The Bloom of Violet

“Don’t try to pass it off on me.”

Suddenly, Paola spoke. She flicked the ash from her cigarette nervously and glared at her sister. Dora shrugged. She muttered, “There’s nothing to be done about it.” That was how Ann ended up living at Dora’s house.

Dora, Ann’s aunt, worked as a maid in a well-off household in Roderville. She had a sturdy physique, with iron-like arms and hands as large as pot lids. Her chest and waist were as round as a jar, and her legs were thick and muscular, like sturdy tree trunks.

She was quite different from Ann’s father, who had been a handsome man with blonde hair. Ann lived under this woman’s roof.

Ann’s job was to feed and clothe Dora’s five young children until Dora returned home. In other words, she lived as the maid in Dora’s household. The work was exhausting, but what Ann found most difficult was Dora herself.

“Annes! Annes Rosenthal!”

It was early morning. After spending the whole day looking after her cousins, Ann had just managed to doze off when she heard the irritable voice of her aunt. Ann sprang up like she had been splashed with cold water and opened the attic door. Dora, stomping up the stairs, unexpectedly slapped her across the face.

“What’s this?”

“Pardon?”

“Can’t you even wash the dishes properly?”

“That’s….”

“And what’s this?”

Ann’s hair was yanked. The rough hand shoved her against the wall. Ann looked up at her aunt, terrified. The object thrown at her was a woman’s underwear—a tiny, delicate negligee that Ann would never wear. The negligee was so small and flimsy, it looked like it would rip before it even touched Dora’s body.

Ann bit her lip. It was likely the reason Dora was angry. She blinked through her wet eyes. The slap on her cheek left it tingling.

“Which woman did this? You saw it, didn’t you? You’re pretending not to know, right?”

“I… I don’t know… Agh!”

A punch landed. Dora was brutal, her face twisted with rage. Ann was hit squarely in the nose and fell to the ground. Kicks followed. Dora had an obsessive attachment to her husband.

She was fixated on where he went, why he wasn’t home. Unlike her, who worked all day for mere pennies, her husband, the one who claimed to be the head of the household, never brought home a cent. Yet, he spent his time flirting with the women of the town, despite his shabby appearance.

“You’re not a woman, Dora. Your brother was pretty enough. But not you. I guess it’s because your mother was different, huh?”

One day, after coming home drunk, Ann’s uncle, his face flushed red, muttered something as he glanced at Ann, then at Dora. Dora’s face twisted into an ugly grimace, and she began to cry. Unlike Pierre, who had inherited his beautiful looks from his mother, she and her sisters had all been burdened with unattractive features, gaining weight with just a little food.

Her husband, on the other hand, was four years younger and quite handsome. That was a deep inferiority complex for her.

“Which woman is it! What are you hiding from me? Tell me!”

“No, no, it’s not like that!”

“It’s not like that? I raised you, fed you, and now you’re acting like this, you worthless girl!”

Dora, mad with rage, grabbed Ann by the throat and lifted her, shouting. Ann, barely conscious, looked up at her twisted face. Dora slapped her again, but Ann, dazed, couldn’t respond.

By the next day, Dora acted as though nothing had happened and went to work. Ann, who had fainted, was cared for by Dora’s eldest daughter, Louise. Louise gently wiped the dirt from Ann’s face and fed her soup. Ann, sniffling, ate the soup that her younger cousin fed her, though she was a year younger.

Dora continued to beat Ann from time to time. Ann worked frantically to avoid being hit. However, whenever she turned her attention away, the younger cousins would get into trouble. Moreover, Peter, the second eldest and eldest son, had a developmental disability, which made looking after him even more difficult.

Ann grew exhausted. Waking up early to prepare Dora’s breakfast, watching over Dora’s husband, and chasing after the troublesome younger siblings—she did all this for months, and soon, the idea of “children” itself became unbearable. She, too, was still a child, but it felt like she had aged far beyond her years.

Two years passed. One early morning, Ann woke up. There was still some time before she had to get up, but sleep would not come. She slowly got out of bed, limping as she watched the world brighten outside. The attic’s large window was perfect for catching the sunrise.

Although the draft made it terribly cold, she wrapped herself in a blanket and thought about her mother. She realized why she had woken up so early that morning—it was the anniversary of her mother’s passing.

Since moving into Dora’s house, Ann hadn’t been able to visit her mother’s grave, even though it wasn’t far away….

“Mom…”

She swallowed the hot tears as they flowed down. Ann went downstairs and looked at the empty kitchen. She stood there for a long time before stepping outside. She knew that when she returned, Dora would probably slap her again, but she didn’t care. She ran away from the house, desperate to escape.

Ann left Dora’s house that evening and went to live with Rosy, the eldest of the sisters. After being beaten nearly to death, Ann, barely conscious, was carried to Rosy’s house.

“She’s stupid and useless!”

“Then you don’t need her. I’ve got more children than you, so I need her.”

