A maid helped Lauretta pack what little she owned.
The girl kept her eyes down and her hands quick, folding the plain wool dresses and the single pair of boots into a worn trunk as if she were afraid to touch anything for too long.
Lauretta stood by the window and said nothing.
Anger sat heavy in her chest, thick and useless.
She had been a queen for barely any time at all and already she was being moved like furniture.
When the trunk was closed the maid led her through the colder halls toward Mira’s chambers.
Every step felt like another small humiliation.
By the time the door opened Lauretta’s jaw hurt from how tightly she had been clenching it.
Mira was already there, lounging on the large bed in a thin nightdress, looking pleased with herself.
The moment Lauretta stepped inside Mira reached for the control on the wall and turned the air conditioning up until the room felt like the deep north in winter.
Cold air blasted down from the vents.
“Sleep on the couch,” Mira said, waving a lazy hand toward the narrow sofa near the window.
“Malachi may come tonight.
I don’t want his wife in the way if he does.” She smiled that same sweet, poisonous smile from dinner.
“Unless you’d rather watch.
I wouldn’t mind an audience.” Lauretta’s hands curled into fists at her sides.
She wanted to slap the look off Mira’s face.
She wanted to drag the other woman off the bed by her hair.
Instead she forced herself to walk to the couch and set her trunk down hard enough to make a sound.
The cold already bit through her clothes.
She would freeze on that thin couch and Mira knew it.
The maid hurried out.
The door shut.
Silence settled, broken only by the steady hum of the air conditioning.
Lauretta sat on the edge of the couch, back straight, staring at the floor while Mira hummed softly to herself and settled deeper into the pillows.
Anger burned behind Lauretta’s eyes.
She had been stripped of her rooms, her place, her dignity, and now she was expected to lie awake in the freezing dark listening for the sound of her husband’s footsteps so she could pretend to be nothing more than furniture.
She reached for her trunk, needing something to distract herself.
At least now she could read her mother’s letter—even if the thought of the way her mother had acted made her feel lonely.
She opened it and began searching through the folded dresses and the small cloth bag of personal things.
Her mother’s letter had been tucked between the pages of her journal.
She had kept it close ever since she arrived because she was very curious about what her mother had written—maybe an apology letter, urging Lauretta to understand the difficult situation and she had just been playing along to protect things.
She pulled everything out.
Dresses.
The journal.
The bag.
She shook the book.
Nothing fell.
She turned the bag inside out.
Empty.
The letter was gone.
Lauretta sat frozen on the cold couch, the contents of her trunk scattered around her feet, the air conditioning still blasting.
The one thing her mother had given her to read, the one piece of home she had left, was missing.
And she had no idea where it had gone.
She stood from the couch, going toward the door.
She had to go to her former room—maybe the letter had fallen out when the maid was packing.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Mira’s voice rang out, sharp and cold.
Lauretta froze on the spot.
She clenched her fist and turned toward Mira, thick eyebrows raised in question as if she had the right.
“Have you suddenly gone deaf?” Mira rose from the pillows.
“I don’t owe you any explanation.
I’m your maid, not your dog.” Lauretta shot back, skin burning with irritation.
“I’m your master.
I order you not to leave.
You’ve proved to me you want to be defiant.” Mira ordered.
Lauretta merely looked back and kept walking.
Mira shot up from the bed swiftly and went straight toward her.
Her hand cracked across Lauretta’s face with a sharp sound that rang in the room and in Lauretta’s ears.
The sting exploded across her cheek.
Lauretta froze, teary eyes glaring at Mira.
In a sudden, furious movement she struck back.
Anger coursed through her so hard her head throbbed.
She refused to stop at the slap.
Her fist landed square on Mira’s jaw.
Then she gave the other woman a hard kick in the belly, sending her sprawling to the floor.
Mira tried to get up and defend herself, but she was no match for Lauretta.
Lauretta kicked again, once, twice—boot slamming into stomach, ribs, any spot she could reach.
The sound of fabric tearing and bone creaking filled the freezing room as Lauretta finally let the years of swallowed rage pour out of her.
The wood creaked violently under their combined weight as Lauretta drove her shoulder deeper into Mira’s chest, pinning her completely to the freezing floor.
The air conditioner seemed more intense now, blasting icy air that made their sweat freeze to their skin the second it touched them.
Mira’s nails were still raking at Lauretta’s arms, drawing thin lines of blood, but it didn’t even slow her down.
Lauretta’s fists were a blur.
One cracked across Mira’s cheekbone with a wet crunch.
Another slammed into her ribs.
She kicked again and again — boot heel slamming into stomach, side, knee.
The sounds were grotesque: flesh giving way, bones grinding, weak whimpers turning into raw sobs.
Mira’s legs kicked uselessly in the air, her nightdress torn open, blood already pooling beneath her.
“You thought you could enslave me?” Lauretta snarled, voice raw and shaking with years of swallowed rage.
“You thought you could freeze me in this room and call me furniture?
Mira’s face was a ruin — split lip, one eye already swelling shut, blood bubbling from her nose.
She tried to crawl away, nails scraping the cold wood, but Lauretta grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back.
“Beg,” Lauretta hissed.
“Beg like the bitch you are.” “I’ll kill you—” Mira gasped.
Lauretta’s fist came down so hard Mira’s head snapped sideways.
The last of the fight drained out of her.
Mira lay there broken, chest heaving, blood leaking from her mouth.
Lauretta stood over her, chest heaving, knuckles split and bleeding.
For one long second she felt nothing but victory — raw, savage, intoxicating.
Then the pain started.
It began in her spine.
A deep, wet crack echoed through the room.
Her shoulders jerked violently.
Thick black fur exploded across her back in a sudden wave, pushing through her skin like roots bursting concrete.
The cold air hit the fresh fur and she hissed in pain as it pricked her like needles.
She gasped, staggering back,what was happening to her?
More cracks.
Her spine arched backward on its own.
Her arms thickened, muscles swelling, bones snapping and lengthening with wet pops, her legs buckled.
She dropped to all fours, the floor suddenly too cold against her knees.
Black fur rippled across her chest and belly, her face twisting as her jaw cracked wider, teeth lengthening into sharp fangs.
Her vision blurred red.