Dark. Cold. Silent.

It felt like I was sinking into nothingness. My body was weightless, as if I no longer existed. I couldn’t feel anything—not pain, not warmth, not even the faintest breath of air.

Was this what death felt like?

I still had so many things I wanted to do. So many dreams I hadn’t achieved. But now, all of it was gone. I had no second chance.

Or so I thought.

Until I woke up.

---

When I opened my eyes, I knew something was wrong.

This wasn’t my room. The ceiling was cracked, with water dripping from a broken pipe. The bed beneath me was thin and hard, nothing like the soft mattress I was used to. The air smelled of dust, damp wood, and something rotten.

Panic crawled up my throat.

I forced myself to sit up, but my body felt unbearably weak. My arms—thin and frail. My hands—small and bony.

These… aren’t my hands.

I touched my face, my fingers brushing against sharp cheekbones and soft, unfamiliar skin. My breathing quickened as I stood up and ran toward a small, dusty mirror in the corner.

The moment I saw my reflection, my heart dropped.

This isn’t me.

The face staring back at me was not mine.

Then suddenly—

A sharp, splitting pain struck my skull, like someone was forcing memories into my mind. A rush of images flashed before me, overwhelming and suffocating.

A little girl, crying from hunger, hiding in the dark.

A teenage girl, too scared to leave her room, afraid of the cruel words and laughter that followed her everywhere.

A young woman, desperate for love, for kindness—for anything.

Clarisse.

That was her name.

And now… I was her.

I clutched my head, gasping for breath as the realization sank in. I had died. But for some reason, I had woken up in someone else’s body. Someone weak. Someone neglected.

Someone who never fought back.

And at that moment, a new feeling bloomed inside me—

Rage.

---

Clarisse was weak.

She endured hunger, cruelty, and loneliness. She never fought back. She never spoke up. She never resisted.

But me?

I’m not her.

The old Clarisse is gone. The girl they used to push around? The girl they ignored? She no longer exists.

They think they can still treat me like nothing.

They think I will stay silent, stay obedient.

They think I will break under their cruelty.

They’re wrong.

From now on, they will no longer recognize the girl they once abandoned.

I don’t need their love.

I don’t need their kindness.

But I will make sure they regret underestimating me.

I will rise.

And I will make sure they never look down on me again.

---

Hi this is my first ever story and I hope you will like it ,and I want you all to enjoy reading my story I know I'm not that good but I will do my best HEHEHE .

Enjoy 😊

My body ached all over. It wasn’t the dull, lingering pain of a simple bruise—it was the deep, throbbing kind that came from years of malnutrition and neglect.

I clenched my jaw as I sat up on the bed. It felt wrong. My body felt wrong. It was weak, fragile, nothing like the one I had before.

But this was my body now.

I took a slow breath, my fingers gripping the thin blanket wrapped around me. Everything was still sinking in—the memories, the pain, the reality that I wasn’t me anymore.

I was Clarisse now. The neglected daughter. The family’s shadow. The girl who never fought back.

But not anymore.

A knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts. No—not a knock. A loud, impatient bang.

“Clarisse! Get out here! Mom’s already mad because you’re still in bed!”

The voice belonged to a girl. Sharp, annoyed. Cassandra.

The memory clicked into place instantly. My older sister. The perfect daughter. The golden child. The one who made sure I knew my place at the bottom.

I didn’t answer.

Another bang. “Clarisse! Are you deaf?!”

I exhaled slowly, forcing my body to move. My legs felt shaky as I stood up, but I pushed through it. I glanced at the cracked mirror in the corner.

The girl staring back at me wasn’t the same as yesterday.

She was still pale. Still thin. But her eyes?

They weren’t empty anymore.

I turned toward the door and pulled it open. Cassandra stood there, arms crossed, lips curled into her usual smirk.

“There you are,” she scoffed, looking me up and down like I was something pathetic. “Took you long enough. Hurry up and make breakfast before Mom starts yelling.”

