girls vs boys

Intro The dust motes in the orphanage, a place named "The Haven" with a bitter irony, danced in the perpetual gloom. This was a place of stark, cruel division. The boys, clothed in threadbare rags that did little to ward off the cold, were treated as little more than labor. Their days were a relentless cycle of toil. From the moment the sun rose, they were hauling coal up creaking stairs, scrubbing floors until their knees bled, and mending the very clothes they were forced to wear. Their meals were slop, a watery gruel served in dented tin bowls. Their beds were thin mats of straw on the cold, stone floor. The slightest whisper of complaint or the smallest act of defiance was met with the sharp, merciless sting of a leather strap, a constant threat wielded by the gaunt, sneering matron, Mrs. Gable. On the other side of a locked, polished mahogany door, a different world existed. This was the girls' wing, a place of vibrant warmth and gentle light. Here, the girls wore dresses of soft cotton, their hair adorned with silk ribbons. Their laughter, light and carefree, was a cruel, echoing soundtrack to the boys' despair. They were treated as fragile princesses, their days filled with lessons in embroidery and piano, their nights with stories read aloud by a gentle governess. Their rooms were bright, filled with dolls and books, and they dined on roasted chicken and cakes topped with thick, sugary frosting. The scents of their world—perfume and baked goods—would sometimes drift under the locked door, a tantalizing torment. The boys would sometimes steal glances through a small, grimy window in the laundry room, their faces pressed against the cold glass. They would watch the girls playing in the sunlit garden, their colorful dresses like wildflowers. A bitter, cold lump of resentment would form in their chests. They saw the girls not as equals, but as a different species, one blessed with a kindness and privilege they could only dream of. The boys, their hands chapped and r