May 4th, 2027
The night was a canvas of shadow and whispers, where Brenda's thoughts, untethered, danced in a wild, chaotic ballet. Floating in the void of semi-consciousness, time bent, and thoughts swirled with the randomness of leaves caught in an autumn gust. She was 23—yet Hardy had pilfered one of those years, a thief of time as well as peace. A dark chuckle bubbled up, mingling with a sudden stab of guilt. Should one feel guilty for hoping to have killed the monster? Then, irritation at the guilt—why bear the burden of remorse for desiring justice?
At 23, her mother had been navigating the world with two-year-old Brenda in tow. Here Brenda was, wrestling with the legacy of a Manor, its divisions, and future needs, playing chess with ghosts, each piece a memory, a whisper of the past clashing with the clamor of the present. Which memories were disposable?
And the dam—oh, that hydroelectric dam with its promise of power and rebirth. A spark in the night, a beacon of potential amidst ruins. Brenda had always aimed high, her aspirations often made real by ambition and sheer will. The dam wasn't just a project; it was a symbol of revival, of pushing against the current of fate and wrestling triumph from its jaws. Rebuild or rot; nothing even just remains.
Sophice—or suffice, the name twisted in her mind, capped in a giggle, loomed on the horizon of her musings. A storm waiting to break, a tempest in human form. Depending on which thread of thought she tugged, the answers varied, each more unsettling. How many bodies in her wake?
May the 4th be with you, she thought, a smirk touching her lips. A shred of humor in the dark, a nod to a world beyond the immediate tangle of dilemmas.
Otto's presence was a constant, his breath a metronome in the silence, his beard a rough reminder of reality against her skin. She had slept rocking against cliff faces—this was nothing. His chest rose and fell with the rhythm of deep, untroubled slumber, a stark contrast to the maelstrom in Brenda's mind.
As the first light of dawn teased the edges of the night, Brenda's thoughts continued to skitter and leap—a mélange of determination, worry, fleeting joy, and deep, unspoken fears. The Manor, with all its shadows and light, its whispers of the past and echoes of the future, was the stage upon which all these thoughts pirouetted.
In this liminal space, Brenda found herself caught between worlds—the tangible and the intangible, the past she carried and the future she sought to forge. It was a dance of chaos and order, a journey through the night that held the promise of dawn. And as Otto's steady breathing anchored her to the here and now, Brenda knew that whatever the day brought, she would face it head-on, with all the complexity, humor, and resolve that was her birthright.
A shrill beeping made her jump, adrenaline flowing, readying her to react. The sound was coming from his watch. She relaxed while Otto took a longer route to consciousness.
"How do you keep that charged? And the time synched up for that matter?"
"Good morning, to you too," he said with a lazy smile.
She stared at him until he figured out she was waiting for answers.
"There are solar panels on the roof, not enough for much, but we decided sewage and water was a priority. No toilets had been a huge adjustment, but I'm still surprised it beat out refrigeration or lighting."
"I spent a year without them. I'm not surprised at all. Sorry to interrupt. Continue," she prompted.
"If the cells aren't drained fully overnight, Hemlock decides what can be charged. You'll need to talk to him on how time is kept. I knew he adjusted the schedule for the changes of dawn's emergence, but I assumed the watch kept the time."
"I'll explain it to you later, but basically, timepieces are much cheaper than they used to be and keep time by loosely syncing up with the Internet from time to time. Since there is no Internet, the time should slowly drift," Brenda explained.
He leaned forward, and for a second, Brenda thought he was initiating an encore. Instead, he kissed the stub of her ring finger softly. "You were really serious about never wanting to get married," Otto observed with a mix of humor and tenderness.
"I said that?" a hint of surprise in her voice.
"You were eight... Frostbite?" Otto guessed, trying to piece together her past assertions with the reality before him.
