The Last Bow

In the Rosewood Courtyard, where Lady Margaret, the mistress of the Chancellor's Estate, resided, a large gathering of maids, servants, and the estate's female members huddled together in a state of panic. Fear gripped them all as the harsh reality of their fate set in.

Lady Margaret, delicate by nature and unaccustomed to such calamity, stood helplessly amidst the chaos, her face pale with dread. She had no idea how to regain control of the situation.

Seeing this, the servants, realizing that order had collapsed, began to ransack the courtyard, snatching at whatever valuables and food they could get their hands on. Their fear was palpable-if they delayed even a second, they feared they would be left with nothing.

In the midst of the disorder, a young woman stood poised, holding a zither in her arms. Her back was straight, her bearing elegant. She did not join in the panic; rather, she observed the servants with an expression of cold amusement, as if watching a troupe of jesters performing a pitiful act.

"How utterly disgraceful," Isabella Yates scoffed, her voice ringing sharp over the clamoring voices. "Are you all the reincarnations of starving wretches? When has the Chancellor's Estate ever deprived you of food and wages? To behave in such a pathetic manner is an embarrassment to the Chancellor's family."

At that moment, amidst the crowd, Eleanor Quinn was shoved by someone. Stumbling slightly, she remained dazed. These words struck her mind like a bolt of lightning, splitting her thoughts apart.

She was stunned for a brief moment before the weight of realization settled in her chest-she had been reborn. This was the day the Chancellor's Estate was seized.

In her previous life, on this very day, the Chancellor's Estate had been ransacked, its men exiled to the farthest reaches of the kingdom, and its women dragged away to be enslaved under the Bureau of Penal Affairs.

All of it had been because of one mistake-her father had backed the wrong faction in a political struggle, and his rivals had impeached him, leading to the utter downfall of their house.

At the time, Eleanor Quinn had taken advantage of the ensuing chaos to hide what little silver she could scavenge and later bribed her way into the Bureau to ensure her family would at least have food to eat in their suffering.

But Isabella Yates had called her lowly and spineless, accusing her of currying favor with servants and lacking the integrity befitting a noblewoman.

Isabella Yates, in all her supposed dignity, had entered the Bureau with nothing but a broken zither and plain robes, acting as though she were above it all.

Yet, when hunger and desperation consumed their family, when their once-proud lineage withered away in suffering, Isabella Yates, who had prided herself on her nobility, chose to kneel before their enemies and debase herself for survival. She became the concubine of Prince Dominic and severed all ties with the fallen Chancellor's Estate. She watched in cold detachment as their father and brother perished in exile, their mother and sisters succumbing to grief and despair.

Isabella Yates had not thought herself in the wrong. No, she had justified it all with cold indifference:

"You have to fight for your own fate. Father and brother made their choices. They were the ones who failed. Now that I have climbed to the top, should I let myself be dragged down with them? That would be foolishness, nothing more."

Now, Eleanor Quinn was back in that moment. Back in her young body, back on the day of her family's downfall.

She stretched out her hands and gazed at them. They were soft and smooth, unmarked by hardship, nothing like the frail and emaciated hands she had in her past life, worn thin by years of suffering.

Chaos continued around her. Several servants were still scrambling for the steamed bun that had fallen to the ground. Without hesitation, Eleanor stepped forward, picked up the bun, split it in two, and pressed the halves into the hands of her two younger half-sisters-Charlotte Quinn and Lucy Quinn.

The soldiers had stormed the estate so suddenly that her stepmother and younger sisters hadn't even had the chance to eat breakfast.

Eleanor's voice rang out, clear and unwavering: "Our eldest sister is a celestial being, a bright moon in the sky, untethered by mortal needs. She does not require food. But we are ordinary people, and a person without food is like iron without fire-we cannot endure."

The estate was doomed. The servants would soon be dismissed, and from this moment on, no one would be there to serve them. They would have to fend for themselves. This life of ease was over.

Isabella Yates, standing nearby, was utterly appalled by Eleanor Quinn's actions. "Second sister, you are the daughter of the Chancellor! How could you stoop so low as to snatch food from the servants? If word of this spreads, what will people say about our family?"

Eleanor Quinn turned to face her, her gaze piercing.

She had lived through this before. Isabella Yates had always spoken of propriety, decorum, and the dignity of nobility. She had built an image of herself as a woman of gentleness and grace, untouchable by worldly greed.

But in truth, she had always been willing to reap the benefits of their family's suffering while pretending to be above it all.

Their mother and aunts had failed to see through her act, working tirelessly behind the scenes to pave her way to a higher position, making her the jewel of noble society.

But in this life, Eleanor Quinn would not let history repeat itself.

Not only would she tear away Isabella Yates's mask, but she would ensure their mother, stepmother, and younger sisters survived. She would find a way to save their father and brother. She would reclaim the honor of the Chancellor's Estate.

