Wind was blowing through my hair.
As I descended from the familiar scene of the cloudless, blue sky, I looked down at the farm below to hear my name being called.
"Cyrus!"
Sighing, I opened my wings to float myself down to a full stop. Standing on the earthy surface, I answered the voice.
"Yes?"
I walked through the wide, trodden path that led to the house. Crops surrounded me on either side. Corn, tomatoes, strawberries, you name it, we had it all on the estate. That's why our masters were so wealthy. Wealthy enough to have three servants. Of course, we were really slaves, but servant is the "nice" way of saying that.
"Cyrus!"
The familiar voice again. I sped up my pace, jogging towards the mansion. I made a left turn at the wall and passed an oak. The doors of the mansion were both wide open, so that a passing stranger could look in and see everything, the ornate curtains on the window, the hallway dotted with paintings on either wall, and even the back door to the other side of the farm. On the side of the doors, a tall, lanky man stood. His gray hair was slicked back with gel, making his forehead look larger than it was. He was dressed formally, like a butler, and cradled a clipboard in his left arm.
"Time to go inside." he said simply, and turned round to stride into the mansion.
I sighed. "Coming." I murmured.
I followed him in the wide opened doors of the house. It was that time of day. Curfew. All of us servants had to go inside, or face punishment.
Of course, our masters themselves weren't big on punishments. We had it extremely well, at least compared to others of our kind. I mean, I've heard terrible stories of the humans beating, whipping, even raping our kind. Like I said, we were lucky.
I folded my wings as I strode through the halls. I followed the man close behind. We were making our way to the dining hall to eat a meal that he had made himself carefully and precisely. Turning to the right, we passed through the kitchen, surprisingly clean after he had prepared an entire meal for both the masters and us servants. Dishes were lined up orderly and properly, and not a spot of food was seen on the pure surfaces. We passed through to the dining hall, which had red curtains, and a crimson theme throughout the decor in the place. The long, fancy table stood in front of us, with a full meal of rotisserie chicken, corn, potatoes, gravy, and red wine.
Our masters sat at either end of the arrangement, dressed in their clean, proper blue dress shirts. The two women gazed at us respectfully. Both were dressed so proper. Compared to them, I looked like something the cat dragged in. The one at the far end was a green eyed blonde, with her hair pulled tightly into a bun. She was Lady Eithe. Her wife, seated on our side of the room, was a brunette with streaks of black in her hair, which was curled loosely and let down. She was Lady Ebony. She spoke to us in a polite manner.
"Caesar and Cyrus. You may sit."
With her blessing, we each sat at our assigned place at the table. I sat across from Caesar, watching him unfold his napkin, neatly placing it on his lap.
With his mind, of course. That was Caesar's ability. He levitated objects. It was what made him one of us. It was why he was a servant.
Caesar lifted the wine bottle with silent telekinesis, pouring the masters' glasses first, and then to each of the servant' glasses. Now that the wine had been poured, we started our evening meal as we did every day.
I glanced to my right. Seated beside me was a female servant, fifteen years old, a year younger than I. Her name was Oregano. Odd name, it would seem, but it suits her. She had control over plants. She could make plants grow, she had vines that appeared somewhere around her shoulders, and short hair as green as grass. In fact, she used that hair and vines for photosynthesis. So really, she didn't have to eat at all. I watched her serve herself small portions of potatoes and corn, and skipping the meat as usual. I had known her since I was a small child, growing up doing jobs on the farm as I was now. She was quiet, but she could be fun.
I remember, when we were kids and Caesar was in his teens, we would hide behind the plants whenever he happened to be walking by. We'd snicker and yell "Caesar Salad!" Loud enough for him to hear. He hated being called that. But he had the greatest reaction. His blue eyes would go wide, and curl into a sharp glare. He'd turn up his long nose and storm away, balling up his fists tightly. And each night at dinner, he'd be giving us that disapproving glare from across the table as we tried not to laugh.
On Caesar's left of the dining table, sat two seven year old children. Twins. Steven and Stephanie. Both were brunettes and wore what I could only describe as a sailor's outfit for little kids. They could be troublesome, but I liked them. They reminded me of myself, in a way. Smiling, naughty, and always ready to piss off Caesar. In fact, I'd even tell them what to say to him to really bug him. They were always eager to learn how to cause more trouble. I felt a bit sorry for Caesar, but hey, better him than me.
I bit into my chicken hungrily. It tasted delicious after a long day of work on the farm. We finished our food quickly and were excused from the table.