"An Ibex ate it. To be fair, I was trying to kill it. We were both victorious," Brenda recounted, her tone a blend of wry humor and pride. "There is a lesson there: always have bigger ambitions."
"It must be exhausting being you," Otto remarked, his voice carrying a note of admiration and wonder at her resilience and spirit.
The brief thud at the door served as an acknowledgment of Otto's commands, a simple yet effective signal within the Manor's walls. Brenda, her mind racing with the complexities of her new environment, outlined her immediate needs and strategy to Otto with a clarity that reflected her determination to grasp the nuances of her ancestral home.
"I don't think you should be late. The day should appear normal. Make no proclamations about me or us. I need time to understand how things work here. My thoughts currently are to change as little as possible. I would like the berg," she paused, searching for the right name, "Veronika - assigned to me as my liaison and protector, if that upsets nothing."
Her voice took on a conspiratorial tone as she broached the subject of Sophice, her query cutting to the heart of their relationship dynamics. "Now Sophice... is she a serious relationship to you, or a stand-in, or a Flüchtige Freundin? And I need the truth—consider neither your guesses of my feelings nor your desires for us."
Her statement was unequivocal, "This is about how we work her in or how deeply I bury her."
Otto's response revealed the depth of his feelings, "I long to hear your journey - you really have changed," he acknowledged, then admitted, "I guess she means a lot to me. It would hurt me to hurt her in body or spirit. But she is second in my heart to you."
The conversation shifted to a delicate negotiation of identities and relationships, with Brenda probing the extent of Sophice's intelligence and her role in the Manor's future. Otto's visible discomfort underscored the complexity of the situation, his usually guarded demeanor laid bare before Brenda's scrutiny.
"I've never met anyone as adept as you. But she is clever," Otto conceded, bringing Brenda's thoughts back to the task at hand.
Brenda, though, was already plotting a course that would either unite or divide, her plans ambitious and yet undefined. "Sorry to leave you hanging. What I have in mind you will either love or hate. And I have much to learn before I work out all the details. I will promise that all your people will be safe and their lives undisturbed. As long as they remain your people," she stated, her voice carrying the solemnity of her pledge. The term 'Ehrenwort' lent an additional layer of gravity to her words, a cultural touchstone signifying the depth of her commitment.
"Even Sophice?" Otto questioned, seeking reassurance.
"Depends whether she ends up harboring ill will. I can't spend my life on guard," Brenda replied, her voice betraying a hint of vulnerability.
She quickly regained her composure, directing Otto to maintain appearances and honesty with Sophice about the previous night's events. "Let her know her position is secure." Her command was clear, yet Otto's concern, "Is it?" hinted at the uncertain terrain they were navigating.
"Go, oversee, and send me Veronika," Brenda instructed, sidestepping Otto's question. Her suggestion to adopt 'The Berg' as Veronika's title was a whimsical touch to a conversation laden with strategic implications.
As Otto left to carry out her directives, Brenda found herself alone, her gaze lingering on the door through which he had disappeared. She was engulfed in the vastness of the Manor's master bedroom, the morning light filtering through the heavy drapes, casting a soft, golden hue across the room. The air was still, heavy with anticipation and the remnants of last night's revelations. The title for Veronika, initially coined in jest, had now taken on a weight of significance, symbolizing Brenda's growing influence and the dawn of a new era within the Manor's walls. Her laughter, though light, carried an undercurrent of solemnity, heralding the beginning of a transformative chapter in the Manor's history.
In the game of chess, foresight is paramount, requiring players to anticipate their opponent's moves several steps in advance. Yet, life, with its myriad complexities, presents a far greater challenge. Otto had emerged as her paramount piece on this living chessboard. His alliance had circumvented weeks, perhaps months, of negotiations and compromises. However, his perception of her remained anchored in the past, viewing her through the lens of a precocious yet naive fifteen-year-old, eager to venture into the adult realm alongside him. She had departed for university two years ahead of her peers, at the tender age of sixteen, leaving behind an image of herself that no longer corresponded with the woman she had become—the woman sculpted by hardships and the chaos of a world turned mad.