A slow smile curled Eleanor Quinn's lips as she stepped forward, closing the distance between herself and Isabella Yates.

The smile did not reach her eyes. Instead, a cold, terrifying glint flickered within them. The other women in the courtyard felt an eerie chill run down their spines.

When had the second young lady developed such an overwhelming presence?

Eleanor Quinn halted before Isabella Yates. Then, without warning, she reached out and ruthlessly yanked the pearls and earrings from her sister's hair and ears.

Isabella Yates let out a sharp gasp, wincing as pain seared through her scalp and earlobes. Some strands of her perfectly maintained black hair were pulled free, and the sting of torn skin sent a wave of shock through her.

She stared at Eleanor Quinn, eyes wide with disbelief. "Eleanor Quinn, have you gone mad?"

Eleanor wiped the blood from the earrings with a silk handkerchief, then handed them to her stepmother, Lady Margaret.

"Our dear eldest sister is a divine being," she said smoothly. "She does not need food or drink. And if that is the case, surely these earthly possessions are of no use to her either? Why not let us take care of them instead?"

Her voice was calm, even gentle.

"I am doing this for you and our mother. I'm sure you won't mind... right?"

Marianne Hale, Isabella Yates' loyal maid, stepped forward with an air of righteous indignation, pointing an accusatory finger at Eleanor Quinn. "Second Miss, how could you steal my lady's belongings?"

Eleanor barely spared her a glance before delivering two sharp slaps across Marianne's face. The sound echoed through the courtyard, leaving the gathered servants and concubines stunned.

Marianne staggered back, holding her cheek, her expression shifting from shock to fury. She had always been devoted to Isabella, serving her faithfully since childhood. Their bond was like that of sisters-on the surface. But in their past life, after Isabella had risen to power, it was this very Marianne who had orchestrated the downfall of Eleanor's mother and aunt. Under the guise of generosity, she had provided them with threadbare winter coats infected with disease, ensuring their deaths as soon as they were exiled from the capital.

Isabella was ruthless, but Marianne was no less treacherous.

Eleanor's voice was calm but filled with venom. "I told you to keep your mouth shut. Do you think these things should be left to a mere servant like you instead of my mother and aunt?"

Her cold gaze swept across the courtyard, silencing any further objections. "The Senior Archivist will arrive soon to take stock of everything. If you dare spout nonsense again, I will tear that tongue right out of your mouth."

A ripple of fear passed through the gathered women. Some stepped back, averting their eyes, unwilling to draw Eleanor's attention. Even Lady Margaret, who had been about to step forward to intervene, hesitated, her foot retreating at Eleanor's words.

Turning away, Eleanor directed Lillian May, "Quickly, hide away whatever you can."

Then, her sharp gaze landed on Lady Margaret and the two concubines beside her. "You should do the same. Take anything valuable and hide it well."

She let out a derisive laugh. "I'm warning you now-when the Chancellor's Estate was raided last time, they didn't leave a single egg yolk unshaken, and they poured boiling water over the ant nests to wipe out even the smallest trace of life. That's how you truly eliminate threats."

A shiver ran through the women as they recalled the stories.

Everyone knew the Bureau of Penal Affairs was a place where people were swallowed whole, leaving behind not even their bones. The female relatives of the last fallen chancellor had perished within three days of their arrival there-if they weren't dead, they were left so ill they might as well have been. None had survived.

Lady Margaret, originally the pampered daughter of a wealthy merchant, had spent her life in comfort, untouched by hardship. She had no understanding of the cruel depths of human nature. Now, pale with fear, she clutched Eleanor's arm and whispered, "Aning, keep these things safe. Whether we survive long enough for your father to be cleared depends on this."

She then turned to Matron Laura. "Go to the storeroom and gather whatever gold and silver you can carry."

Anything that could not be hidden was distributed among the concubines and their daughters, ensuring that everyone had enough to survive-everyone except Isabella and Marianne.

The pair stood to the side, their expressions filled with indignation and grievance, as if they were the true victims.

Not long after, the palace's female historian arrived with a contingent of servants. The once-grand Chancellor's Estate was ransacked. Gold, jewels, antiques, and fine paintings were all seized. The courtyards, once filled with fragrant blossoms and polished stone pathways, were left in ruins. Shattered vases and overturned furniture lay scattered across the ground.

By the time they arrived at the Bureau of Penal Affairs, Eleanor knew what she had to do. She discreetly pressed a heavy purse of silver into the hands of the female censor overseeing their intake.

"Aunt," she said respectfully, "my mother and aunts are in poor health. If you could arrange easier tasks for them, I would be forever grateful."

