Part 1: Backstory
Eighteen-year-old Sarah Farthing woke before dawn, the sky still cloaked in darkness. She had no idea why—sleep simply wouldn't return. With a groan, she accepted defeat and rose from bed. Her room was enormous, more akin to a luxury hotel suite. She padded over to the window and watched snow drift lazily across the grounds of the Harn estate, her gaze drifting toward the surrounding foothills. Her mind, unbidden, drifted back to that fateful day two months prior...
Two Months Earlier...
"Ah, Ms. Farthing, right on time," a man greeted, opening his office door. Sarah rose from her chair to shake his hand. He was impeccably dressed in a crisp Oxford shirt, necktie, and vest, paired with pressed slacks and polished shoes. This was Kurt Harn, owner of the estate. Sarah felt distinctly underdressed in her red jumper and blue jeans—the nicest things she owned at the moment.
"Thank you for seeing me," Sarah said.
"Well, come inside, and we'll get this interview underway," Mr. Harn gestured her in.
The office was cavernous. Beyond its sheer size, there was little remarkable about it—several desks with laptops, two sofas arranged around a coffee table. It was, at least, comfortable.
"You're from England?" Mr. Harn asked, settling into his chair.
"Yes, I am," Sarah confirmed.
"I thought so from your accent," he said with a slight smile. "My son Tony is a sucker for ladies who speak with English accents."
Sarah laughed nervously. "I'll keep that in mind."
"I'm curious about your story, if you don't mind sharing," Mr. Harn said, his tone genuinely interested. "The application was rather sparse on details, and i'd like to know how you ended up out here."
Sarah took a breath and began.
* * * *
She spoke of her father's abuse, his struggle with alcohol, and his death from drunk driving when she was only ten. She explained how her mother had been accused of involvement and arrested, leaving Sarah to the mercy of the orphanage system. Her voice grew quieter as she described the conditions there—the neglect, the cruelty. She rolled up her sleeves to reveal thin white scars crisscrossing her forearms.
"There are more," she said softly, lowering her sleeves. "On my back."
Mr. Harn's expression hardened with sympathy.
"As for my mum..." Sarah's eyes glistened. "I'd like to believe she didn't abandon me. But six years without a word... I had to accept that she wasn't coming back." She paused, composing herself. "When I was sixteen, I couldn't take it anymore. I scraped together what money I could and bought a one-way ticket out."
"And you came to America," Mr. Harn said quietly.
"I did. It took time, but I was eventually granted asylum. I'm still waiting on full citizenship, though."
"That's no small feat," Mr. Harn acknowledged. "How did you manage in the meantime?"
"I lived rough for two years," Sarah said matter-of-factly. "Worked odd jobs that I could get, saved what I could. When I saw the housekeeper position advertised in the newspaper, I thought... well, here I am."
Mr. Harn was quiet for a moment. "That's quite a journey, Miss Farthing. You have my sincere condolences for everything you've endured."
"Thank you, sir," Sarah said softly.
"What's your full name?" he asked.
"Sarah Ruth Farthing," she replied.
Mr. Harn nodded slowly, then smiled. "Well, Sarah Ruth Farthing, you have yourself a job," He stated. Sarah's eyes widened.
"Truly? Oh, thank you so much, sir! I promise I'll work terribly hard—" She insisted very quickly, but Mr. Harn held up a hand, chuckling at her enthusiasm.
"I'm quite sure you will," He told her, in a reassuring tone.
Present Day...
After so much had gone wrong in her life, Sarah was grateful—genuinely grateful—to finally have stability. The position came with full room and board within the estate itself. The Harn property was sprawling: the main house was enormous, surrounded by equally impressive grounds. Manicured gardens and winding paths were lit by soft ambient lighting. The estate nestled in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, with a small creek cutting through the property. On either side of the main house stood two smaller connected structures—one housing the kitchen and dining room, the other the study and entertainment room. They were linked by charming boardwalk-style hallways that provided a view of the grounds as well.
After a few more minutes of gazing out at the snow, Sarah made her way to the bathroom. She took her time with her shower, letting the hot water ease the tension from her shoulders. Afterward, she ran the large soaking tub and sank into the warmth, letting her mind drift peacefully.
Eventually, duty called. She wrapped herself in a towel and approached the mirror. The girl looking back was eighteen now—about five foot four, with med-back length light brunette hair and green eyes. Years of running about the orphanage had left her lean and fit. She almost didn't recognize herself sometimes. The person in the mirror looked... hopeful.
Sarah dressed in her uniform: a black dress with elbow-length sleeves a high mandarin collar, and an a-line hem that fell just above her knees. She'd added wine-red tights to brighten it up. She then added a crystal rhinestone belt to cinch her waist, and the combination had become her favorite. Even on days when she wasn't required to wear it, she did.
Back in the bathroom, she styled her hair into a half-up do, then returned to the mirror to assess her appearance. Satisfied, she turned toward her bed—and froze.
The pillows lifted gently from the mattress, hovering in mid-air. The blankets straightened themselves with invisible hands, folding into perfect hospital corners. Within seconds, the bed was immaculate. Sarah had made it without lifting a finger.
"I am not a witch," she hissed to herself, a familiar refrain. She walked passed her desk, and paused at the photo that the Harn's Son, tony, took of her on her first day wearing this outfit...