Yet, through the meticulous operations she had witnessed under his stewardship, it was evident that Otto had shed the immaturity of his youth. Gone was the entitled teenager, driven by lust and a naive desperation. In his place stood a man of deliberation and loyalty, who had not only preserved but rejuvenated their ancestral home, maintaining its dignity and grandeur.
Otto was undeniably a pivotal piece in her strategic play, yet mishandling such a piece could lead to unforeseen consequences. She harbored no desires for a traditional partnership; the prospect of occasional, unattached intimacy seemed far more appealing. However, the notion of sharing confidences, of having someone to lean on, held a certain allure, though the path to such intimacy seemed long and fraught with complexities.
The transition from unrequited love to resentment was perilously easy. While she cherished the sanctuary he had preserved for her, could this foundation of gratitude be nurtured into something more profound?
Her introspection was abruptly interrupted by three distinct knocks at the door, snapping her back to the present. Her voice, slightly hoarse—possibly a souvenir from the previous night's exertions—echoed in the spacious room. "I'm not familiar with your signaling system," she called out, a hint of amusement in her tone. "If you're seeking entry, please, come in."
The door creaked open to reveal Veronika, hesitating on the threshold, uncertainty written across her features. "My apologies for the delay. I was unsure of the appropriate attire for this occasion."
Veronika stood before Brenda, presenting a striking figure in her eclectic array of clothing. Her hair, unadorned, cut short and possibly auburn, lay close to her scalp, its true color obscured by the soft light permeating the room. The corset she wore was clearly meant for a different body type; it was snug in some places and loose in others, creating a contrast that was unexpectedly harmonious, despite its clear mismatch with her frame. This was paired with a well-worn leather shirt that provided a semblance of protection for her neck and arms, and men's riding trousers that, while snug, suggested the challenge she faced in finding apparel that accommodated her height. Standing taller than the doorway, she easily surpassed 200cm, a fact that added to the uniqueness of her appearance.
Brenda found herself momentarily tempted to chuckle at the sight, but her initial amusement quickly gave way to a deeper appreciation for Veronika's situation. The haphazard ensemble was more than just a fashion statement; it was a testament to Veronika's adaptability and determination to fulfill her role amidst uncertainty. Each piece of clothing, though seemingly ill-fitting and disparate, was chosen with a purpose, reflecting her readiness to tackle a variety of responsibilities. Her attire straddled the realms of practicality and formality, marking her as someone prepared for a multitude of scenarios, yet not fully belonging to any single domain.
This careful attention to detail, even in the face of uncertainty, was a testament to Veronika's adaptability and her earnest attempt to navigate the uncharted waters of her new position within the Manor's evolving hierarchy. Brenda recognized a kindred spirit, someone who, like herself, was making her way through a world that had not yet settled into its new shape. The room, bathed in the soft morning light, became a stage for the unfolding drama of loyalty, ambition, and the delicate dance of power dynamics that would define the future of their lineage.
"Are you a spy?" Brenda's question sliced through the air, direct and unexpected.
"Milady?" Veronika's response was tinged with surprise, a flicker of confusion in her eyes.
"Do you report to anyone? If a requirement of the station is to keep my counsel—privately, and not indulge in gossip, do prior obligations or personal proclivities prevent you from fulfilling that requirement?" Brenda pressed on, her gaze unwavering.
"I am loyal to you. The Mount told me to be," Veronika answered, her tone firm yet respectful.
"And if he told you not to be?" Brenda challenged further, seeking clarity on where Veronika's loyalties truly lay.
"It does not matter, I am your will now." Veronika's declaration was steadfast, indicating a commitment that went beyond mere orders. Her expression remained composed, betraying none of the curiosity that Brenda suspected bubbled beneath the surface. Brenda recognized the need to dismantle this barrier of formal detachment to foster a genuine connection.