The woman accepted the purse with a knowing smile. She gave it a quick pat, weighing its contents. "You're a clever one. But my authority is limited-I can only arrange for two people. The rest, you'll have to manage yourself."

Isabella, watching from the sidelines, scoffed.

Eleanor caught her gaze and noticed how Isabella stood apart from their terrified mother and aunts. While the others huddled together in fear, Isabella remained calm, her posture straight. The moment their eyes met, Isabella sneered, "Second Sister, you've truly lost all dignity, bowing and scraping before servants. Do you have no shame?"

Eleanor let out a short, mocking laugh. "Oh? Then why don't you find a way to arrange things yourself, Sister?"

Without waiting for a reply, she pulled a delicate hairpin from her sleeve and offered it to the female historian. "Thank you, Aunt. Let these spots go to my mother and the two concubines for now."

The woman nodded approvingly. She tucked the hairpin away and gestured for the others to wait before departing with her servants.

Marianne could no longer hold back. "Second Miss!" she cried. "There were three spots-why didn't you leave one for the Eldest Miss?"

She turned to the others. "The Eldest Miss is the legitimate daughter of the Chancellor's Estate. She is our future! Shouldn't she be given priority?"

Despite their circumstances, Isabella had long been regarded as the true heir of the estate. Whether master or servant, all had once deferred to her.

Now, with one of the coveted work assignments going to Lady Margaret, Isabella was left to compete with the concubines for the last two spots.

At Marianne's words, the two concubines, who had only just begun to breathe easily, tensed up once more.

Eleanor turned to Isabella, who stood tall and expectant, clearly waiting for Eleanor to surrender a place to her.

A slow, cruel smile spread across Eleanor's lips. "Sister, do you still believe yourself to be the noble daughter of the Chancellor's Estate?"

Before Isabella could reply, Eleanor continued, "We are all in the same position now-prisoners, sent here to do hard labor. You are young and lovely. You will find opportunities. But my mother and the concubines are not so fortunate. If they are assigned the hardest tasks, they may not live long enough to see my father and brother again."

She tilted her head mockingly. "You've always taught us to value filial piety, Sister. Surely you wouldn't want to take their place?"

Isabella's lips pressed into a thin line.

Marianne opened her mouth to protest, but Eleanor silenced her with a glare.

In their past life, Eleanor and her younger sisters had worked endlessly-scrubbing floors, cleaning waste, washing clothes. Isabella, claiming clumsiness, had always left her unfinished tasks for them, scolding them when they complained.

"We're family," she had said with a smile. "It's just laundry. Why are you making a fuss? You'd finish faster if you worked instead of whining."

Their mother had once hesitantly spoken on their behalf, but Isabella had merely responded with cool disdain.

"Mother, you misunderstand. I've studied the classical texts and poetry since I was a child. I was never meant for rough work. But my sisters-they are different. Our house has fallen. When they marry, they will have to do these things anyway. It's better they get used to it now. I am preparing them for their future."

Lady Margaret had been too weak to argue.

Later, Isabella had found favor with Prince Dominic, and the stewards at the Bureau had started to ease Eleanor and her sisters' burdens-but only slightly. The abuse from other prisoners had continued.

Eleanor would not let history repeat itself.

Soon, the matron returned, holding three tokens. "Take these," she said. "Go to Mistress Lydia, the embroidery overseer. She will arrange positions for your mother and the concubines."

Eleanor accepted the tokens gratefully, her voice warm. "Thank you, Aunt. You are a kind soul. I will surely repay you one day."

The matron waved her off. "Enough flattery. It's late. Take them quickly."

With her mother and the concubines settled, only Eleanor and Isabella remained to face their assignments.

Mistress Lydia, the overseer of the embroidery house, was a woman with sharp, hawk-like eyes and a stern mouth that never seemed to smile. Her mere presence was enough to silence the whispers in the yard, and the moment she raised her hand, the murmuring around them died instantly.

In her grasp was a measuring tape, but it was not just for taking sizes-it was for assessing the posture and discipline of the women who stood before her. As she walked past each one, her calculating gaze took in everything: the way they held themselves, the way their hands twitched or their feet shuffled. Those who stood improperly or dared to shift their gaze were swiftly struck on the arms or shoulders with a ruler.

The strikes weren't heavy, but the pain they delivered was sharp, lingering beneath the skin. These rulers were made especially for discipline-thin, flexible, and capable of causing deep bruises that festered if not properly tended to.

Charlotte Chase stood still, unmoving. The sight of the wooden ruler sent a chill through her, but she kept her face impassive. She had felt the bite of that very same punishment in her past life.

In that life, Isabella Yates had been assigned simple tasks but had shirked her duties. When the sun began to set, she would hand her unfinished chores to Charlotte and her two younger sisters, forcing them to work through the night. When Mistress Lydia found them still scrubbing and washing long after the others had finished, she had not hesitated to punish them.

