A lot of people say teaching is a prestigious profession, the best option for girls. And why? Because teachers always look neat, with perfect hair, nice clothes, makeup, and manicures—at least for women. That’s what my relatives claim, anyway. But let me tell you, that’s a load of nonsense! Teaching is for fanatic masochists whose work never ends. Everyone’s constantly demanding something from you. So, if you don’t enjoy suffering and have a limited imagination, this field is definitely not for you.
And you know what’s the funniest part? I’m a student at a teachers’ college, and all these conclusions I’ve just listed are ones I reached back in my second year. Even so, I have no plans to switch schools, and I still see teaching as my future career. But I never could’ve imagined I’d be hired as a governess for some noble family—and under someone else’s name, no less!
“Are you sure I can handle this?”
Auntie Kiara stopped in the middle of the hallway and started sizing me up with a critical eye.
“Well,” she drawled thoughtfully, “you’ll manage somehow for a week or two, and in that time, you might even find a patron.”
A wave of indignation rose inside me, reminding me of the time I told my dad I had a good shot at graduating with honors.
“Just finish school first, or you might not even graduate. You’ll probably make me a grandpa before that,” he’d replied. My wounded pride craved revenge for his lack of faith, so I became a straight-A student and have held that position for two semesters now.
“And where does this lack of confidence in my abilities come from? Do you think I’m only good at spending my parents’ money?”
“Sweetheart, calm down. I know you’re not like that, but your charges are no pushovers. They’re five little devils in the flesh.”
“How about a bet? I’ll last here more than three weeks and tame these ‘devils in the flesh.’”
I’ve dealt with worse. Relatives and my parents’ friends often left their kids with me while they went off to celebrate.
Once, they dumped ten hyperactive kids on me, ranging from two to seven years old. One against ten. No adult help. How I chased them around! One ran one way, another the opposite, a third was crying, the fourth and fifth were fighting… It was a total blast. But oh, how I cherished quiet time! I fell asleep in seconds while the kids ran circles around me.
“Ha, and what exactly are you betting on?” Auntie asked skeptically.
“A wish!” What else could I bet on without knowing the local currency or having any means of my own?
“Deal!”
The woman grabbed my outstretched hand and shook it. Right after, those yellow sparks appeared again, wrapping around our wrists and settling into a bracelet-like tattoo.
“What’s this?” I asked Auntie Kiara.
“Child, don’t scare me. It’s a wager seal!”
A seal? Does something like that really exist?
“It’s the most basic and simplest seal. Don’t they teach magical education at all to those whose powers haven’t awakened? Where is this world headed?”
Should I try to convince her when I don’t even know the truth myself? But maybe the real question is: would my words even change her mind? I doubt it.
“And here’s the girls’ room! Wait just a moment.”
Once again, those strange gestures, and once again, those sparks. But why didn’t she make any special movements when placing the wager seal?
A semi-transparent dome with an orange tint enveloped us. But what was it for? That mystery cleared up as soon as the door opened.
Silence, broken only by the creak of the door. A spell flying toward us, startling me. The dome absorbing a fiery burst. And something more familiar: a frightened nanny and mischievous charges. It would’ve been even more normal if I weren’t the nanny in question, especially since I only learned about the existence of magic about an hour ago! Want to give me a heart attack? Not gonna happen! We’ve been through similar stuff back home, just with oatmeal, crayons, and toys.
I didn’t show my fear, sticking to the usual routine. Smile and wave!
“Good evening, girls.”
“Mikaella, this is Liliana, the eldest,” Auntie pointed to the tallest teenage girl. “This is Judith, the second oldest. Next to her is Belinda. Over there is Ovidia. And the one already asleep is the youngest, Vesta. Girls, this is Mikaella Emeybilum Aurum, your new governess.”
“Yeah, governess. Sure! Just another woman trying to become Dad’s wife. We’ve seen plenty of these so-called governesses,” Liliana said bitterly.
“Or someone looking to seduce our uncle,” Judith added.
“Either way, she won’t succeed,” Belinda continued the train of thought.
“Nice to meet you, Grandma Mikaella,” the last awake girl, Ovidia, curtsied.
“Nice to meet you too, Grandma Ovidia!” I didn’t hold back and mirrored her gesture.
“Hey!”
“I want to clear something up right away. How old is your father?”