"Your size is unusual. How do you feel about your size: proud, useful, uncaring, uncomfortable, ashamed?" Brenda shifted the conversation, aiming to delve into more personal territory.
"Between proud and useful, I guess." Veronika's reply came after a moment's consideration, a hint of pride in her voice.
"Then your position is officially 'The Berg.' Your tasks are to act as a liaison between me and the castle. Informing me on how things operate and the gossip I need to know. You will act as a go-between, informing whoever needs to know to execute my will. To be my confidant and counsel. And finally, my protector," Brenda outlined the scope of Veronika's duties, assigning her a role that matched her unique blend of strengths.
"To be your counsel, am I free to speak my mind?" Veronika inquired, her tone reflecting a readiness to fully engage in her new responsibilities.
"You are not only free to, it is a requirement, openly, honestly, and with no regard for my feelings or your sensibilities. Though we should probably maintain decorum in front of others," Brenda clarified, setting the expectations clear for their interaction.
"Can I ask how I am to protect you if I am running errands and other duties away?" Veronika ventured, lightly probing the boundaries of her role.
"I leave that to you to figure out. Hire runners, use the existing system—the Mount will support your decisions. Cleverness is a requirement of the job, as is the will to act on it," Brenda encouraged, emphasizing the need for initiative and resourcefulness.
"You keep saying 'job.' Am I free to turn it down?" Veronika's question caught Brenda by surprise, revealing a deeper cultural shift that Brenda had not fully appreciated.
"The fact that you felt the need to ask shocks me. It shows me how much there is to learn, and perhaps to change. Have we really fallen to treating each other like slaves?" Brenda pondered aloud, her disappointment evident.
Veronika, grappling with generations of ingrained behavior, carefully responded, "Not in name. But we work for safety, food, and shelter. It's implied we do as told or fend for ourselves. Not much different before the fall, except then we were paid."
"Do you wish to turn down the position?" Brenda asked directly.
"Heaven's no! I just wanted to understand the dynamics. I'm eager to accept your offer," Veronika clarified with a mixture of relief and enthusiasm.
"You mentioned 'the Mount'; I take it that's Otto?" Brenda sought confirmation.
"Yes, milady," Veronika affirmed.
"Jus primae noctis?" Brenda inquired with a hint of jest.
Veronika blushed, her laughter breaking through the formal veneer. "I wish," she admitted, then quickly covered her mouth, fearing she'd spoken too freely.
"Have I stumbled upon a crush? It's quite alright; I find him attractive too," Brenda reassured, aiming to ease Veronika's embarrassment.
"Yes, the whole castle heard that last night," Veronika hinted, her confidence growing as she explored the boundaries of her new freedom.
"That was business, but not unpleasant," Brenda responded lightly, acknowledging the complexity of her relationship with Otto.
"It's not like that for me... The men I attract tend to be timid men that want to be dominated. I've longed for a man who can truly match my size, to be the one overpowered," Veronika confessed, her voice imbued with a blend of longing and vulnerability.
"Careful what you wish for," Brenda cautioned, her own painful memories casting a shadow over her advice.
Changing the subject, Brenda offered, "Would you like to board in my room, assuming I get my old bedroom back?"
"Do I get to watch when you and he...?" Veronika half-joked, half-hoped, revealing a deeper curiosity.
Brenda, taken aback by the boldness of the question, promised to discuss it with Otto, leaving the door open to possibilities as they navigated this new dynamic together.
"I need some clothes. What I had was... shredded last night," Brenda began, her words trailing off with a hint of amusement. "And regarding your attire, I appreciate the cleverness and resourcefulness you showed, given the lack of guidance and the challenges you face with clothing due to your size. You'll find I often juggle multiple thoughts at once. Wear whatever makes you comfortable. Do we have someone who can make clothes from scratch?"
