrupted, turning on her heel without waiting for Annabelle’s reply.
Annabelle hurried to keep up, her mind buzzing with confusion and nerves. They walked down the long, quiet corridors, past rooms and closed doors that she hadn’t yet entered. She stole a few glances at Verona, hoping for a hint about what lay ahead, but the lady’s face was as unreadable as ever.
After a few minutes, Verona opened a back door, leading Annabelle outside. The fresh scent of flowers and earth greeted her as she stepped into a sprawling garden. It was beautiful—a surprising contrast to the cold, stony walls of the house. Roses, lilies, and other blooms filled the space, their colors vivid under the soft sunlight.
Without a word, Verona handed Annabelle a pair of garden shears. “Start with these bushes,” she ordered, pointing to a row of flowers near the entrance.
Annabelle hesitated, looking down at the shears in her hands, then back at the bushes. She’d never done garden work before. She glanced up, hoping Verona might offer more direction, but the lady only crossed her arms, her gaze as hard as ever.
“Well?” Verona’s voice was sharp, and Annabelle quickly turned to the bushes, feeling her cheeks flush. She carefully began snipping away at the leaves, doing her best not to harm the flowers. The shears felt awkward in her grip, and her fingers began to ache after only a few minutes.
The garden was quiet, filled only with the soft snips of the shears and the rustling of leaves. But Annabelle’s mind raced, thinking of Riccardo’s cold demeanor, her unexpected tasks, and the strange, unsettling world she’d stumbled into. Everything felt out of place, like she didn’t belong here.
“Focus,” Verona’s voice cut in sharply, pulling Annabelle from her thoughts. “We don’t have all day.”
Annabelle frowned but held back a response, bending over the bushes once again. She carefully worked her way down the row, the rich, sweet scent of roses filling her nose. The sun warmed her back, and soon, beads of sweat began to form on her forehead. Her hands throbbed, and tiny scratches marked her fingers, but she kept going, determined not to give Verona a reason to scold her.
Finally, she reached the end of the row. She straightened, rubbing her sore hands and looking at Verona, hoping her task was done.
The lady’s expression didn’t change as her eyes swept over the trimmed bushes. Then she pointed to another cluster of flowers nearby. “You missed those,” she said in her usual cold tone.
Annabelle bit back a sigh, feeling her shoulders slump a little. She moved to the next set of flowers, carefully trimming away the dead leaves. Her arms were starting to feel heavy, but she didn’t dare complain. She just wanted to get through this without making things worse.
As she worked, her thoughts drifted again, remembering everything that had happened the day before. The strange man who had approached her, the attack outside the school, and Riccardo’s distant attitude afterward. It all felt like a whirlwind of danger and confusion.
At last, she finished with the second set of bushes. She stepped back, rubbing her sore fingers together as she looked at Verona, hoping she’d finally be allowed to leave.
But Verona’s face gave nothing away. “Good. Now clean up the clippings,” she ordered, gesturing to the scattered leaves and petals on the ground.
Annabelle bent down, scooping up the discarded clippings, feeling the dirt cling to her fingertips as she gathered them into a small pile. The ground was cool under her hands, and the faint scent of damp earth mingled with the perfume of the flowers. Her back ached, but she kept moving, silently hoping this would be her last task.
As she finished, she looked up at Verona, waiting for some word of approval, but the lady simply turned away, gesturing for Annabelle to follow her back inside.
Annabelle rose to her feet, brushing her hands on her jeans and falling into step behind Verona. The silence stretched between them, heavy and uncomfortable. Back inside, the stone walls felt colder than ever, the air thick with the same unsettling stillness.
When they reached her room, Verona stopped and looked at her, eyes narrowing slightly. “Remember,” she said, her voice low but stern. “You’re here by the Don’s choice, not your own. Don’t forget that.”
Annabelle held her breath, feeling the weight of Verona’s words settle over her like a shadow. She managed a small nod, unsure of what else to say. Verona didn’t wait for a reply; she turned and walked down the hall, her heels clicking against the floor until they faded into silence.
Alone in her room, Annabelle sank onto her bed, staring at her scratched, dirt-stained hands.
Was this life really meant for her?