Sweet For You, Ruthless For Others

Mariela's heels clicked as she approached, her presence commanding. "Why are you trying to defame your sister?" she demanded, her voice cold and cutting.

Hermia clutched her purse tightly, her fingers digging into the fabric. She opened her mouth, but no words came.

"Use your words!" Mariela snapped, her face flushing with anger.

Hermia inhaled shakily, summoning the courage to respond. "I'm not trying to do that. She made me look like a lesser person in front of everyone, and I—"

"Because you are," Mariela interrupted, her tone dripping with venom.

Hermia blinked, stunned.

Mariela took a step closer, her eyes narrowing. "Do you honestly believe you are up to par with Selena?"

Before Hermia could respond, Selena chimed in from the staircase, her tone mocking. "It's delusional, really. You embarrass yourself every time."

"Mother, I—" Hermia began, but Mariela cut her off.

"Don't call me your mother!" she spat. "Your slut of a mother is God-knows-where, doing God-knows-what, and her daughter is here, trying to destroy my home!"

Selena let out a soft laugh, clearly enjoying the scene. 

Meanwhile, a few maids peeked from the doorway of the kitchen, whispering among themselves as they watched the confrontation unfold.

"If your father comes back, I'm telling him everything you've been up to since you came back," Mariela threatened, her voice rising with each word.

"I'm sorry," Hermia said softly, her voice trembling as she turned away. She forced herself to walk calmly up the stairs, even as she felt their eyes burning into her back.

The moment she reached her room, she shut the door behind her and leaned against it, her chest heaving. 

The air was heavy with humiliation and despair. Hermia slid down to the floor, her dress pooling around her, and let the tears fall silently.

This is what you came back for, she thought bitterly. To be reminded you'll never belong here.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

'Hey little haven' Hermia whispered to herself as she reached her room, she stepped inside and then closing the door as quietly as possible, the soft click barely audible. 

She leaned against it for a moment, her chest heaving as she exhaled. 

There was no use rebelling or arguing—it would only make things worse. Instead, she resolved to absorb the emotional blows, to endure them as she always had. 

She inhaled deeply, trying to steady herself, and pushed off the door.

The room was simple but cozy, reflecting her quieter personality amidst the grand opulence of the house. 

The soft yellow glow of the bedside lamp cast a warm light over her small desk, her neatly arranged bookshelf, and the pale blue curtains that swayed faintly from the evening breeze slipping through the cracked window.

Hermia walked to the mirror, its frame ornate with intricate carvings, and stared at her reflection. Her face was tired, her eyes red-rimmed from the stress of the night. 

Her trembling fingers reached up to remove her earrings, one by one, then her necklace. Each piece of jewelry she discarded felt like shedding the weight of the evening's humiliation.

When her jewelry was off, she swept her hair into a loose bun. Then, she turned her back to the mirror, tugging at the zipper of her gown. 

The fabric slid down her shoulders and pooled around her feet, leaving her in just her bra and pants. For a moment, she stood there, gazing at herself in the mirror. 

Her pale skin bore faint marks where her dress had pressed too tightly. She took a deep breath, releasing some of the tension coiled in her chest.

The cool air nipped at her, and she shivered. 

The idea of taking a shower was unappealing—she already felt cold enough. Instead, she reached for the cozy throw draped over her bed, wrapping it around her shoulders as she padded toward her bookshelf. 

Her fingers skimmed the spines of her beloved comic books before she pulled one out, a nostalgic favorite that always lifted her spirits.

Climbing into bed, she curled up under the blanket, the comic book balanced on her knees. 

The vibrant illustrations and witty dialogue drew her in immediately, transporting her to another world. 

She read slowly, savoring each panel, a smile creeping onto her face. 

'Wow!' she gasped.

Soon, she was giggling softly at the antics of the characters, her cheeks flushing as the story took a romantic turn.

For a while, she forgot her troubles. She grabbed another comic and began reading, fully immersed in the colorful world of superheroes, villains, and dramatic plot twists.

But then, the sound of voices drifted up from downstairs, breaking through her peace. Hermia's stepmother, Mariela, was crying, her voice loud and dramatic as she recounted the events of the evening.

"She's trying to ruin this family!" Mariela wailed, her voice carrying easily through the spacious mansion.

Hermia paused, her hands clutching the comic book tightly. Her heart clenched, but she quickly forced herself to relax. 

Her father wouldn't come to scold her—he never did. She would have to do something truly egregious to get his attention. 

That was how it had always been.

He ignored her like she didn't exist, and while a small part of her appreciated the lack of confrontation, most of the time it made her feel invisible. 

She bit her lip, her chest tightening with an ache that was all too familiar.

As the voices grew louder, Hermia made a conscious effort to tune them out. She buried herself in the comic book, focusing on the colorful illustrations and witty banter. 

Slowly, the noise from downstairs faded into the background, becoming a distant hum as she lost herself in the story.

By the time she finished her second comic, exhaustion had begun to creep in. Her eyelids grew heavy, and her head nodded forward a few times before she finally surrendered to sleep.

The book slipped from her hands, falling onto the bed beside her. The room was silent now, save for the faint rustling of the curtains in the breeze. 

Hermia's breathing slowed, her face peaceful as she drifted off into dreams far removed from the chaos of her reality.