The old Clarisse would have bowed her head. She would have muttered a weak apology.

But I wasn’t the old Clarisse.

I stepped past her without a word. No slouching. No shrinking back. Just silence.

I felt her freeze. She wasn’t expecting that.

I made my way down the stairs, ignoring the heavy feeling in my limbs. Every movement was exhausting, but I refused to show weakness.

The dining table was already set for the family—except for me, of course. Another memory surfaced. Clarisse never ate with them. She cooked their meals, cleaned up after them, and if she was lucky, she got scraps.

Not today.

I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a plate.

“Hey,” a sharp voice called behind me. My mother. “What do you think you’re doing?”

I turned to her.

She was seated at the head of the table, her gaze as cold as I remembered. The kind of mother who only saw me as a burden.

I met her eyes, calm and steady. “Getting my food.”

The room fell silent.

Clarisse had never dared to answer back before.

I saw the flicker of surprise in my mother’s face, but she masked it with irritation. “You eat when we say you can.”

A slow smirk tugged at my lips. Let the games begin.

---

A heavy silence filled the room.

The old Clarisse would have lowered her gaze. She would’ve stepped back, apologized, and accepted her place as the family’s invisible servant.

But I wasn’t her.

I tightened my grip on the plate, standing firm. “I cooked this food,” I said, my voice steady. “So, I’ll eat.”

My mother’s eyes narrowed. Across the table, my father set down his newspaper, finally acknowledging my existence. Cassandra and my younger brother, Marcus, stared at me like I had lost my mind.

“What did you just say?” my mother asked, her voice sharp.

I met her gaze without flinching. “I said I’ll eat.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “You have some nerve.”

Marcus snickered. “Wow. Since when did you grow a backbone?”

Cassandra let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “This is pathetic. Just give it up, Clarisse. You’re not one of us.”

I had expected that response. I had seen it all before—mockery, belittling, and constant reminders that I wasn’t worthy.

But this time, it didn’t sting.

I simply tilted my head. “If I’m not one of you, then why am I the one cooking for you?”

That wiped the smirk off her face.

I turned back to the table and calmly placed food on my plate, ignoring the tension crackling in the air. My hands were still weak, my body barely holding itself together, but my mind was sharp.

My father finally spoke. “You’re getting too bold for your own good, Clarisse.” His tone was firm, filled with warning.

I stabbed a piece of egg with my fork. “Maybe I’m just done being silent.”

Cassandra scoffed, but I didn’t miss the flicker of confusion in her expression. The shift in me wasn’t something they had expected.

Good.

I needed to unsettle them.

I needed them to realize that Clarisse was no longer the same girl they could step on.

With quiet confidence, I took a bite of my food, chewing slowly as my family watched me like I had grown a second head.

Let them stare.

Let them wonder.

This was just the beginning.

---

The air in the dining room was thick with tension. My family wasn’t used to this—to me speaking up, to me existing in a way that wasn’t weak and invisible.

I continued eating, unfazed by their stares. The food wasn’t even that good—too salty, too oily—but I ate it anyway. Because for the first time, I wasn’t waiting for permission.

I wasn’t going to starve just because they wanted me to.

My mother set down her spoon with a loud clank, her patience clearly running thin. “Since when did you develop such an attitude?” she asked, her voice sharp and demanding.

I met her gaze, chewing slowly before swallowing. “I’m just eating, Mom.”

Cassandra let out a small laugh. “Right. And tomorrow, what? You’ll start sitting with us in the living room? Acting like you actually belong?”

I smirked. “Maybe.”

Marcus rolled his eyes. “Tch. This is stupid.”

I could feel their irritation growing, but that was exactly what I wanted. I wasn’t here to please them anymore. I was here to make them uncomfortable.

My father exhaled loudly, folding his newspaper. “Enough. I don’t have time for this nonsense.” He stood up, grabbing his briefcase. “Cassandra, Marcus—let’s go. We’ll be late.”

