Rosalia’s POV:
As the months drew on, my life slowly took a turn from bad to worse. Then worse still. I have lived as Master Asher’s slave for over a year now. At the start, he was apologetic for his cruelty and tried to get me to trust him. I was wary thanks to a childhood in the foster system and moving between homes for my whole life. As well as being taken in by adults that didn’t want me. Not really. But slowly he broke down my walls ever so slightly and, against my better judgment, I started to put a small amount of trust in him. My worst mistake. Ever. See, once he saw he had secured a shred of my trust, he threw it back at me and used it to torment me. Laughing as he did so. He broke down my walls and left me with more psychological scars than I thought possible. Seeing my colossal mistake, I built my walls back higher and stronger until I was more guarded than I started out being. Meaning that I now no longer let anyone in, having learnt the hard way the painful truth that placing my trust in others only leads to pain and destruction.
That’s not the worst part of it though. Due to the months of degradation and torture inflicted on me by Maser Asher, I no longer have the same hope that I will be free. I don’t even think I will ever be free. It’s just not possible. Not anymore. I don’t even remember what freedom is, it all just feels like a distant memory. A memory that belongs to another girl in another life. One that deserved it. I didn’t. That’s what being a slave taught me. It taught me that I wasn’t owed and didn’t deserve anything. That I was a useless waste of space. A surplus to society. That was the saddest, most demeaning part. I no longer even feel human. His cruelty and torture have reduced me to an object of lust in the eyes of him and his disgusting friends. As the months dragged by Master Asher’s torture never stopped. Instead, he kept finding new ways to torture me and make my life hell. He would punish me for the simplest things, sometimes even when I had done nothing wrong.
But he was careful. He seemed to keep the most excruciating torture for what he called ‘special occasions’ but would never reveal what that meant. Listening to slave gossip in the palace, I learnt that he had had an argument with one of his siblings, about something I could never find out, and that he waited to perform the most horrific torture when said sibling was absent. Absently I wondered if they had argued about me– since I was Master Asher’s only slave– but quickly dismissed the idea as self-centered. No one bothers to fight for a slave as broken as me. That’s just how it is. We’re bent, broken and reduced to nothing and then left. Discarded with the trash and left to die.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not now some beaten-down slave with no fight left. No fire. No, I’m still a fighter, I just hide it better. I’ve had to learn to avoid Master Asher’s wrath. Listening, I heard some slaves whispering around the palace that I was ‘the loyal girl with a hidden rebellious fire’. They claim that when I get angry my eyes flash amber. So over the months, I’ve gained the nickname ‘The Fire’. I still fought my Master but I also learnt to take my punishments without showing emotion. Locking it away so that I felt it inside but didn’t show it.
He also graduated from calling me ‘slave’ to crueler nicknames such as ‘b***h’, ‘slut’ and ‘w***e’ behind my back. Classy. Not that he did anything to stop others calling me that and he was the one that forced me to live up to the nicknames anyway. I had accepted that this was my new life and that I couldn’t stop it. Sometimes at night, I would still cry, but that was mostly due to the nightmares that never failed to leave me screaming, crying and waking up in a cold sweat. Slowly I learnt not to sleep and my insomnia gradually overtook me. On especially bad days, I would fall asleep doing chores or finish late so he could punish me again. I’m not proud of my scars, but I survive and survivors do what they must.
I also started eating less, especially after I heard someone remark that Master Asher once said he thought I was fatter than a prize turkey at Christmas. The comment stung but I also got his implied warning that I was doing something wrong. Mara noticed I ate less and tried to confront me about it but I was evasive and simply came up with the lie that I wasn’t hungry and then usually had to disappear off to work soon after before she had a chance to dig deeper. My obsessive worrying about finishing work usually meant I skipped lunch anyway, too deep into a task to break away, and his repeated summonings in the evening solely got later and later until he kept me over dinner.