“You don’t know your employer’s age?”
“I do,” I lied, because if I showed any weakness now, regaining lost authority would be incredibly hard. “But do you?”
“Dad’s thirty-two!” Belinda said, clearly offended.
“And do you know my age?”
The girls were silent for a long time, but Judith finally answered:
“Twenty-eight?”
Do I really look that old?
“Fifteen?” Ovidia guessed.
“Nope. Twenty-one. Isn’t the age gap between me and your father a bit too big?”
“That didn’t stop the others!” the eldest exclaimed.
“Is it fair to judge everyone the same way? Every person is unique, and everyone’s behavior is different in some way. Isn’t it worth giving a stranger at least one chance?”
The girls stayed quiet, clearly mulling over my words. Could this actually work?
“You’re on probation!” Liliana declared her verdict.
“Great! Now, off to bed. Or do you not want to test my professional skills?”
“What skills?”
“Aren’t you planning to test me as a governess anymore?”
The puffed-up young ladies started climbing into bed and tucking themselves under the covers. Not a bad start. But Auntie’s already wide eyes were now the size of saucers. She was definitely surprised.
“How did you do that?” she asked once we’d stepped a safe distance away. “How did you convince them not only to accept you as their governess but also to go to bed?”
“Well, first of all, they haven’t accepted me as their governess; they’ve just postponed their pranks. They didn’t have a comeback, that’s all. And second, they didn’t actually go to sleep. Most likely, a few seconds after we closed the door, they jumped out of bed.”
“How do you know that?” Madam Kiara grew more astonished by the minute.
I can’t exactly tell her it’s from watching movies (about delaying attempts to get rid of me) and personal experience with kids (about the sleep thing)!
“You know, Auntie, we were all kids once, so it’s not that hard to follow their train of thought. Put yourself in their shoes. A strange woman shows up, then another, then a third, and so on. And they all have the same goal. I think it’s obvious what that goal is. To protect themselves, their father, and their family’s legacy, it’s perfectly logical to start bullying this woman.”
“Let’s say that’s true. But how did you calm them down?”
“I didn’t calm them down. I just showed them I don’t have the same intentions. They won’t believe me right away. Now they’re probably brainstorming ways to expose me.”
“Impressive…”
What’s impressive to me is that Mikaella’s great-aunt isn’t even interrupting me.
“Oh! We passed your room.”
“Really?” I was curious to see where I’d be staying.
“Here it is. Right near the girls’ room,” she said, and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
The woman opened the door, letting me go in first and revealing a room done entirely in white. Way too much white. White laminate flooring, a white table and chairs, a white bed, a small window. In short: welcome to the “Daisy” mental asylum! So…
“What do you think?”
“Auntie, may I ask something? Do I really love…”
“White? You’ve been obsessed with it since you were little. You’ve dreamed of becoming a bride since childhood.”
Hmm… How does that connect to dreaming of marriage? Dreaming of being someone’s wife is one thing, but being obsessed with the color white is something else entirely. I can’t wrap my head around it.
Probably the priority right now is figuring out where I am. But how do I do that when no one wants to listen to me? Maybe I should try again?
“Auntie Kiara, I know you don’t want to hear this from me, but I need to repeat what I said earlier: I’m not Mikaella.”
“Child, don’t worry, everything will be fine. You handled the girls, so why do you want to run away?”
“But please, listen! I’m really not Mikaella!”
“Good night, sweetheart!”
“Darn it!” I stomped my foot in frustration. “What do I do now? Pretend to be someone I’m not? What if the real Mikaella comes back? And where the heck am I, anyway?”
So, Mikaella, you’re in deep… Ugh! I’m not Mikaella, I’m Milana Zimchenko. Eighteen years old, just finished my third year of college. They’ve forced this other name on me so much that I’m starting to think of myself as a completely different person!
There was a knock at the door, followed by:
“Lady Mikaella, it’s Gayane.”
Who the heck is Gayane? Fine, whatever.
“Come in.”
A pretty redhead with striking green eyes brought in a tray with something blue on it. She set the tray on the table, wiped her hands on her apron, bowed, and was about to leave, but I stopped her:
“Gayane, could you tell me where we are?”
“What?” She probably started wondering if I’d lost my mind.
“Where are we?”
