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[Thorfinn x reader]
The day is no different from the others—long, grueling, and filled with constant reminders of your place in this world. You move through the motions, carrying baskets of food and water, washing the clothes and scrubbing the floors. You do everything you're told, with no word of thanks, no glimmer of kindness. The warriors take, the master demands, and you obey.
And yet, in your chest, there's a burning, a constant, gnawing ache that never goes away. You hate them. Every single one of them. You hate the way they speak to you, like you're nothing more than an object—something to be used, something to be thrown away when it's no longer needed. You hate the way their eyes look through you, never seeing you as a person, just a thing to serve them. A thing to feed their hunger and clean their messes.
They are devils in human skin, bloodthirsty beasts who take without remorse, who destroy without thought, and you are nothing to them but a tool.
But that doesn't matter. What matters is that you are trapped.
You hate them all, but you hate yourself more for putting up with it. For being too weak to break free.
Today, though, something feels different. The weight of your chains feels heavier, the sting of the bruises from yesterday's work sharp and constant. You can feel your body breaking down a little more each day, but that's the price of survival. You survive by swallowing your pain, by hiding your fears, by doing what they say.
It's in the middle of delivering food to the warriors that you make the mistake.
The basket is heavy, filled with bread, roasted meat, and dried fruit, all meant for the men who've returned from the raid. You're careful with it, always careful, because you know the consequences of even the smallest error.
You're about halfway to the fire when it happens.
The basket slips.
You watch in slow motion as the food tumbles out, bread landing in the dirt, meat falling, rolling away. For a moment, everything is silent, the world holding its breath. You stare at the mess, frozen, your heart pounding in your chest.
And then, like the crack of thunder, your master's voice cuts through the air.
"You worthless little bitch!"
You barely have time to react before he's on you, his hand gripping your hair, yanking you toward him. His fingers dig into your scalp, pain flashing through your skull as he pulls you roughly to the ground. You can't even hold back a gasp as the roughness of his grip threatens to tear the roots of your hair out.
