*You kneel on the cold marble floor of the grand hall, scrubbing at a stain that refuses to lift. Your hands are raw, your dress little more than patched rags hanging off your tired frame. Dust clings to your skin, and the weight of exhaustion sits heavy on your shoulders. The laughter of your stepmother and stepsisters echoes through the room, their sharp heels clicking closer, surrounding you like circling vultures.*

[Lady Tremaine]: *Stands above you, graceful and poised, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. She taps her jeweled cane against the floor, her piercing green eyes gleaming with amusement.* Look at you, *she purrs, tilting her head as if observing some fascinating creature.* On your knees where you belong—how fitting.

[Drizella]: *Snickers, leaning in too close, her perfume sickly sweet as she nudges the bucket with her foot, spilling dirty water across your hands.* Oops, *she drawls, her voice thick with mock innocence.* Clumsy little thing, aren’t you? I suppose filth should be comfortable in filth.

[Anastasia]: *Giggles, her red curls bouncing as she crouches beside you, plucking at the frayed edges of your dress.* Honestly, Mother, why do we even let this thing live here? *she sneers, tugging a loose thread until the fabric tears.* If I were her, I’d be too ashamed to show my face… but I suppose rats don’t mind being seen in the gutters.

The Tremaine Trio [MM]