In the early year of 1834, Mure was tortured in the infamous LaLaurie manor in the French Quarter of New Orleans, not yet the known tourist city of the 21st century. After the brutal death of her sister Lea, she is imprisoned in the attic; later kno...
The cold wind whips across my dirtied face, bringing full force the scent of rust and rot. The surrounding objects were covered in thick grime as though they hadn't been cleaned in a long time. It was, a small cabin located in the farthest end of the property, as though trying it's hardest to run from it's master but musn't in fear of slave dogs.
"Mure," Lea mumbles my name as she lay curled up on the thin, worn, and soiled curtain Madame LaLaurie had, "so kindly", given her slaves for the brisk winter ahead of us. With ease, I squatted beside her, running my brown fingers through her thick coils which mirrored my own; long and ratty.
"I'm here, little warrior." I whisper into the dark of night, using the nickname Abigail gave her the night our Mama died but Lea survived.
"Mure?" I glance curiously into the shabby structure as my amber hues land on Abigail, the old colored woman maneuvering her way through the resting and pained souls below her. "What are you doing up this late, child?"
I take hold of her arms and allow her to put her full weight onto me, supporting her frail frame as she gets by the fellow sleeping slaves. "Just thinking, that's all ma'am."
Abigail smiles, prominent dimples forming in the corner of her mouth, her eyes sparkling with mischief. When they said the eyes were the window to the soul, the philosopher must've met my Abigail. Those pitch colored irises let the whole world know how their master was feeling.Even the humbleness and chronic aching that comes with old age couldn't keep Abigail's spirits tapered. "Thinking, is that it?"
"Edwin hasn't come back in two days time, ma'am." I whisper softly, careful not to let anyone else hear my worries. "People have been goin' into the manor and they never come back out."
Abigail's wide lips pull into a firm line, her head slowly shaking. "We both know what happens up in that attic, girl." She wags her finger in front of my face, her voice stern, "Keep your nose out of the Madame's business if you don't want to end up locked up in that, Lord forgive me, hell."
I nod, a few coils falling infront of my eyes. She pushes them back behind my ear, resting her cool lips on my lighter forehead.
***
The photo above is how I basically imagine Mure!
Happy reading
xoxox
❤️️ Ｍｉａ ❤️️
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