Chapter 4 Noble One

Elza's ambition had always burned bright, even back at St. Haven's Orphanage. She despised the frayed dresses, the crowded dormitories, and the endless tasks expected of every child. From a young age, Elza dreamed of escaping poverty and wanted to climb to a life where she could command, not serve. So, when the Count and Countess chose her over Zazriel, she felt as if her dreams were finally within reach.

From the moment she set foot in the grand estate, Elza knew this was the life she wanted: fine clothes, silverware, a room as big as the entire orphanage. She didn't care much for the Count and Countess, and their condescending looks bothered her little. As long as she could secure her place as a noble, she was willing to tolerate anything.

Her primary obstacle, however, was Lady Katherine, her etiquette teacher. The old woman was ruthless, and with each lesson, she made it clear that she viewed Elza as nothing more than a commoner trying to play princess. Lady Katherine never missed a chance to remind Elza of her roots, making snide comments about her manners, her lack of refinement, and even her background.

"You may wear a noble's dress," Lady Katherine would sneer, tapping her cane against the floor,

"but it does little to cover your common nature. I can't imagine what the Count and Countess were thinking."

Elza forced herself to smile through the insults, bottling her anger and frustration. But behind that smile, resentment festered. She didn't want to be reminded of her roots; she wanted to bury them. And Lady Katherine was standing in her way, making her feel like she would never truly belong in this world.

The Count and Countess weren't any better. They didn't care about her happiness or her struggles; they only wanted her polished enough to parade around at parties, showing off their "act of charity" by adopting a poor orphan. They pressured her constantly to improve, to fit in, to embody the noble they wanted her to become.

This only fueled Elza's bitterness. She took her frustrations out on the servants, reveling in her newfound power. She scolded the maids over trivial mistakes, looked down on the footmen, and relished the authority that allowed her to command others. She wanted to feel superior, to feel like she truly belonged in this world of luxury, and mistreating the staff made her feel powerful, if only for a fleeting moment.

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Meanwhile, life at St. Haven's had become simpler for Zazriel, even as her responsibilities grew. At twelve, she was one of the oldest children there, and she took on more work to help the sisters and Father Bernard, who managed the orphanage with all the love and kindness he could muster. Zazriel, determined to support the only family she'd ever known, began working part-time at Madame Celine's bakery, rising early to knead dough and staying late to deliver bread.

The bakery became a place of warmth and belonging for her. Madame Celine, a kind woman with a gentle spirit, treated Zazriel like a daughter, sharing not just baking skills but wisdom, kindness, and laughter. Zazriel cherished the simple joy of her work, feeling a sense of purpose in every loaf she baked and every smile she received from the townsfolk.

Despite her busy schedule, Zazriel always made time for the younger children at St. Haven's. She helped them with their lessons, braided their hair, and told them stories, making sure they felt loved and safe. Her life was modest, but she found fulfillment in the small moments that connected her to her community and her friends.

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One afternoon, as Zazriel was helping a customer at the bakery, she saw Elza outside, standing by a grand carriage. Elza looked every bit the noble she aspired to be, dressed in fine silks and adorned with delicate jewelry. But when their eyes met, Elza's face twisted with a sneer. She swept into the bakery, her gaze full of disdain as she took in the modest shop.

"So, this is what you're doing now, Zazriel?" Elza said, her voice dripping with mockery. "Selling bread like a peasant?"

Zazriel, unfazed, merely smiled. "Yes. I enjoy it here. I work hard, and it helps the orphanage."

Elza scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Of course. Still playing the noble pauper, are you?"

Zazriel's gaze softened, but there was no sympathy for Elza's bitterness, only quiet disappointment. "You don't need to prove anything, Elza. People respect kindness more than titles."

Elza bristled, unwilling to be lectured by a girl she had left behind. "Respect? What good is respect if you're still poor, still scraping by every day? I'm going to be someone important, someone people bow to." Her voice was cold, her ambitions laid bare.

Zazriel tilted her head, a touch of sadness in her eyes. "Then I hope that makes you happy."

Elza's mouth opened, a retort on her tongue, but she found herself at a loss. Happiness wasn't the point. Power was, respect was, and wealth certainly was. But as she looked at Zazriel, calm and content despite her simple life, she felt a stab of something unpleasant-an emptiness that gnawed at her despite all her finery and position.

Unable to face the discomfort building within her, Elza turned on her heel and swept out of the bakery, her posture rigid and proud. But as she left, she couldn't shake the image of Zazriel's serene smile and the warmth that filled that little shop.

---

Back at the estate, the sense of emptiness lingered. The luxurious room, the silk dresses, and even her ability to command the servants-none of it filled the hollow ache that had grown over the months. Her lessons with Lady Katherine continued to torment her, each one a reminder of the distance between her and the noble status she craved.

Yet no matter how she tried, Elza couldn't fully erase Zazriel's words from her mind. They lingered, echoing through her thoughts like an unwelcome reminder of a life she'd turned away from, one where wealth and power didn't define happiness.

But Elza pushed the thoughts down, burying them beneath her ambition and resentment. She had chosen this path, and she was determined to see it through, no matter the cost.