She blinked, realizing I wasn’t joking and she hadn’t misheard. Shaking her head, she regained her professional demeanor and finally answered:
“Center.”
“Is that a street?”
“It’s the capital of Argentum, my lady.”
“And the continent?”
“Con-ti-net?”
“Continent. You know, the landmass.”
“I’m sorry, my lady, but I don’t know what those terms mean.”
How is that possible? Is that even a thing?
“How can I get to the library?”
“From your room, turn right and go to the end. The door on the left.”
“Thanks!”
Gayane left, and I was left with something blue and mysterious. Upon closer inspection, it looked like strawberries, just blue.
After poking at it with my fingers, I mustered the courage to try one. Even though it looked like a strawberry, it tasted like a peach. Wonders never cease!
Hmm… Could this all be a dream? Maybe I fell, hit my head, and passed out? That would make sense! But I’ve never noticed this much imagination in myself before. And the details are so vivid! If this really is a product of my mind, I’m amazed and impressed. I had no idea I was capable of this.
But it seems my imagination fell short in some ways. Couldn’t come up with anything more original than naming countries or kingdoms (or whatever they have here) after metals from the periodic table? Oh well, whatever! I’ll just enjoy my dream.
After finishing my meal, which consisted solely of these blue strawberries, I set off to find the library. How did Gayane say to go? Right to the end, left door? Let’s do this!
As I walked through the hallways, I started humming a song¹ that’s been stuck in my head for a while:
“Wet. It’s been so wet for days
Curse this rain
Blood, our windows are stained with blood
And soon you’ll leave…”
To my left in the hallway was a portrait of an incredibly beautiful woman against a rainy backdrop. Weird, but okay.
“Puddles and salt, melting rivers
I grab a Colt, and you run…”
Dang it! This isn’t funny anymore. Another painting, this time of a mine by a river.
“Run, darling, run
Run for Mom and Dad
If you hear footsteps
Make circles and zigzags”
I heard footsteps behind me, but when I turned around, no one was there. Naturally, my knees started shaking, and a bad feeling churned inside me. Common sense screamed, “Go back to your room, you idiot. This won’t end well. Think of any horror movie!” But who am I to go against the laws of cliché? Like any potential horror movie protagonist, my purpose in life is to stumble into something bad—and probably smelly.
On shaky legs, with the grace of a potato, I continued down the path, which definitely didn’t promise an easy, carefree, or happy life. But I can’t mope! As my pedagogy professor, Natalia Andriivna, used to say, even if life is a complete mess or we’re facing problems that make us want to cry, as teachers of children, we must smile at them and act as usual. The moment we cross the threshold of our home, we’re no longer ordinary people with personal issues; we become public figures, role models. So, wipe those tears, straighten up, and forward we go!
After about fifteen more steps, I reached the end of the hallway and saw two doors. And here came the eternal, philosophical question: right or left. Right symbolizes the correct path, wise decisions, strong and lasting relationships; left represents the wrong road, bad choices, and fleeting flings. And as far as I remember, Gayane said the door I need is on the left. Wait, no—right! So, to the right it is!
“And again, the gray night
And again, we face the question
You know, gray night
You this simple request…”²
Dang it! Why am I so into songs right now? I’m even starting to make up covers. Though, more likely, it’s because I’ve forgotten some of the lyrics. Maybe that strawberry-peach thing had an intoxicating effect? Some kind of buzz in my subconscious.
If it’s dulling my understanding of this product of my imagination, and all of this is just a figment of my mind, then nothing bad will happen if I barge into the library without knocking!
“To knock or not to knock?”
“Bang!” The door slammed behind me.
“I didn’t push it that hard, did I?” Standing facing the door and with my back to the room, I surveyed the result of my clumsy action. “Oh no! How could I?”
To make amends with the door, an internal council of little Milanas decided that the injured party should be returned to its original position. But that was the decision of the little Milanas, while the Mikaella, as the locals call me, had to carry out the council’s ruling in actual reality!
“Mikaella objects!” I exclaimed when the door refused to close.
So, Milana-the-executor half-completed the task, leaving the door not fully shut. By the way, that was her mistake.
_____________________
¹ Literal translation of the song “BEGI” by DJ Smash feat. Poët
² Author’s cover of Yuri Shatunov’s song “And Again the Gray Night”