Chapter 1
The windows. Nonexistent.
The door. Locked.
My hands. Bound with chains.
There is only one person with me. One person who eyes me hungrily as if I am his dinner. Which I might be, by the way his gaze leers across my body.
Disgusting is what I would have called him to his face if he didn’t hold the keys to my life or death. On instinct, I shrink away from him, nearly hitting my head on the headboard. He starts to remove his clothes, and the sight is even worse than what I thought.
Believe me when I say I don’t want to see a 50-year-old man naked. His expression was definitely not helping as his eyes raked down my body with desire as I try to become one with the headboard.
“Little slave, that’s no way to be acting towards your master.” His grimy voice breaks through my thoughts and stains my ears.
I shouldn't be surprised that I'd end up in this position. Most girls of my age do. I guess I was hoping that I'd be able to escape before then.
Nobility. What good are they?
Honestly, I think all they do is harass little girls since they can't man up and find a woman who will actually like them.
Not with their personality.
I’m silent. I can’t afford to say anything or protest. There is only one hope which lies right beside me.
A knife.
But it’s too far away with my hands bound.
It’s okay. It will all be over soon. Just close your eyes and pretend you are back home.
Home. The place I used to live before the world went to hell.
My eyes shut close as I hear the faint noise of a belt coming free and clothing being dropped to the floor. I stay like this, afraid of what I’ll see lie before me. A faint creaking fills my senses as the bed tilts.
He is coming closer. I can feel it.
I need to throw up.
“Come on, little slave. Your master is going to put your pretty little body to good use.”
Fear drenches my being as I try to remain calm.
It will be okay. It will be over soon.
Count the stars. Mom always said to look up at the stars.
But there are none. Only four white walls here to keep me company.
Words don’t seem right anymore.
His sweaty palms grip my legs so tight that I’m pretty sure they left bruises. My fears are confirmed as a purplish tint is left behind, quickly spreading over skin. He forcefully spreads my legs and rips my clothing with predatory intent.
Wait.
Is that…?
A key hangs from his necklace as he comes closer. That silver piece of metal is my only chance of escape. But only if he were closer, then maybe my shackled hands would have a chance of grabbing them.
I have no other choice but to strip the fear away from my eyes and force desire to fill them.
Easier said than done.
My eyes shift expressions, masking into one of submission.
I hope it looks like desire. I'm feeling quite the opposite actually.
His interest grows, I can see it in his eyes and all it does is make me work harder to keep my disgust out of my expression. His smile grows as he grows closer and his meaty hands grasp the front of my dress. His hands are so close.
I strain for my hands to reach a bit further, metal digging into my skin, threatening to make way for that precious red liquid to litter the bed. His mouth reeks as it comes dangerously close to mine. I grab his necklace and pull…
His mouth stops above mine and his expression goes from desire to fury.
“You’re going to pay for that, you little bitch.”
His voice is full of pure rage that I know that I’ll be the focus of. His hand reaches out to strike me into nothingness and I kick him, in the balls with all strength my 13-year-old body is capable of. I focus all my strength, pain, fury into that one kick which is my only chance of freedom. He doubles back, landing on the floor, his expression seething.
But I couldn’t care less about his emotions right now. My hands twist and frantically shove the key into the lock.
Click.
My hands shake the shackles off, adrenaline racing through me. The noble is dangerously close now and he practically jumps up on the bed and…
Well, I’ll never know would have happened next because out of pure desperation, I grab the knife on the bedside table and stab it clean through his chest. His face goes from fury to horror as we both look at the hole in chest as red blood taints my hands and I pull out as his eyes fade to stillness. I collapse back, the adrenaline leaving me as quickly as it had entered me.
I… I killed someone.
I took a life.
Regret and horror at what I had done consumes my being as the traitorous red liquid drips off my hands. I can’t breathe and can only stare as I absentmindedly take slow steps away from where the now dead body lays on the bed.
It takes me a while to process the moment.
I have to get out of here.
My dress is stained in red; my stockings ripped into shreds. I can’t go out like this. I literally throw the closet door open and put on the first thing I can find.
A cloak. That should do it.
I wrap it around my 5'2 being, not minding that it was meant for someone way taller than me. Anything will do at this point. I grab the knife off the bed like a lifeline and make my way out of the mansion and walk (more like sprint) straight to freedom.
Or that's what I hoped would happen.
“Drop your weapon, put your hands up, and walk to where we can see you.”
Nope, definitely not freedom.
I peer down the railing carefully. The sight that I see threatens to send me running back into the room and into hiding.
But they'd find me anyway. I know they will.
Guards crowd the hall downstairs, their eyes scanning the floor warily.
Well, they won’t find me down there.
But it’s only a matter of time before they come upstairs. There are no more floors upstairs.
Nowhere to run.
Jumping off the window would only lead to death, but it is a better alternative than whatever would happen once they get their hands on me. I consider it for a second, looking down at the window.
It’s probably a 10-story drop.
Why in the world would one person live in a ten-story house? This is proof of the greed of the nobility.
There is no point of discussing about it now.
I peer down at my way to freedom. Crowds of commoners litter the street, one of them occasionally being held at sword point by the guards, but that was almost normal at this point.
What truly alarms me is how small the people look from up here. Almost like little specks of paint hastily thrown across a canvas.
There is no chance of me making it out alive. I stand on the ledge preparing to jump.
It will be over soon. Just one jump. Then you'll be free.
You can see Mom.
I bend my knees to prepare. Noises of swords being drawn and the thumping of boots downstairs break into my spiraling thoughts.
Of course.
My cowardice comes in the way.
My legs hastily get off of the ledge. I could never make that jump. That means that there is only one fate in store for me. I run as fast as my little legs can carry me. The guards immediately see me sprinting across the floor above them. I have no idea where I’m heading, but only one clear word runs through my head.
Run.
I was never good at making decisions last minute. But there is nothing I can do. They stalk towards me as I reach a dead end. My back is cornered against a wall as their red coats come closer and closer. Their swords are out, and they know as well as I do that there is nowhere to run.
A stupid idea starts to form.
Maybe it's a good thing that the logical side of my brain decides to shut down whenever I need help.
Before I can start to question it, I jump off the railing and fall onto the floor below. Something cracks followed by a piercing pain which shoots through my left leg, but I have no time to worry about that. My brain, fueled on the sheer will to get out of here, forces my legs to run down the flight of stairs.
Something red catches the corner of my eye. Before I can register my next move, my knife meets flesh as I throw my weight behind the strike. I don’t feel regret, as a matter of fact, I don’t feel anything. My emotional side and apparently my logical side has turned off. I rely purely on the longing for freedom. Blood taints the carpet as slashes and cuts litter my skin and my knife finds more people to bury itself in. I’m on the staircase when guards start to climb on from both sides. I don’t think I can make another jump. It would of been pointless anyways as guards litter the floor below.
“Drop the weapon and we won’t attack, bitch.”
As much as being the hero and fighting to my last breath sounds appealing, I know that only happens in stories. I could not bring myself to die... yet. I know that I’ll find myself dead anyway, either by fighting back or being killed during a public execution. But I can’t find the courage to raise my dagger and take all of them at once.
Or kill myself before they get to me.
No, that’s stupidity.
There is a difference between courage and stupidity.
Or is there?
I am forced to drop my weapon as red surrounds me and my hands are shackled once more. Those five minutes of freedom were nice while it lasted.
A blindfold forces my eyes to succumb to darkness.
The crowd falls silent as I walk towards my death.