Cassandra scoffed and pushed her chair back. “Whatever.” She shot me a final glare before following him. Marcus grabbed a slice of bread and stuffed it in his mouth before trailing after them.

That left just me and my mother.

She stayed seated, watching me with cold, calculating eyes. I could tell she was trying to figure me out—trying to understand what had changed.

She hated it.

She hated that I wasn’t scared anymore.

I placed my spoon down, tilting my head. “Are you going to leave, too? Or are you planning to sit there and watch me all morning?”

Her jaw clenched. She didn’t like my tone.

“You think this attitude will get you anywhere?” she asked.

I smiled, slow and deliberate. “It already has.”

Her fingers tightened around her teacup, but she didn’t respond. Instead, she stood up gracefully, fixing her dress. “Don’t forget to clean up,” she said flatly before walking away.

I watched her leave, listening to the sound of her heels clicking against the floor.

Then, finally, I exhaled.

My body was still weak. My muscles ached. My hands trembled slightly from the effort of standing my ground. But my mind—my mind was stronger than ever.

This was just the first step.

They still saw me as Clarisse, the weak and pathetic daughter.

But soon, they would realize.

The real Clarisse is gone.

And I was never going to be their puppet again.

---

The house was eerily quiet once they all left.

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the empty plates on the table. My family had always expected me to clean up after them. It was my “duty” as the useless one, the extra child nobody wanted.

Clarisse had spent her whole life accepting that role.

But I wasn’t her.

I stood up, stretched my sore limbs, and turned away from the mess. If they wanted it cleaned, they could do it themselves.

As I walked out of the dining room, I felt a strange sense of satisfaction. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. Small acts of defiance, small steps toward reclaiming myself.

I made my way to the stairs, each step a reminder of how fragile this body was. My legs still felt weak, and my arms lacked strength. I needed to rebuild myself.

I needed to become stronger.

Because this world only respects strength.

I reached my room and pushed the door open. It was just as I remembered—small, cramped, and dull compared to Cassandra’s lavish bedroom down the hall. The mattress was thin, the closet half-empty, and the air smelled faintly of dust.

But none of that mattered.

I walked over to the mirror, my fingers trailing over the surface. The girl staring back at me looked frail, but her eyes…

Her eyes were different now.

This body might be weak, but I wasn’t.

I rolled my shoulders, testing my movements. I needed to train, to build stamina, to sharpen my instincts. I wasn’t planning on staying under my family’s control forever.

As I started doing slow stretches, a knock on the door interrupted me.

I frowned. Who could it be?

Before I could answer, the door swung open.

“Clarisse.”

A maid stood there, her face blank but her tone slightly hesitant. It took me a second to recall her name—Mila. One of the older housemaids.

“The Madam wants you to buy some groceries.” She held out a list. “She said to make sure you don’t take too long.”

I stared at the paper in her hands but made no move to take it.

Before, Clarisse would have obeyed without question.

But now?

I crossed my arms. “Did she give me money for it?”

Mila blinked, startled. “What?”

I tilted my head. “Did she give me money for the groceries?”

“W-Well…” Mila hesitated. “She said you should figure it out.”

I let out a small laugh. Classic. My mother loved to humiliate me by making me run errands without giving me a single cent. I was supposed to beg, borrow, or suffer the embarrassment of coming home empty-handed.

Too bad for her, I wasn’t playing that game anymore.

I smiled at Mila. “Tell her I’m not going.”

Mila paled. “What?”

“You heard me.” I turned away, walking toward my bed. “If she wants groceries, she can buy them herself.”

Mila looked horrified. “Clarisse, she’ll be furious—”

“Then let her be.”

Mila didn’t move for a long moment. I could feel her struggling, torn between her duty and fear of my mother’s wrath. But finally, she gave a small nod and backed away.

As the door closed, I smirked to myself.

Let them get angry. Let them wonder.

This was just the beginning.

---

The moment Mila left, I let out a deep breath and sat on the bed. My body still felt sluggish, and every movement reminded me of how weak Clarisse had been.

