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The girl in the mirror stares back at me, her exposed lids brushed with golden kohl. She blinks as I do, and gold glitter detaches from the rest and flutters, landing gently on her coated thick lashes. Her lips are colored a deep red, parted slightly. Her face is covered with a mask adorned with black diamonds and silk, blending against her dark hair, and it rests heavily against my face.
She doesn't speak, and I dare not break the silence.
All the lights are off except for the candle flickering wildly, casting a dancing shadow across my bodice. I cannot recognize the source of the shapes, but they scare me.
No one is in the room, yet the fingers of the shadow wrap around my waist. I let out a small gasp, the lighting abruptly snaps out, and the door to the dark, barely furnished cell slams open. The Mistress towers in the doorway, the moonlit passage way amplifying her presence. Her hardened figure holds a trace of past and cruel beauty, her thin lips pressed in annoyance. Her shoes click neatly against the floor, and I drop into a deep curtsey, heart pounding in my chest.
"Stand up," she commands, with a clipped voice. She holds the candle near me as I fearfully straighten, and I feel the heat of the light against my cold skin. Her fingers dig into my arm, and I know that under my gloves a dark purple bruise spreads through my skin.
"Where did you go, Number Three?" My heart stops as she stares directly into my eyes. "Who were you talking too?"
Terrified, I dive into another instinctive curtsey. "No one, Mistress!" My voice shakes and scrapes in my dry throat. "I was in this room as instructed, Mistress."
A backhand whips me across my face and I cry out as I stumble off balance, landing painfully on my elbows. The air leaves my lungs, and I gasp for breath, holding back tears.
"The gardener's boy, wasn't it?" I lie and shake my head, and her shoes line up in front of my face. She growls and crouches down, lifting my chin so I'd face her.
"He will die tonight if you don't tell me who it was ..." she tells me. I panic.
"Mistress, no! I love him, please don't-" She cuts me off, nails digging painfully into my shoulder.
"You are lucky tonight I cannot mar your pathetic face," she murmurs, her tone soft and low, almost like a caress. "Tonight I will get rid of you, you useless wh*re. I will sell you to whoever will gain me most profit. And you are nothing but a pawn." I flinch as she raises her hand, and brace myself, but she yanks me up. "Cover up that bruise on your face. You will be picked up within an hour."
I mumble a frightened, "Yes, Mistress," and scramble away from her, and she lets out a humorless laugh. She sashays out of the door, and it slams loudly. Behind me, the glass mirror hanging precariously on the wall drops to the floor and shatters around my feet.
