Her family

Flashback (What actually happened)

In the quiet corridors of the palace, Mulan moved through her daily chores with determination, sweeping and cleaning while the maids around her whispered spiteful comments. They mocked her for being a slave, their words a constant reminder of her lowly status.

As she worked, their spiteful comments became a persistent murmur, a cruel melody that spotlighted her every step.

The maids, with their eyes like sharp swords, spared no opportunity to criticize Mulan for her status as a slave. Their words cut through the air, each syllable carrying the weight of disdain and superiority. "Look at her, pretending to be one of us," one maid would sneer, her tone dripping with mockery.

"Slave girl, you'll never rise above your station," another maid jeers, her laughter echoing through the palace corridors like a mocking chorus. Mulan, despite her determination to focus on her tasks, couldn't escape the degrading commentary that followed her like a shadow.

The maids made merry in their cruel jesting, using every chance to remind Mulan of her perceived inferiority. "You'll never be anything more than a servant," they would taunt, their words laced with malicious joy. Each insult served as a cruel reminder of the societal barriers that restricted her.

As Mulan diligently cleaned, her ears became a vessel for the maids' scornful words. "Why bother trying? You're just a slave," they would say, their disdain manifesting in every uttered syllable. The whispers, intended to break her spirit, only fueled the fire of determination within her.

Despite the oppressive atmosphere, Mulan held her head high.

As she continued scrubbing the floors, ignoring the maid's words, the voices began. At first, it was the soft, comforting voice of her deceased mother, offering relief in the midst of the taunts. Then, the tone shifted, and her wicked aunt's voice echoed in her mind, followed by the harsh laughter of her evil uncle.

Her sweet mother's whispers, warm as hearth fire, pleaded with her, "Run, my child, escape this overlaid cage!" Her stern grandmother's voice, laced with the spice of woodsmoke, echoed, "Flee, Mulan, before their claws sink deeper!"

But just as readily, the viperous hiss of her cruel aunt slithered through the noise, "Stay, little fool, where you belong! You are a slave, and you will always be a slave! You don't deserve to live! In fact, you should be dead by now!" Her uncle's booming laughter, laced with cruelty, sent shivers down her spine, "No escape, little dove! This cage is yours, forever!! You are a slave, and you will die as one!"

The thoughts between the loving memories and the haunting jeers became overwhelming. Mulan's hands trembled as she continued her work, caught in a struggle between past kindness and present cruelty.

Her mother's voice pleaded for her to escape the torment, to find freedom beyond the palace walls. Mulan's grandmother joined the chorus, their voices entangling in a desperate symphony urging her to run.

Contrastingly, her aunt and uncle intensified their mockery. Cruel words pierced her mind, echoing the mistreatment she endured at their hands. The dissonance grew, a noise of clashing emotions resounding within her.

Aunt: "Look at her, pretending to be useful. She's nothing more than a burden."

Uncle: "Why did we even bother keeping her? Worthless."

Aunt: "Probably plotting some foolish escape. As if anyone would care."

Uncle: "Did you think we wouldn't notice? You're a stain on this family."

Aunt: "Just like her mother, a good-for-nothing."

Uncle: "We should have sold her off ages ago. What a waste."

Aunt: "A slave with dreams, how amusing. She's going nowhere."

Uncle: "Break something, girl. Maybe then you'll serve some purpose."

Grandmother: "Sweet Mulan, don't listen to their poison. You deserve a life beyond this cruelty."

Mother: "You're strong, my love. It's time to escape this torment, just like I once did."

Grandmother: "Run, dear. Find happiness outside these walls. We believe in you."

Mother: "You have the spirit of generations behind you. Don't let them break it."

Grandmother: "We love you, and we want you to experience the world outside this misery."

Mother: "Remember the stories I told you. You're meant for more than servitude."

Grandmother: "Break free, my child. Your destiny is not bound by the chains they've placed on you."

"Look at her, the little guttersnipe," sneered her Aunt, her thin lips twisting into a snarl. "Playing havoc like a spoiled princess, when all she's fit for is scrubbing pots!"

Her uncle, a mountain of a man with a belly that rivaled the palace wine basement, boomed with feigned concern, "Oh dear, oh dear, has the little mouse finally lost her way in the cheese maze? Perhaps she needs a good, sharp kick to point her back to the hole!"

Their laughter, like hyenas chewing on a bone, scoured against Mulan raw nerves. "Leave me alone!" she pleaded, her voice choked with tears and desperation.

"Alone?" spat her Aunt, her eyes gleaming with malice. "Alone is all you've ever been, you wretched thing! A stain on the palace carpets, a blight on our noble lineage!"

Unable to bear the torment, Mulan's surroundings began to reflect her inner turmoil.

She struggled, her vision blurring with unshed tears. The once orderly kitchen, where she had toiled as a maid, was now a battleground of her sanity.
Pots lay shattered, pans and spoons broken. Spilled flour covered the flagstone floor like a cloak. Every object she touched seemed to scream in silent protest, mirroring the turmoil within her.
And the once-orderly kitchen descended into chaos.

The maids, those gossiping serpents in aprons, stopped their chatter for a fleeting moment, their faces twisted in a mixture of shock and amusement. Their whispers, tinged with malice, cut through the air like blades. "Look at the little guttersnipe," one cackled, "playing havoc like a spoiled princess!" Another chimed in, her voice dripping with feigned concern, "Oh dear, has the poor thing finally cracked under the pressure?"

Panic hit her, at the impending punishment for her actions.

Without thinking twice, she began to run as fast as her legs could take her.
As Mulan fled the kitchen, the maids exchanged whispers, reveling in her obvious misfortune.

Maid 1: "Look at her, running like a scared mouse. What did she think would happen?"

Maid 2: "Probably thought she could escape her fate. Silly girl."

Maid 3: "Good riddance. One less servant to deal with."

In the corridors, Mulan's mind was still a battleground of conflicting voices, each urging her to a different path.

Grandmother: "Keep going, dear. Find your freedom beyond these oppressive walls."

Mother: "Don't let fear dictate your choices, my love. Escape, like I did."

Aunt: "You can run, but you'll always be a slave. Might as well accept it."

Uncle: "Ha! Running away won't change who you are. A worthless servant."

Maid 4: "Look at her, leaving a mess behind. Who does she think she is?"

Maid 5: "Maybe we should tell the Prince. Let him deal with this."

Maid 6: "No one will care. She's just a slave."

In the courtyard, Mulan hesitated, caught between the voices that echoed in her mind. The palace loomed behind her, and the world beyond beckoned with both promise and danger.

Grandmother: "Follow your heart, dear. Your destiny awaits beyond those gates."

Mother: "Be brave, my love. Develop a path of your own."

Aunt: "She's probably lost already. Good riddance."

Uncle: "Let her run. She won't survive out there."