But I wasn’t planning on staying weak.

I stared at my hands—small, thin, and delicate. Before, they probably trembled whenever my family raised their voices at me. Now, they were steady.

I had been strong before. I had fought, survived, and refused to bow down.

I would do it again.

But first, I needed to understand my situation better.

I glanced around the room, my gaze landing on a small desk covered in old books and papers. Clarisse had been a student, right? Did she even go to school regularly, or did her family keep her locked away like a forgotten shadow?

I stood up and walked over, flipping through a few notebooks. The handwriting was messy, filled with half-finished notes. Some pages had scribbles, as if she had been too afraid to make mistakes.

They really broke her, huh?

A soft knock interrupted my thoughts.

I turned toward the door just as it slowly creaked open.

Mila peeked inside, her expression cautious. “The Madam said if you’re not going to buy groceries, then you don’t get to eat dinner.”

I smirked. “That’s fine.”

Mila’s eyes widened slightly. “Are… are you sure?”

I sat back down on the bed, crossing my legs. “Yeah. I don’t mind skipping a meal.”

It wasn’t the first time I had gone hungry.

Mila hesitated. “She might get angrier.”

I shrugged. “That’s not my problem.”

The maid stared at me for a few more seconds before nodding slowly. I could tell she was confused. The old Clarisse would have cowered. She would have begged or tried to please her mother just to get scraps of food.

But I wasn’t her.

As Mila closed the door, I leaned back against the headboard and stared at the ceiling.

So, they wanted to punish me by starving me?

Pathetic.

I had been through worse.

They had no idea who they were dealing with now.

---

I stayed on the bed for a while, my mind running through everything.

The way my family reacted this morning proved one thing—they saw me as weak, someone they could control. And when I didn’t behave the way they expected, they got frustrated.

They weren’t afraid of me yet.

But they would be.

I needed to act carefully. If I pushed too hard too soon, they’d try to crush me completely. I had to be smart—build my strength, gain control over my emotions, and observe.

Clarisse had been invisible in this house. That was her greatest weakness.

I wouldn’t make the same mistake.

I stood up and stretched, shaking off the stiffness in my muscles. My body still felt fragile, but that would change with time. I needed to train, build my endurance, and regain the strength I once had.

My stomach growled, but I ignored it. Hunger was nothing new to me.

I walked over to the window and pulled back the thin curtains. Outside, the sun was setting, casting an orange glow over the neighborhood. From here, I could see the garden below—Cassandra’s favorite place, the one my mother always praised her for.

I hated it already.

A sharp knock on my door pulled me from my thoughts.

I turned just as Mila entered again, this time looking more hesitant than before.

“What now?” I asked, crossing my arms.

She hesitated before speaking. “The Madam says you’re not allowed to leave your room until tomorrow.”

I let out a small laugh. “Wow. That’s the punishment now?”

Mila’s expression tightened. “Clarisse… you know how she is. She doesn’t like being challenged.”

I walked toward her slowly, stopping just a foot away. “Then maybe it’s time someone challenged her.”

She looked startled, like she wasn’t sure how to respond.

I tilted my head. “Tell me, Mila. How long have you been working here?”

She blinked. “Ten years.”

That meant she had been here long before I was born. She had witnessed everything—how my parents favored Cassandra and Marcus, how they ignored Clarisse, how they never saw her as anything but an inconvenience.

She had watched it all happen.

And yet, she had done nothing.

I smiled slightly. “You must know, then. This house… It only respects power.”

Mila swallowed hard. “Clarisse, please don’t make things worse for yourself.”

I stepped back and sighed. “You’re right. I should rest.” I walked past her, back to my bed. “Tell my mother I’ll stay in my room.”

Mila hesitated before nodding. “Okay.”

She left, closing the door behind her.

I sat down, staring at the ceiling.

So, they wanted to lock me away?

Fine.

Let them think they still had control.

They had no idea the storm that was coming.

---