Elara was finally allowed to leave the foul-smelling attic that had imprisoned her for days.
This wasn't mercy, merely Steward Gregor deciding her "worthless life" probably wouldn't expire just yet, and she could continue working.
The place she was assigned was one of a row of low, dilapidated mud huts on the very edge of the manor grounds, near the fields. It was less a room and more a dark, damp corner barely large enough for one person to lie down, crammed together with several other servants of equally low status, offering almost no personal space. The air perpetually reeked of a mixture of sweat, grime, and cheap, low-quality ale.
As her body gradually recovered and the memory fragments continued to coalesce, Elara also managed to piece together the rough history of the original 'Elara'.
Her parents, it seemed, were once freemen on this barony, possessing a small plot of land and a craft (perhaps blacksmith or carpenter). Though not wealthy, their life had been relatively stable. However, a sudden plague years ago (or perhaps they were caught in some minor territorial dispute, or framed after offending someone) claimed both their lives. Their meager possessions were quickly divided among covetous neighbors or officials, and the young Elara lost her freeman status, judged a serf by the baron at the time, eventually ending up in the hands of her current guardian—the manor steward, Gregor. Whether Gregor was a distant relative or had simply 'bought' her for a few copper coins remained unclear, the memories too hazy.
This Steward Gregor was the most direct and cruel embodiment of the "Baron's shadow" that Elara currently had to contend with.
He was about forty, burly, his face perpetually wearing an expression both greasy and latently fierce. Elara quickly grasped his nature: obsequious towards the Baron and knights, fawning like a tail-wagging dog; but towards the serfs and servants beneath him, he exercised the full extent of his spite, greed, and tyranny.
Elara experienced his "care" firsthand. The food rationed to her was always the smallest, poorest portion—usually a small piece of black bread hard enough to kill someone, occasionally accompanied by some watery soup almost devoid of vegetables. She clearly remembered one time, driven by unbearable hunger, she had secretly hidden a slightly better piece of bread, only to be discovered by Gregor. Not only was the bread snatched away, but she received a brutal beating and was forbidden food for the entire day.
The chores assigned to Elara were always the dirtiest, most exhausting, the ones no one else wanted: clearing the mountains of manure from the stables, toiling for long hours in the fields under biting wind or scorching sun, laundering piles of reeking, stained clothing... The slightest mistake, or moving a fraction too slow, would invariably result in Gregor's merciless whip and curses.
Elara even suspected that the original Elara's trivial offense (breaking the clay pot) resulted in such harsh confinement in the attic partly because Gregor coveted the only memento her parents left her—a small, crudely carved but clearly heartfelt wooden bird, which Elara (the original) treasured and kept hidden on her person. Gregor had likely eyed this "useless thing" for a while, looking for an excuse to seize it.
Days passed in this endless cycle of labor, hunger, and oppression. Most of the other servants and serfs around Elara were numb. Accustomed to this life, their eyes rarely held any spark. Some cast glances of malicious pleasure or suspicion at Elara's "special treatment" (being locked in the attic), while others were secretly glad she received the worst chores. Occasionally, Elara would catch a fleeting glimpse of shared suffering in the eyes of a young boy (named Thomas, who tended the hunting hounds) who was also frequently bullied, but the connection was ephemeral; no one dared to get too close.
Facing all this, Elara chose the path of quiet endurance. She always kept her head down, spoke little, worked with deliberate "clumsiness," striving to appear as unremarkable and non-threatening as the numb figures around her.
But inwardly, she remained alert as a lurking wolf. She silently endured Gregor's abuse, meticulously recording every humiliation, every scar, in her mind. She pushed herself to complete the seemingly impossible tasks, not out of obedience, but because she knew only survival offered a chance. In the brief moments of respite between grueling chores, she greedily observed her surroundings, contemplated Gregor's weaknesses, and searched for any tiny opportunity to improve her situation.
She knew that escaping the Baron's shadow, escaping Gregor's control, required far more than mere tolerance. She had to find her own strength, even if that strength, initially, stemmed only from the "knowledge" disregarded by this era.