Book One – Chapter 15

When it came to scrubbing, Yu quickly gave up pressing his stumps onto the rags and sponges. That only worked on flat surfaces, and even then, it left his feathers filthy and matted. In the end, his legs proved more useful. Balancing awkwardly, he clenched a rag in one clawed foot and attacked the grease-streaked, wax-spattered tables with sharp, forceful strokes. The floor received the same treatment. His talons scraped against the stone as he scoured at stains with an almost vindictive fervour, the sound grating, constant, unpleasant.

It was painstaking. Degrading. His entire body strained. His lack of hands forced him to rely on awkward, full-body motions for even the simplest tasks, like rinsing a rag in the bucket. By the time Yu finished wiping down the tabletops and scrubbing the soot-blackened walls near the fireplace, his torso was drenched from leaning too close to the splashing water. His breath came sharp and frustrated, muscles aching, clothes and feathers damp, dirty, and clinging to his skin. And through it all, Bubs watched. Judging. Finding fault in things Yu had not even done yet. It was Tria’s fucking lack of attitude all over again.

No matter how much he scrubbed, wiped, or reorganised, every task was an opening for criticism. Every missed corner. Every surface that failed to gleam under the dim lantern light — That’s streaked. That’s uneven. That’s still filthy. Always something. Always. The mianid’s dark, segmented eyes never wavered, unblinking. Yu swore he could feel them on him even when Bubs’ back was turned. This was not supervision. It was deliberate humiliation, a slow, grinding process of reminding him, over and over, just how inadequate he was.

Yu wanted to hurl the rag in his face. The only thing stopping him was the gnawing, desperate anticipation of dinner.