"A seamstress, you mean? Someone who creates garments out of fabric? We don't have one, but Velma is skilled in altering and repairing what we already have," Veronika clarified, understanding Brenda's need but highlighting the Manor's limitations.
"I'm trying not to cause too much disruption yet, but I might need to pull rank using Otto's name if it means getting what we need sooner rather than later," Brenda mused, already strategizing on how to navigate their current constraints.
"I'll need to leave you temporarily to discuss this with Pike," Veronika mentioned, her duty momentarily pulling her away from Brenda's side.
"No need to leave. Bring him here," Brenda suggested, dismissing the conventional concerns of propriety.
"Mistress, you're not properly dressed. It wouldn't be appropriate," Veronika protested, hesitant to breach decorum.
"I'm covered with a sheet and a comforter. Besides, I think you'll find that I often disregard what's considered proper, and so will you, on my behalf," Brenda retorted with a smile, challenging Veronika to rethink their approach to protocol and formality.
As the door swung open, Veronika revealed Pike, a man in his 30s with a thin, sinewy build and a low center of gravity, his back initially to them. With a playful yet assertive gesture, she grasped his belt and hoisted him into the room before he could react.
"Hey!" Pike exclaimed in surprise as he found his feet again, only for his attention to snap towards Brenda, his train of thought visibly derailing at the sight of her.
Both Brenda and Veronika chose to tactfully ignore the noticeable change in Pike's demeanor, evidenced by the sudden bulge in his trousers. Instead, Veronika steered his gaze back to hers, initiating a conversation about Brenda's need for clothing amidst the complex dynamics and politics that now governed what had once been a straightforward task. Brenda watched the exchange, intrigued by the subtle interplay of power and diplomacy in managing such mundane yet essential details of daily life within the Manor.
As the door clicked shut, sealing off their brief encounter with Pike, Brenda's expression morphed into one of bemused incredulity. She turned to Veronika, her voice laced with a mixture of humor and disbelief.
"Was I lost a year, or did I somehow travel back to the 1700s?" she mused aloud, her words hanging in the air like an echo from another era.
Veronika, momentarily puzzled by the question, prompted, "Milady?"
"I was raised in a household with servants," Brenda continued, her tone shifting towards reflection. "Mama and Papa occasionally mentioned one or another not knowing their place, but I always imagined them content in their work. Now, in 2027, a grown man becomes visibly aroused simply because he's in a room with a woman he can't even see properly. What the hell is happening?"
"Was that an example of your thoughts running simultaneously?" Veronika inquired, a hint of understanding dawning in her tone.
Brenda nodded, a wry smile playing at her lips. "I suppose it was. You're catching on. But, distractions aside, I'm in a bit of a predicament. I have no clothes, and, quite suddenly, an urgent need to use the bathroom. Are you enjoying being my voice and hands in this world?"
Her question, veiled in jest, underscored the surreal and unexpected challenges of adapting to her new circumstances, signaling the beginning of a partnership that promised to be as complex as it was intriguing.
As Brenda navigated the new dynamics of the Manor, her journey from her temporary quarters to the bathroom took an unexpected turn. Instead of the anticipated modesty of a sheet, a pragmatic solution presented itself. Several young boys, barely on the cusp of adolescence, were strategically placed to secure privacy, covering the entrances to the wing. This allowed Brenda the liberty to move the short distance to the bathroom unencumbered and completely unadorned.
"If you're aiming to minimize disturbances," Veronika advised with a practical tone, "it would be wise to use as little hot water as possible."
Acknowledging the counsel with a nod, Brenda entered the bathroom, her senses heightened to the Manor's internal rhythms and the subtleties of conserving resources in this new reality. Veronika, embodying her role as 'The Berg', conducted a swift inspection of the room before positioning herself inside, but facing the door. This act of vigilance, while Brenda attended to her needs, was a tangible manifestation of her commitment to her duties—protecting Brenda not just from potential external threats but also safeguarding her dignity in these intimate moments.
