Maid: The Vengeful Queen from Ashes

New York, Summer 1892. The air in the Holton Mansion's backyard was thick with the scent of sun-warmed grass and the faint tang of coal smoke drifting from the city beyond. Eliza Gray knelt beside a wooden bucket, her hands submerged in soapy water as she scrubbed a pair of James Holton's leather boots. Her fingers ached from the coarse brush, and the edges of her gray apron were frayed, stained with the grime of endless chores.
At eighteen, her face still held a quiet beauty-sharp cheekbones, hazel eyes that caught the light-but years of servitude had dulled its shine. She paused to wipe sweat from her brow, glancing toward the kitchen door where her younger sister, Mary, leaned against the frame. Mary was sixteen, round-faced with a tangle of dark curls spilling from her cap, her lips pursed as she nibbled on a stolen piece of cream bread.
Her eyes, narrow and calculating, fixed on Eliza with a familiar mix of disdain and envy. "Eliza, hurry up! The young master's boots won't polish themselves, " Mary called, her voice sharp enough to cut through the humid stillness. She took another bite, crumbs tumbling onto her apron, and smirked. "Or do you think staring at them will do the trick?" "They're almost done, " Eliza replied softly, lowering her gaze back to her work.
She brushed harder, the rhythmic scrape of bristles against leather a small comfort against Mary's taunts. It had always been this way-Mary prodding, Eliza enduring. They were sisters, bound by blood and poverty, both indentured to the Holtons since their mother's death five years prior. But where Eliza bore the weight of their lot with quiet resilience, Mary simmered with resentment, as if Eliza's mere existence stole something from her.