A Woman's Place

Chapter One

"Damn it!"

Freya's thunderous curse accosted the heavens as it rose to sully them on the back of her belligerent tone. With lips taut from rage, it was a wonder she was able to speak at all.

Blinded by her own ire and demanding retribution, she threw a swift jab at her cell wall. The instant her knuckles connected with the iron bars, a malicious jolt of pain erupted within her hand. Each aching throb was a jeer towards her short-sightedness.

Swears more vile than the last spouted from her lips like water from a fall.

"You cheeky bastard!" She hissed before curling the fingers of her uninjured hand into a baleful fist. Disregarding the pain that nipped at her palm as her nails burrowed deeper into her flesh, Freya tightened her clenched hand and threw it recklessly at her cell wall once more.

A piercing yowl tumbled from her lips as the pain sharpened, conquering both of her hands and rendering them momentarily subded.

She glowered at her cell wall as it stood mockingly resolute.

The abrasive snickers from the guard jarred Freya's ears as it assaulted her pride. She could not tell if his amused smirk distorted or enhanced the rest of his uniformly bruiser demeanor, for the grin he wore was sadistic in nature. Regardless, he was not to blame for this slight deviation to protocol. After all, he never thought he would see the day a detainee would be daft enough to start an altercation with the very cell that imprisoned them.

"Let me out! I've done nothing wrong." Freya knew it was a lie, but this truth did little to prevent her from declaring it adamantly.

"Silence."

Despite the simplicity of the command, the guard's request rolled forth like thunder throughout the modest prison, hushing any retort she was crafting. What mirth he once had faded at the sound of her blatant insubordination. Unlike Freya, he accepted his place in this world; and more importantly, he was not receiving any coin for passing out his verdict.

Freya scowled at the man. Nevertheless, she followed his request as fatigue overburdened her limbs and coerced her to sit upon the prison floor. She welcomed the coolness of its stone tiles as it began to dampen her temper.

She cradled her sore hands protectively into her chest, attempting to sooth the pain into submission by massaging her knuckles gingerly. She winced as her calloused thumb brushed over the tender skin. The pang that spiraled forth ran rampant down her arm and forced hot tears to well within the corners of her eyes. She drew in a shaky breath as she blinked the droplets back into the void, convincing herself that they did not sting.

She had not cried once during this whole period of injustice. Not even a single tear was shed when her commander's eyes became sullen upon the recognition of her duplicity. She refused to let those trifling, little droplets get the better of her now.

The lump that burned persistently within her throat, however, was another matter entirely. Despite her zealous attempts, it still refuses to be swallowed down.

"Look, fellas," a voice plagued by an insufferably thick country accent interrupted Freya's feeble attempts at composure. "The little traitor is going to cry."

Her trembling lower lip betrayed her irritation as Freya glared up at the culprit, finding it to belong to a brute of a man. His chest swelled with a fallacious sense of supremacy as both of his lanky friends sauntered into view beside him, snickering at Freya's misfortune. The grey military uniforms that each one wore proudly did little to conceal their boorish mannerisms. Despite the hubris that laced their swagger, they still tramped into the basement with the same lumbering strides of the working poor.