Being thrown to the wolves is a death sentence.
Adalia knows that all too well, since she witnessed her own father being slaughtered in that same unmerciful way.
Living life as a meek slave in a kingdom full of royals, Adalia has no rights and is tr...
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Her days of being bedridden were coming to an end. The exotic women came into her room often, speaking softly in the language Adalia couldn't understand. Some of them couldn't communicate with her, the language barrier proved to be difficult.
Luckily, a couple of them could speak Adalia's native language - it was broken but she appreciated their efforts in trying. They had told her that it was best for her to start walking around a bit, to awaken her muscles again that had atrophied from lack of use and nutrition.
Her condition itself had improved, having been two weeks since she was brought in. The wounds had scabbed over, leaving behind large, tender wounds that decorated her body in all shades of red.
No doubt she would have massive scars from the ordeal.
They still ached and she still had to rest on her stomach. The fiery pain wasn't as intense, though, but that didn't mean they didn't hurt. Oftentimes, they still oozed liquid but the women assured her that it was just a sign of healing.
Daily cleansings were a must. The women worked hard above her to make sure the wounds stayed clean and free of any infections. They'd wrap her back during the night but give the wounds time to breathe during the day. Many times, the man would watch her, never saying much but watching her with eyes that held emotions she couldn't understand nor decipher.
He didn't like to see her in pain but he had been cursed to see her in that state often. Her mind was wilting, dying to ask him the questions that she had conjured up in the two weeks of silence.
She hadn't spoken much, the only time she would use her voice was to thank him for the meals. The food has slowly helped her put on some more weight. Her condition was taking a turn for the better, but even then she still looked emaciated beyond repair.
Her food intake was steadily increasing, each day a little more would be added onto her plate. It was important for her stomach to adjust to regular portions again, it had shrunken considerably from a life of starvation and struggle.
If Adalia was not careful and she ate too much or too quick, she would throw it all up. She wasn't used to this kind of abundance in meals, and she feared that if she ate, then others wouldn't.
That's how her life has always been. If one ate then others starved. There simply was not enough food to go around, and even on the rare occasions that there was, it came in small amounts.
Everyone was underweight, some more than others but to Adalia that became normal. She remembered how as a young child she could trace every bone in her body with her finger. She remembered looking at the other people who belonged in her social class and noticed the same thing.
But eventually, as time passed, she no longer noticed it. She had become desensitized and violence, cruelty, and starvation all became normal. No longer had she really noticed it and no longer did she give it a second thought.