She smiled, and then made her way down the room hall to the second story landing that overlooked the enormous living room, and down the wide spiral staircase. The Harns loved to travel, and their estate reflected this. The main living room resembled a grand hotel lobby, complete with a living room that could have graced a five-star establishment. Upstairs, the bedrooms were arranged like hotel suites. Even the basement held a full gym and laundry facilities.
Sarah crossed the living room, made her way down the boardwalk-style hall, and into the kitchen to find Mrs. Harn already at work, preparing breakfast. Her dark hair was tied back in a practical ponytail, and she wore a long purple floral dress beneath her apron. She looked up as Sarah entered.
"Good morning, Sarah," she greeted warmly.
"Good morning, Mrs. Harn," Sarah replied, clasping her hands behind her back. "Can I help with anything?"
"Actually, could you fetch me a glass mixing bowl? It should be in the cupboard by the stove. Please and Thank you."
“Of course,” Sarah replied, and walked over to a nearby cupboard. She opened it, and saw several glass bowls all stacked up nice and neat. Sarah looked back at Mrs. Harn.
“Which one?” She asked.
“The biggest one,” Mrs. Harn answered. After a bit of rearranging, Sarah had the the bowl, and handed it to Mrs. Harn.
“Thank you, dear” She said, to which Sarah nodded.
Sarah watched with her hands behind her back again, as Mrs. Harn whisked eggs, fascinated as always by the woman's easy competence in the kitchen. She'd taken to spending time here whenever possible, both to help and to learn. Cooking was an art form she'd never had the chance to appreciate before.
The moment was interrupted by the arrival of Beth Harn, the family's daughter. She was about two years younger than Sarah, with dark brown hair styled in a way that screamed "private school"—black socks, gray skirt, crisp white button-up shirt with long sleeves. She was, in Sarah's estimation, the most difficult person in the house.
"Don't you have chores to do?" Beth asked, her tone carrying an edge that made Sarah's stomach tighten. It was a similar tone the staff at the orphanage had used.
"Oh, leave her be, Beth," Mrs. Harn said firmly. "Sarah's fine."
Beth shrugged and poured herself orange juice, then turned back to Sarah. "Actually, could I have a word? In private?"
"Of course," Sarah said, following her into the hallway. Beth took a sip of her juice before speaking.
"Look, on the surface everything's fine, but I've been paying attention. And I can't just ignore what I've noticed."
"I'm sorry, I don't understand," Sarah said carefully. "Have I done something wrong?"
"Not exactly," Beth said, her frustration evident. "But remember a few days ago when you offered to make my bed?" Beth then asked, to which Sarah nodded.
"I know it took you a few minutes, but then you went to Tony's room and had it done in thirty seconds. Thirty seconds, Sarah. And it was perfect. Absolutely perfect." Beth crossed her arms. "There's no way that's physically possible."
Sarah's heart began to race. "I only needed to touch it up—"
"And what about the laundry?" Beth pressed on. "A week's worth, folded in two minutes?" Sarah forced herself to breathe.
"I'm simply efficient at what I do," Sarah insisted.
Beth sighed, her frustration seeming to deflate slightly. "Very well, that's all for now, but trust me when I say: I'm going to figure out how you're doing this," She claimed, and then walked over to the dining room, leaving Sarah standing alone in the hallway, her pulse still racing. Beth didn't sound angry, exactly—more confused and determined. Sarah made a mental note: no more telekinesis. Not for a while. Not until Beth lost interest.
Within the hour, breakfast was ready. Sarah had set the table, and Mr. and Mrs. Harn arrived with Tony in tow. He was dressed much like his father—well-tailored and composed, with black hair and warm brown eyes. He was perhaps two years older than Sarah and unfailingly polite. He seated Beth first, then Sarah, before taking his own seat.
During breakfast, the Harns discussed business matters that sailed entirely over Sarah's head. She focused on her meal and mentally cataloged her tasks for the day.
"By the way, Sarah," Tony said, breaking through her thoughts, "I don't think I've ever asked—do you have any hobbies?"
"I quite enjoy mystery novels," she replied. "And I've been reading a lot lately."
"She's also seems to have taken an interest in watching you play your roller coaster game too," Beth added, not unkindly.
"I'm not much for video games generally," Sarah explained, "but roller coasters have always fascinated me. The engineering, the physics of it all..."
"Tell you what," Tony said with a smile, "I have to help Beth with something this morning, but after that, I could give you a proper tour of the game. Show you some of my designs?"
"I'd like that very much," Sarah said. "Though I do need to dust the living room first."
"Fair enough. Find me when you're done," Tony stated.
After breakfast, Sarah carefully cleared the dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher. She then retrieved a broom and began sweeping, the only truly consistent part of her daily routine. Fridays meant laundry; the rest was variable. Some days she barely had anything to do.
As she finished, she watched Mr. and Mrs. Harn say goodbye to their children. They were heading to a business meeting and wouldn't return until afternoon. Sarah waved them off, then headed upstairs to retrieve her duster from the linen closet.
"Blast, I forgot to dust the study yesterday," she muttered to herself. She made her way there and set about her work methodically—every bookshelf, every desk, every surface gleaming by the time she finished.
When she emerged into the living room, she stopped short. Beth was walking toward the games room, and around her wrists were what appeared to be black fabric straps. When she noticed Sarah, she quickly folded her arms, attempting to hide them.
Author's Note: Again, the image of Sarah is AI Generated. I looked around to see if this was against the rules, and I didn't see anything. If it is, i'm sorry, and i'll remove them.
Love to be tied-up, gagged and tickled !