After relieving herself and taking a lukewarm shower, Brenda was making her way back to her room when she encountered Pike, who was blindfolded. Acting on instinct, she swiftly removed the blindfold herself before Veronika could intervene. Facing Pike directly, Brenda took the opportunity to address the situation head-on. "Pike, I assume you're stationed here as a relay. 'My' relay. You're bound to overhear and witness many things. Instead of catching fragments and letting your imagination wander, take a moment now for a comprehensive look. Consider this a way to dispel any fantasies."
Pike's confusion was palpable as he replied, "Are you upset, milady? I'm finding it hard to read your tone," his gaze direct, betraying a curiosity that hadn't been dulled by his initial embarrassment.
Brenda, maintaining a composed demeanor, responded, "Upset with you for being human? That would be absurd. But let's be clear: what you're imagining will never happen. I'm addressing this now to prevent any future discomfort."
As his looking lingered, Veronika, her accent suddenly thick with the tones of the western Alps, decisively steered Brenda back into the room, signaling an end to the interaction.
Raising her voice just enough to be heard through the door, Brenda called out with authority, "Pike, have all my possessions rounded up and brought here."
Once inside, Veronika ventured to offer a piece of advice, her role as counsel momentarily clashing with her respect for Brenda's autonomy. "Milady, might I suggest that in the future, such direct approaches be tempered with a bit of forewarning, if they are to be made at all?"
Brenda's reply was straightforward: "No."
Seeing a possible misunderstanding, Veronika elaborated, "Perhaps I'm not fully grasping the concept of counsel."
Brenda clarified, "It means I value your input, not that I'm bound to follow it."
"But without a heads-up, how can I provide you with effective advice?"
Brenda conceded the logic in Veronika's argument, acknowledging the strategic value of spontaneity in certain situations. "You're right; but such 'outbursts' are often more impactful when they're spontaneous. Yet, I see your point." This acknowledgment hinted at the evolving dynamic between them, where directness mingled with a newfound respect for each other's perspectives.
"Oh milady, Pike is in a tough spot. Technically, you're his Will, but to maintain the requested illusion, the Manor sees him as your guard. It would be more proper for you to order me, and I'll take it from there." This clarification highlighted the complexities of their roles within the Manor, a delicate dance of appearances and responsibilities.
Seated on the floor with only a sheet draped around her for modesty and comfort, Brenda found herself in a peculiar state of suspension. She had managed to secure meals but had achieved little else in terms of reclaiming her life within the Manor. The absence of clothing rendered her effectively trapped within these four walls, her interactions limited and her ability to move freely, curtailed. It was an odd form of confinement, dictated not by physical barriers but by the lack of attire, isolating her in a room that seemed to shrink with each passing meal.
The room, bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, was cluttered with the remnants of several meals. Plates and utensils lay scattered, a testament to the passage of time and the rhythm of daily life that persisted despite the turmoil within its occupants. Brenda, for reasons she couldn't quite fathom, resisted the urge to have the mess cleared, leaving the leftovers as silent witnesses to her current predicament.
In this secluded setting, her conversations with Veronika turned towards the topic of Sophice. The Berg referred to Sophice disdainfully as "the little princess," a moniker that belied the depth of her wariness. There was something about Sophice's smile, perpetually plastered on her face yet never quite reaching her eyes, that she found unnervingly insincere.
As the day waned, the room took on the air of a refuge and a prison simultaneously, its disorder a mirror to Brenda's internal chaos. The uneaten food, the disarray, all spoke of a woman in transition, caught between the past she had survived and the future she was yet to claim. In the company of The Berg, Brenda found an unlikely confidante, a presence that grounded her even as she navigated the uncertainties that lay ahead.
