The Demon's Child and the Phantom

Chapter 1

Rosella's POV:

Useless. Worthless. Hideous. Horrible. Monster. Witch. Demon's Child.

These are the words that rush wildly through my mind as I sit in the stall theyhad placed me in when I first came to work for them. Well I say work for them,really I was given to them to pay off a debt that my last owners owed to them.Slavery in France and practically everywhere else in the civilized world was abolishedand no longer permitted, but if the aristocrats could afford it by paying offthe right people then they could have one.

I was considered....well I suppose an oddity of sorts. Oddity being the nicestthing I've ever been called by an owner. The names I'm usually called arefilled with much more venom and hatred than the word oddity can muster. I sighsome as I stare at the wall of the barn, tracing the lines of the wood in thewall with my eyes, and wonder when my new owners will be here and whether theywill be the ones to finally kill me and end this never ending pattern oftorture.

I never stay with owners for long. Twoyears was the longest I've lasted with a set of owners since I was sold by LordByron who had kept me for a little over 5 years I think. My current owners, the Baron and BaronessDurand, had only had me for less than a year but they were possibly the third worstowners I've ever had. The gypsies of course held the number one spot for worstowners ever, and unless something changes in the near future they will foreverhold that spot.

Previous owners have all been harsh in the ways in which I was kept. I wastaught long ago not to make eye contact with anyone, to remain silent unless ananswer was called for, and to become as invisible as possible when required bymy owners which was often. I was nothing but property after all, and many of myowners made sure I knew this. What makes my current owners bad compared to afew of my previous ones though are the beatings they have given me when I domess up.

Yesterday I had made the mistake of speaking to Baron's youngest son after hefell and hurt his knee. I didn't like seeing children in pain of any kind, asit only seemed to remind me of how cruel the world had been to me as a child.So I had made him smile and helped him up, before I continued to clean thebarn. The innocent young child told his parents how I talked to him and cheeredhim up, he even said that I was like an 'angel.'

His mother, of course, started screeching that I wasn't an angel but a gypsy demonas anyone could see. She cursed and insulted me in several ways that I had allheard before berating the little boy. It ended with the little boy being sentto his room crying in the arms of his nurse maid and myself being horse-whippedoutside by the stable master, all while Baron Durand continued to yellobscenities at me.

It only made it worse that the insanity came out while I was being whipped, andI struggled and fought against the restraints that held me down. I have no ideawho my rage was directed at, whether it was at both the stable master and BaronDurand or one or the other. All I do know is that losing control of theinsanity within only ever makes the beatings last longer because the ownersfind it funny watching me scream in rage until the pain finally makes my bodycollapse.

I've worked hard to learn to control the insanity that was planted in my mindat a young age, but I have yet to master how to stop it from controlling myactions. Even when I can prolong it's occurrence, it only means that when I dolose control it will last several hours. I doubt I ever will learn to ridmyself of it completely honestly. Though at the moment my sanity or lackthereof is not my main concern.

Rather the wounds I received yesterday are my top concern at the moment. Thefact that when I woke this morning I was able to sit up without passing outagain is a true miracle of sorts. The hay I had been tossed onto last night wasstained scarlet in color. I'm sure if my dress wasn't black in color it wouldbe just as red as the hay around me. The only reason I hadn't been forced towork today was because they had already sold me and didn't want to risk merunning away. As if I could make it very far with as badly as they whipped myback and my legs, they kept bleeding for most of the night.

I can only hope that the wounds have stopped bleeding. I know that they will probablyleave scars but they won't be the first so it doesn't really matter. The onlything that scares me now is that they might be back any minute to rip me up tomy feet and I know the pain will only amplify when they do. I may be familiarwith pain and able to mask it with a calm or blank expression, but pain itselfis still something I have yet to grow used to over the years despite my experience with it.

I hear the door of the barn open and then I hear the Baron speaking in hispolite yet haughty voice, meaning that he's trying to show off his wealth andprestige to my new owner. I put my head down, looking at the scarlet hay again andclutching my cross necklace that Florica gave me so long ago in my hand, sendingup a silent prayer just in case God will listen to me. I take a few deepbreathes, listening to their steps getting closer. I release my necklace hidingit under my dress just as the barred stall door swings open and two pairs ofshoes walk in to stand in front of me in the soft hay.

"This is the demon's child here. It isn't worth much based on appearance aloneI know, but it's a hard worker and when worked into a state of insanity isquite an entertaining creature. I guarantee it."

"A woman?"

"It has the form of a woman yes, but I can assure you it's a creature from thepits of hell itself, just as it proved yesterday during its' punishment. It waspractically feral, and it shows few emotions, like a normal human being does.Here, let me give you a better look, shall I?"

I glare at their feet in front of me, the baron's shiny leather boots shininghaughtily back at me, and a pair of simple but nice black shoes next to them. Iexpect my new owner to say something in reply to the Baron's suggestion, butbefore he can I feel the Baron grab me by my curls and pull me to my feet. Ican't stop the hiss of pain that escapes my lips, but I can prevent the tearsfrom falling. I will not give them the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I make myface as blank as I can and I feel the Baron's other hand under my chin, forcingme to look up at them just as he slams my back into the wall of the barn.

"See, it must be in pain and yet it shows no emotion on it's face. Only anoccasional hiss or whimper, rarely a yell unless the creatures loses its mindas it sometimes does during a punishment, observe."

I see the Baron's wicked grin before he slams me against the wall of the barnagain, and I can't help but let out another hiss of pain as my back comes into contactwith the rough wood. I see the Baron let out an evil laugh before my eyes aredrawn to the man standing next to him, my new owner. He appears to be an olderman with tan skin, greying black hair, and gleaming green eyes. I watch as mynew owner angers as he sees me and I feel the pain reach my head as black spotsbeing to cloud my vision.

My ears start ringing and I see my newowner seeming to yell at the Baron. I should have known he would be unhappywith me as well, the disgust in his voice when he first saw me could easily be heard.After all no one ever wants to buy something such as me unless they needsomething new to beat. Perhaps he was expecting something more for whatever theprice he paid for me. I can only assume that the Baron will tell him how much Ican stand in a beating. It is usually a selling point for some owners when theyfind I can last several hours before I pass out during a beating. It helps whenyou've been beaten nearly every day since you were born.

I watch as the dark spots crowding my vision grow larger and I think back to mychildhood being similar if not worse at times. My entire cursed existence is allbecause of my eyes. My horrid, evil eyes are the reason that I'm kept as aslave, beaten for pleasure, and hated to within an inch of death. A punchingbag at the worst of times, and a servant at the best of times. I was born withthe curse of my eyes and have been suffering at the hands of others ever sincemy own mother sold me to the Gypsies a few days after I was born into thiswretched world.

People are taught to fear and hate what they don't understand, and no oneunderstands why my eyes and hair are the way they are. Not even me. My left iris is bright blue like the daytime sky with streaks of silver in it, while myright iris is the color of bright red blood. A single streak of bright red runs through my dark colored curls on the right side of my head. I've been calledeverything from a witch, a demon, and most often a demon's child, all becauseof these cursed eyes.

I do believe in God, but I sometimes find myself wondering if what they call meis true, for after all the prayers I've said I still suffer this torturousexistence in my own hell on Earth. I look back up and at see that my owners,both new and old seem to be yelling at each other. I watch a while longer untilthe dark spots block my vision completely, my last conscious thought beingwhether I'll ever know happiness or dare I dream it, love, with eyes as evil as mine.