Dahlia has lived in our universe as an immortal for centuries. She has a soft spot for this universe - all the good and all the bad - and has made the best of an admittedly bad situation. Her universe? It...went through some things, but who cares, w...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Salem, 1692
WORKING FOR THE Corwin family was easy work.
It had taken me a long while to adjust to the primitiveness of this world, but I had done it. I had also begun to adjust to the cloying evil of it, too. In this world, my dark skin made me inferior. Submissive. A slave. That had taken me even longer to come to terms with.
"Dally, could you start the fire?" Mrs. Corwin wanted to know. As if I had a choice.
My new name irked me more than they could ever know, but I nodded at my boss – no, owner – and went to the hearth to begin the task. I thought about my sister while I worked. Veena had been bought by a friend of the Corwin family, and so we saw each other quite often. However, I hadn't seen her in a few weeks, and it worried me.
Mrs. Corwin settled her bony frame into her rickety chair behind me, and even with my back to her, I knew that she had picked up her canvas work. She had been working on it for weeks now; a pretty embroidery of all the flowers that grew in her garden. I could feel her eyes on me.
"Dally, what do you know of that Sarah Good girl?"
"Nothing beyond seeing her outside the church," I replied. This was absolutely not a conversation I wanted to have.
"Look at me when I'm speaking to you."
Her tone brooked no argument. I turned around, away from the young flames of the fire, to a different type of blaze. Mrs. Corwin reminded me of a teacher that Veena and I had had once upon a time. A blonde, reedy woman with watery blue eyes that held no sparkle, she always seemed as if she were five seconds away from blowing up. Angry at the world, Veena called it. Mrs. Corwin was like that. Tired of her dreary existence, I expected. Beyond her canvas work and her small children, she had nothing but mindless gossip to keep her company. There was an ever-present sadness in her stare, too. I knew that a thick cloud of grief surrounded this family. I just couldn't find it in me to feel sorry for her.
"She was seen talking to herself. What do you make of that?"
"Don't we all talk to ourselves sometimes?"
Mrs. Corwin eyed me, saying nothing. I bit my bottom lip, afraid that she would find me insolent. So far, I'd managed to stay on her right side, and, as far as things went, I wasn't treated too badly.
"I think we need more flour, Dally," Mrs. Corwin said out of nowhere. "Would you go and get us some?"
She rooted in her small coin purse and took out a few shillings, holding them out to me. I found this system of doing things very silly. The pieces of metal in my hand held great value here, but to me, they were just that: Metal.
"And Dally?" Mrs. Corwin called when I was at the door. "Do not be long."
"Yes, ma'am."
I loved going to the marketplace. It was where I could be alone, away from the Corwins and their spawn. Away from everything they represented. Sometimes, Veena would accompany me on these walks to the market for her master.
