Chapter 1: Fragments of the Beginning
The memory is small, a jagged shard of glass in my mind, but I recall the date.
I woke in the heavy, humid dark. The world was nothing but the rhythmic sawing of crickets and the frantic chirping of night bugs. Why was I awake so late? Perhaps I was simply afraid of the sun coming back up. Light always brought eyes, and eyes brought expectations. I squeezed my eyelids shut, trying to sink back into the shadows.
Crack.
The floorboards groaned. I shot up from my mat, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I didn’t brush the straw from my hair; I didn’t move at all. I knew the rules: stay silent. I was being tested. The footsteps drew closer, measuring my breath.
There is a gap. A hole in the world where the next few hours should be.
When the world returned, the sun was bleeding through the back window. My hands were submerged in a wash bin—a sink, I know now. My jaw ached. I could feel a baby tooth wobbling, a dull, pulsing pain, but I didn’t dare wince. The last time I whimpered was the last time I was allowed to eat. I just needed to survive one more day.
“Where is the food?”
The voice shocked me. It wasn’t the Lady of the House. I kept scrubbing, my knuckles raw. I never saw the other children; I wasn’t sure they actually existed until that moment.
“Hey! I said, where is the FOOD!”
I turned. The youngest of the three stood there, eyes sharp and impatient. I tried to speak, but my throat was a rusted gate; I hadn’t used my voice since the day I was stationed here. I simply pointed a shaking finger at the fridge.
He smirked, grabbed the plate that was meant to be my only meal for the day, and left. I stood in the silence, shaking so hard the china rattled. I waited for the grandfather clock to strike, signaling the next chore, the next cycle of the ghost life I led.
The Eve of the Incident
It was the day I finally became free from the “Slavery.” I was an adult by then, though I felt like a collection of bruises held together by sheer will. I had a few crumpled bills—my entire world—clutched in my palm.
“Do you want the keys now, or when you get back?”
I flinched, my eyes darting automatically to his shoes. It was an impulse, a survival instinct I couldn’t shed. He wasn’t a Master. He wasn’t an Owner. He was one of the Creatures—beings so powerful I would have worshipped them if they had permitted it. They were the ones who had pulled me from the dark.
“Maki,” he said softly, stepping toward me. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
My body began to tremor. The proximity of his power, his otherness, made my skin prickle. He saw the fear and stopped. He understood what the House had done to me.
“Please... contact us when you get there,” he whispered.
I forced my neck to move, looking up to meet his gaze for the first time. I smiled—a stiff, unfamiliar movement—and nodded. I walked out the door and into a world that didn’t have a Master.
130 Days Later
I count the days because the months are still a mystery to me. Education is a slow climb.
“Maki?”
A face blurred into focus. I was crying.
“Yes?” I croaked.
“You were crying again. Are you okay?”
I looked at the monitor, the bright glow stinging my eyes. “Finished,” I said. It was the only word that mattered. The work was done. the debt was paid.
“Do you have more to study?” she asked kindly.I shook my head and packed my bag. As I walked toward the exit, her voice followed me: “Have a great evening!”
I stepped out into the cool air. I didn’t have to hide from the sun anymore, but the silence of the night still felt more like home than the day ever would.