Otto's entrance coincided with the last whispers of daylight fading from the room, his sudden appearance unannounced. In an instant, Veronika sprang into action, her reflexes swift, pinning Otto to the floor before he could advance further. She looked towards Brenda for guidance, a grin on her face carefully pointed away from his sight.
"It's okay," Brenda reassured with a calm nod, her voice steady. The message was clear and delivered with an unspoken undercurrent of authority. Otto would learn to knock in the future, lest he wished to be on the receiving end of The Berg's formidable strength once more.
Regaining his footing, Otto brushed off the surprise of the encounter and shifted his focus back to Brenda. "Can we be alone?" he asked, his voice carrying a hint of urgency mixed with a request for privacy.
"My protector and stenographer remains," Brenda responded firmly, her decision not just a statement of Veronika's roles but a challenge to Otto. She was gauging the sincerity of his promises regarding her autonomy and place within the manor. This was a test of his respect for her agency, a measure of how freely she could wield her power in her own domain. If there were to be any disputes or limitations to her authority, Brenda preferred those revelations come to light sooner rather than later.
Brenda's frustration was evident, yet she held a tone of weary resignation rather than anger. "I'm not whining, or trying not to, but I've been trying to get clothing all day. Even the clothing I came in," she gestured towards the sparse collection of her belongings, noticeably devoid of any garments, meticulously arranged between the foot of the bed and the window. "They seem to have vanished."
Otto pondered the situation briefly, his mind racing through possible explanations. "There are limited ways to make use of them. I'll have the culprits caught and punished," he assured, his voice carrying the weight of his resolve.
"I suspect a spiteful sprite. You'll never catch her," Brenda hinted, her words laced with an underlying meaning that Otto failed to grasp. Observing his confusion, she decided not to elaborate further, letting the topic fade into the backdrop of their current concerns.
"I don't care about that. I want clothing by dawn if they have to work all night," she asserted, the strain of the day's events sharpening her demand. It was a departure from the person she aspired to be, aligning more with the type of Lady she had always looked upon with disdain. Veronika exchanged a knowing glance with Brenda, her expression a silent warning of the shift in Brenda's demeanor.
Brenda's voice was a blend of gratitude and resolve as she addressed Otto. "Otto, I really am appreciative of all you've done, but this isn't going to end the way you hope. If that changes the situation, I'd rather know now. If not, you should go back to your girlfriend. If she makes you happy, marry her—it's a cold world now."
She paused, letting her words sink in before continuing with her proposal, a clear outline of her expectations and desires. "If you and she are willing, I'd like you in my bed twice a month. Almost everything stays the same. I want my old bedroom and its attached bath. I'd like Pike officially and whatever runners he needs, sharing services they call upon, on equal status with Sophice."
"Not me?" Otto interjected, seeking clarification.
"No, I keep my agency, but the Manor is yours to run. I have a bigger vision," Brenda clarified, her gaze steady, her intent unwavering.
She proceeded to lay out the rest of her terms, marking a significant shift in the Manor's traditional operations. "Also, if they aren't already, my staff are freed of household and farm duties. No division of loyalties. Lastly, I could use your help with diplomacy with the town."
Otto, taken aback, ran a hand over his face, the weight of her words pressing down on him. "I'm so confused. It's your Manor. Tal der Ruhe 'is' yours."
"Then I'm asking you to run it, with almost all its resources," Brenda reiterated, her request a testament to her trust in him and her vision for their future.
His mood soured, Otto's confusion gave way to frustration, the evening not aligning with any scenario he had envisioned. "What will you be doing?" he asked, his tone tinged with sulkiness.
"I'm going to get the electricity back on... in all of Mittenwald," Brenda declared, her ambition reaching beyond the Manor's walls to the wider community. Her statement was not just a revelation of her plans but a challenge to the status quo, a bold stride toward a future she intended to shape not only for herself but for the entire town.
In the quiet that followed Veronika's voice interjected, "You forgot to mention my bed and dresser."