Before the screaming Dora, Rosy remained calm. It wasn’t that she suddenly felt sympathy for Ann or developed an unexpected sense of responsibility. The truth was, a young girl who had lived as a boarder at their house recently left, saying she would get a job in the factory. Plus, in the meantime, she had gotten pregnant.

The unplanned pregnancy had increased their burden, and with their poor financial situation, it was difficult to afford a young maid.

Ann was ten years old. Though small, the house that once felt like a pigsty under Dora’s care had become clean, showing Ann’s diligent nature. The old and shabby belongings had been carefully polished, indicating that she would be thorough in her work, even in this new household.

“Anyway, since you said you’re tired of it, I’ll take it as you’re done.”

Dora, watching Ann being carried away by Rosy’s eldest daughter, clenched her fist.

Dora was a woman who worked as a maid in a well-to-do household in Roderville. She had a sturdy build, with iron-like arms and hands as large as pot lids. Her chest and waist were round like a jar, and her legs were thick and muscular, like tree trunks.

She looked nothing like Ann’s father, who had been a handsome man with blonde hair. Ann lived under this woman’s roof.

Her job was to feed and clothe Dora’s five young children until Dora returned home. In short, Ann was living as a maid in Dora’s household. The work was exhausting, but what Ann found most difficult was Dora herself.

“Annes! Annes Rosenthal!”

It was early morning. After spending the whole day looking after her cousins, Ann had just managed to doze off when she heard Dora’s irritable voice. Ann sprang up, startled, and opened the attic door. Dora came stomping up the stairs and unexpectedly slapped Ann across the face.

“What’s this?”

“Pardon?”

“Can’t you even wash the dishes properly?”

“That’s….”

“And what’s this?”

Ann’s hair was yanked. A rough hand shoved her against the wall. Ann looked up at Dora, terrified. The object thrown at her was a woman’s underwear—a tiny, delicate negligee that Ann would never wear. The negligee was so small and flimsy, it seemed like it would rip before it even touched Dora’s body.

Ann bit her lip. Dora’s anger was likely caused by this. Her eyes blinked as tears welled up. The slap on her cheek left it stinging.

“Which woman did this? You saw it, didn’t you? You’re pretending not to know, aren’t you?”

“I… I don’t know… Agh!”

A punch landed. Dora was brutal, her face twisted with rage. Ann was hit squarely in the nose and fell to the ground. Kicks followed. Dora had an obsessive attachment to her husband.

She was fixated on where he went, why he wasn’t home. Unlike her, who worked all day for mere pennies, her husband, the one who claimed to be the head of the household, never brought home a cent. Yet, he spent his time flirting with the women of the town, despite his shabby appearance.

“You’re not a woman, Dora. Your brother was pretty enough. But not you. I guess it’s because your mother was different, huh?”

One day, after coming home drunk, Ann’s uncle, his face flushed red, muttered something as he glanced at Ann, then at Dora. Dora’s face twisted into an ugly grimace, and she began to cry. Unlike Pierre, who had inherited his beautiful looks from his mother, she and her sisters had all been burdened with unattractive features, gaining weight with just a little food.

Her husband, on the other hand, was four years younger and quite handsome. That was a deep inferiority complex for her.

“Which woman is it! What are you hiding from me? Tell me!”

“No, no, it’s not like that!”

“It’s not like that? I raised you, fed you, and now you’re acting like this, you worthless girl!”

Dora, mad with rage, grabbed Ann by the throat and lifted her, shouting. Ann, barely conscious, looked up at her twisted face. Dora slapped her again, but Ann, dazed, couldn’t respond.

By the next day, Dora acted as though nothing had happened and went to work. Ann, who had fainted, was cared for by Dora’s eldest daughter, Louise. Louise gently wiped the dirt from Ann’s face and fed her soup. Ann, sniffling, ate the soup that her younger cousin fed her, though she was a year younger.

Dora continued to beat Ann from time to time. Ann worked frantically to avoid being hit. However, whenever she turned her attention away, the younger cousins would get into trouble. Moreover, Peter, the second eldest and eldest son, had a developmental disability, which made looking after him even more difficult.

Ann grew exhausted. Waking up early to prepare Dora’s breakfast, watching over Dora’s husband, and chasing after the troublesome younger siblings—she did all this for months, and soon, the idea of “children” itself became unbearable. She, too, was still a child, but it felt like she had aged far beyond her years.

Two years passed. One early morning, Ann woke up. There was still some time before she had to get up, but sleep would not come. She slowly got out of bed, limping as she watched the world brighten outside. The attic’s large window was perfect for catching the sunrise.

Although the draft made it terribly cold, she wrapped herself in a blanket and thought about her mother. She realized why she had woken up so early that morning—it was the anniversary of her mother’s passing.

Since moving into Dora’s house, Ann hadn’t been able to visit her mother’s grave, even though it wasn’t far away….

“Mom…”

She swallowed the hot tears as they flowed down. Ann went downstairs and looked at the empty kitchen. She stood there for a long time before stepping outside. She knew that when she returned, Dora would probably slap her again, but she didn’t care. She ran away from the house, desperate to escape.