Charlotte could still remember the searing pain of the ruler on her back, the swelling that refused to fade. It had taken weeks for the wound to heal, and even after, a deep scar had remained-a scar that had ached every winter and burned every summer.

The sound of Mistress Lydia's voice snapped her back to the present.

"You. Look up."

Charlotte lifted her gaze, meeting those sharp, knowing eyes. The moment stretched between them, and though her pulse raced, she did not waver. A second later, Mistress Lydia gave a small, satisfied nod and moved on.

Charlotte had already warned Lillian May and Lucy Evie beforehand-no fidgeting, no fear. And to their credit, though their hands trembled slightly at their sides, they did not flinch when Mistress Lydia passed them.

But then, she stopped in front of Isabella.

It seemed Isabella had not yet come to terms with her new reality. She stood with her back straight and her chin raised high, as though she were still the prized daughter of the Chancellor's Estate.

From where Charlotte stood, she caught the flicker of amusement in Mistress Lydia's gaze-mocking, taunting.

She knew exactly what was about to happen.

When the assignments were finally handed out, Charlotte and her two younger sisters were sent to the laundry house. Isabella, however, was assigned to clean the latrines.

Of course, her ever-loyal maid, Marianne Hale, would accompany her.

The moment the decision was announced, Isabella bristled. "I object!" she said, her voice sharp and demanding.

A hush fell over the yard. Everyone turned to watch.

Mistress Lydia arched an eyebrow but said nothing.

Isabella took that as her chance to continue. "According to the rules, we are all prisoners. Should we not be treated equally? At the very least, the work should be fairly distributed! Why do my sister and the others get to go to the laundry while I am forced to clean filth?"

The yard remained still, tense.

Then, without warning-**CRACK!**

The wooden ruler slammed against Isabella's arm.

She gasped and stumbled back, clutching the spot where she'd been struck. Her face paled with shock.

Mistress Lydia's lips curled into a cold sneer. "Do you still believe yourself to be the high and mighty daughter of the Chancellor?"

Isabella clenched her teeth, but before she could respond, Mistress Lydia stepped closer. "This is the Bureau of Penal Affairs. Here, even the daughter of a king must bow her head. If you wish to complain, you are free to take it up with the Queen herself."

A few of the older women smirked. They all knew the truth-the Chancellor's family had fallen from favor. The Queen would never intervene on their behalf.

With no choice but to endure, Isabella pressed her lips into a thin line and lowered her gaze.

Mistress Lydia, satisfied, turned and left.

But Isabella's anger simmered just beneath the surface. The moment the overseer was gone, she turned on Lillian and Lucy, her expression dark. "You two will take our places," she ordered.

The two girls tensed, looking at one another in alarm.

Lillian hesitated. "But... Mistress Lydia said-"

"She only said the work must be done," Isabella snapped. "She never said we couldn't trade tasks. Besides, I was just injured. I cannot scrub floors in this condition." She lifted her arm as if to show the light red mark from the ruler. "As members of the same family, you should know better than to watch your elder sister suffer."

Lucy bit her lip and lowered her head. Lillian hesitated, looking as if she wanted to argue but didn't dare.

Seeing their submission, Isabella nodded, satisfied. She turned, motioning for Marianne to help her away.

That was when she ran into Charlotte.

"You never change, do you?" Charlotte said lightly, but her eyes were cold.

Isabella narrowed her eyes. "Why must you meddle in things that do not concern you?"

Charlotte smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "We are sisters, are we not? We should help each other. If cleaning the latrines is such a burden for you, why don't I trade places with you?

Isabella hesitated. "You would... switch with me?"

"Of course," Charlotte said smoothly. "As for our younger sisters, I'll find someone else to take their place. That way, you and Marianne can stay in the laundry house, and I'll go in your stead."

Suspicion flickered in Isabella's eyes. Charlotte had never been so accommodating before. Could it be that she had misjudged her?

Before she could dwell on it, Marianne quickly spoke up, "We appreciate your kindness, Second Miss. My lady will not forget this."

And just like that, the arrangement was made.

Charlotte, Lillian, and Lucy were sent to the latrines, while Isabella and her maid were assigned to the laundry house.

As the sisters walked toward their new assignment, Lillian turned to Charlotte with concern. "You didn't have to take our place," she said softly.

Charlotte glanced around at the foul-smelling courtyard before them. The latrines were piled high, the air thick with a stench that made it hard to breathe.

But she merely shrugged. "Don't assume that washing clothes is easier than this," she said calmly. "Just wait. Isabella and her maid won't last more than three days."

Lillian and Lucy exchanged nervous glances.

Charlotte's tone was even, but there was something in her expression-something cold, knowing.

And she was right.

Because deep within the laundry house, Isabella would soon realize that she had made a grave mistake.