Chapter 93: Grape
My name is Tessa, and I’ve found myself in the peculiar position of being the exclusive maid to one of the most notorious creatures in the Crimson General’s household. Most maids wouldn’t dare take this job, not because the general himself is a tyrant—no, he’s actually quite fair—but because of what the job entails. But to me? The pay is great, and considering I used to work as a seamstress servant with dreadful hours and even worse compensation, this is practically a dream job. Or at least, it should be.
See, three years ago, when I worked for the general, all was well. As long as you didn’t cross him or mess with his things, you were fine. Back then, the job was just simple housework—cleaning, running errands, polishing armor, that sort of thing. But things changed. Especially when he arrived.
No, I’m not talking about the General’s consort. Though, to be honest, I don’t think anyone could overshadow his beauty. No, I’m talking about Grape, the General’s personal—and might I add, fat—bird. He’s officially referred to as a "plump" bird, but let’s be real, the thing is a bloated menace wrapped in feathers.
I’m not kidding. It’s my sole responsibility to take care of Grape. Feed him, groom him, and yes—much to my horror—accompany him on his flights. When I took the job, I didn’t think babysitting a bird could be so exhausting. But this bird... I swear, he’s out to ruin my life.
I watch now as he chomps down on a cookie I prepared for him. One of the other maids smirked earlier, clearly jealous of what she sees as my easy life. If only she knew. Sure, I don’t scrub floors anymore, but sometimes I’d trade the boredom for a real challenge. Feeding this bird, keeping him out of trouble, and trying not to get on his bad side is a delicate dance. And trust me, Grape knows how to make my life a living hell.
As if sensing my internal complaints, Grape flaps his wings and perches heavily on my shoulder. I have to fight the urge to flinch. The head maid always says a perfect poker face is required in this household, especially if you’re serving someone as powerful as the Crimson General. Unfortunately, no one mentioned I’d need it while serving this cursed bird.
I feel his claws digging into my shoulder as he puffs out his beak in that familiar way that means it’s time for a flight. Fantastic. My heart sinks. The last time we did this, Grape disappeared for hours, and I was on the verge of tears, convinced my life was over because the General and his consort are unnaturally fond of this creature. I mean, I get it—he’s got pretty plumage and all, but if they only knew what I go through.
Still, I have no choice but to follow orders. I feed him, groom him, and pray to the gods that he doesn’t run off again. Because Grape, when he’s not eating cookies or pooping on Sentinel Raul’s head, takes sadistic pleasure in tormenting everyone in the household. He’s faster than a bird that size has any right to be. One minute he’s sitting there, staring blankly at the wall like he’s lost in thought, and the next, he’s swooping down on unsuspecting victims. The head chef, the gardener, even the sentinels—none are safe from his antics.