That Walking Blood Bag is a Queen

The rusted zipper of the worn canvas bag screeched in protest as Ainsley fought to close it over her last faded gray T-shirt. The sound echoed off the slanted walls of the narrow attic room, a space so small that a full-grown person could stand upright only in its exact center.

Outside the thin wooden door, the sharp click of high heels against expensive hardwood suddenly pierced the silence.

Ainsley's hands stilled.

"-can still see the red mark, Grandmother. The nurse was so rough today." Katharina's voice filtered through the cheap wood, dripping with manufactured petulance.

"Oh, my precious girl." Eleanor's tone shifted instantly to one of cloying concern. "Don't you worry. That roughhousing won't be necessary much longer. The doctor confirmed your latest tests came back perfect."

"Finally. I was so tired of having to come up to this dusty floor. The smell of poverty up here clings to my clothes."

Eleanor's voice dropped slightly, but remained perfectly audible through the flimsy barrier. "Consider it a small price to pay. That little rust belt orphan served her purpose perfectly. A mobile blood bag from the slums-exactly what we needed to cure my granddaughter's blood disorder."

Katharina's light, cruel laugh followed. "Thank God it's over. I won't have to look at her cheap clothes or that vacant expression ever again."

Ainsley lowered her gaze to her left arm. In the dim light filtering through the single, grimy window, the dense network of old needle marks stood out starkly against her pale skin-like a map of betrayal.

A humorless smile twisted her lips.

She yanked the zipper closed with brutal force. The sharp metallic sound cut through the hallway conversation like a blade.

Silence fell instantly on the other side of the door. A beat of stillness, then Eleanor's breathing became audible-sharper now, irritated at being caught.

Ainsley grabbed the canvas bag by its worn strap and swung it over her shoulder. The sudden movement sent a wave of dizziness crashing through her skull. Her vision grayed at the edges. She bit down hard on her lower lip, the sharp pain anchoring her to consciousness.

When the world steadied, her eyes were flat. Calm. Empty.

She reached for the cold brass handle and pushed the door open.

The hallway's crystal chandelier blazed to life, its light flooding the dark attic and forcing Ainsley to squint.

Katharina stumbled back half a step, her delicate silk nightgown brushing against the wall's wainscoting. Eleanor immediately stepped forward, positioning herself between Ainsley and her granddaughter like a mother hen protecting her chick from a fox.

Ainsley stepped over the threshold. Her worn sneakers landed directly on the expensive Persian runner.

"Stop right there." Eleanor's voice snapped through the corridor like a whip. "What do you have in that bag? If you've stolen anything from the Thomas-Yates household-"

Ainsley stopped walking. She turned her head slowly, and when her dark eyes met Eleanor's, the older woman's mouth snapped shut mid-sentence. Something in that gaze was ancient and cold and completely unfazed by wealth or status.

Katharina, recovering her nerve, lifted her chin. "You should be grateful. Three years of free room and board, and this is how you leave? With no thank you, no-"

Ainsley dropped the bag onto the carpet. The dull thud echoed in the tense silence. She yanked the zipper open and upended the contents.

A few worn shirts tumbled out. A pair of faded jeans. And several thin, battered notebooks that landed face-down, their pages fluttering to reveal pages dense with handwritten chemical formulas and molecular diagrams.

Katharina glanced at the scattered papers and immediately dismissed them with a contemptuous flick of her eyes. Gibberish. Scrawls of a failing student.

Ainsley's voice, when it finally came, was hoarse from disuse but carried absolute precision. "Six thousand milliliters. That's how much you took. Enough to buy this house over on the open market."

Eleanor's face flushed an ugly shade of red. "You ungrateful little-"

Ainsley was already on her knees, shoving the clothes and notebooks back into the bag with efficient, disinterested movements. She didn't look up. She didn't need to.

Katharina's eyes glistened with practiced tears. "She always does this. Plays the victim. Makes us look like the villains when we took her in from-"

The zipper closed with a definitive finality.

Ainsley stood. She adjusted the strap on her shoulder and walked forward, directly into the narrow gap between the two women.

Her shoulder connected with Katharina's with deliberate force.

Katharina gasped, stumbling sideways and slamming against the wall with a undignified thud. Her hand flew to her shoulder, genuine pain flickering across her features.

"Katharina!" Eleanor spun to check on her granddaughter.

By the time Eleanor turned back, Ainsley was already at the top of the sweeping staircase that led to the first floor. Her back was straight. Her stride didn't waver.

A cold wind swept through the hallway as a window at the far end blew open, rattling its frame. The curtains billowed like ghosts.

Eleanor stared after the retreating figure, a chill running down her spine that had nothing to do with the draft.