On my lowest days, I thought of ending my misery and suffering. I just wanted to die and end the torture I was forced to endure. I have tried dying several times, both consciously and without meaning to. My lack of food meant that I was constantly feeling nauseous and tired and the longer it went on the more Mara became concerned that I would die of starvation. I used to laugh humorlessly when she said that, making a silent bet that Master Asher’s cruelty or my insomnia would kill me first. Jumping didn’t work either, as all that was achieved was being kept away from windows for an extended length of time and more torture. When I was truly desperate, I tried holding my breath until I blacked out. Again and again. But for some reason, something deep in my core refused to blink out and let me die. About halfway through my time as Master Asher’s slave, I tried to die by bleeding out. Only to blackout and wake up again with new, ugly scars across my wrists that I knew would never heal.
Almost as if to mock me for trying to believe that I’d ever escape. Because I never would. Not truly. Some part of me will forever be stuck here. Always confined in the memories of this hell on earth. Left wondering what I could have done to deserve it. What any of us slaves ever did to deserve such a cruel and tortured existence?
On my last night as Master Asher’s slave, I retired to bed like normal, thankful that I had no new injuries covering me. My old scars had faded somewhat but could still be seen if someone looked for them. Mara, Chalice and I all said goodnight and hugged each other before switching off the light and falling asleep.
The nightmares wake me hours later and, due to my insomnia, I walk over to a window and watch the moon. I won't be sleeping again tonight. I knew that much. Instead, I stand and watch the silent landscape outside the window and try to calm my racing heart. Taking deep breaths, I open a window silently and let the cool September breeze cool my feverish skin. Lost in my thoughts, I feel a hand snake out of the darkness and cover my mouth so I can’t scream. Holding my breath, I feel the gravel under my bare feet as someone hauls me away.
***
I wake up chained to a post and my mind travels back to the last auction I attended. From what I later heard, my Master paid very little for me and I’m guessing, since he was a royal, no one dared to challenge him. Smart. Sometime later, I hear my name being called in a group and I wait silently to be unchained by Hesperia. Following, I keep my head bowed, remembering Master Asher’s rules that he instilled in me until I couldn’t even unconsciously disobey them. I hated him viciously but still silently thanked him for giving me what was effectively the crash course in human slavery. Yep. Slavery, aka my whole life.
Some part of me deep down still wishes that I could go back to being the blameless girl from last year when all I had to worry about was a lying best friend and boyfriend who were keeping secrets from me and not failing college. Now my daily existence is life and death and I know that even if– and I mean if– I manage to escape, I can never go back to who I was, because a fundamental part of me has changed.
Coming to the dimly familiar showering area, I strip and stand under the freezing water, my face blank and impassive whilst inside I worry about my future. Who will buy me this time? Will they be cruel or kind? I speculate endlessly whilst I mechanically get out and dry myself before being pushed back into a room where the kind Anastasia waits for me. Sympathy and shock pass once over her eyes before she regains her composure and I wait until she hands me a small bundle.
Stepping behind the screen, I drop the towel and pull on the dress over my head. It had a low V-neck front, full sleeves and came to my mid-thigh. The underneath material was stretchy cotton with a top layer of lace. The underlayer went from neckline to hem but the sleeves were thinner so my skin showed through it. With a naturally smaller waistline, the dress hugged my curves and had no problem showing off my figure to the world, but it also meant that the dress didn’t cut into my skin. Slipping on the plain black heels, I hear the rhythmic click as I approach Anastasia. She’s silent as she sits me in the chair and dries my hair.
Once dried, she curls it loosely and leaves it down so that the curls flow down to my butt. I had never had it cut since being sold and had long hair anyway, so I was used to it. Next, she busies herself with using make-up to lightly cover a few of the scars that were still visible but others she had to leave as they were impossible to cover. Lastly, she hands me a black velvet headband which I slip into my hair silently before Hesperia returns to collect me. My face is blank and impassive as I once again walk the halls of the mansion where I was first sold into this hell on earth. Chained back up to the others, I notice the girl in front of me is crying to herself silently. My heart pangs with sympathy and I wait until we are left to stand in a line against the wall before I tap her shoulder.