White wings make you fly

Ch.1 The Truth

 

Sometimes I'm still in that room... still alone, still looking at the roses that bloom in front of my eyes. Sometimes, I'm not sure if I'm awake or I'm asleep. Every time I close my eyes, every time I sleep or my mind wanders I'm there again. All the time there was this little girl's voice in my head asking me when it will end, when will the story unfold, when... when?

It never does end though, not really. In the end I always ended up back in that room, waiting, wondering, and dreaming of things that could never be. In the end that's what we all really are though, we're all the same, all a slave. We all have something taken from us, we all bend to reality, we're all stuck in this place wondering, waiting and dreaming. I'm no different from my master as much as you are no different then your mother or father, sister or brother, even your enemy.

Once a year, something was taken from me, just as something is taken from you as is something taken from someone else. What was taken from me caused my back to bleed; it bled so much and hurt so much I could barely stand. Stand I did though, because that's what the master wanted, what the master ordered. So I held on to the pipe behind me as my knees shook, as the warm blood flowed down my back, sometimes into my hands making my grip slip.

I would stand, and I would listen to the master, I would listen as I stood there naked, cold, vulnerable, alone. I would listen as he told me what he wanted me to hear, until he finished no matter how long it took, until he finally sprayed me down and called in the servants to dress my wounds. Then he would walk out and say three words to me and slam the door without a glance.

I wasn't a servant; I was lower then a servant. I was a gift for his first born son, a slave. The thing is I didn't know I was a slave, I thought I was a servant for a long time. Not just a servant though, I thought I was a beloved servant because I got to spend so much time with my best friend, the master's son and the master always wanted me close to him. When I was thirteen, that's when I realized I was no servant, I was truly and always would be a slave. I learned the painful truth of what it meant to be a servant and what it meant to be a slave.

But no matter how many scars I bore, whether I was a slave or less then a slave, one thing I knew for sure was from that day forward I would never give in; I would never let them see me cry, and I would never beg for freedom. I was a slave, but inside I was something more then that, something I would never let them crush. One day, that something in me would break free. When that happened, the world would never be the same that much I could be sure of.

Until then though...

"The master wants you to see to his wife's make-up" Bromide told me gruffly as I brushed my hair. "You should ask her if you can cut your hair while you're with her, its getting long."

"I've tried; the master likes it long though. The most I'm allowed is a trim to make it look better." I replied softly. I never spoke much above a whisper; it was seen as disrespectful since I was a lowly slave.

"As you please." She sniffed and slammed my door... or rather not my door, the door to the quarters my master allowed me to sleep. The master and his son often gave me gifts, no one felt sorry for me in the castle especially the servants. I was a lucky slave; I was lavished with gifts like a household pet. Those gifts meant nothing though, because I had no future, I had no real past, I had nothing, and even if I bore a child it too would be a slave. My life was that meaningless. The only things I had is what I was allowed to have, a small delicate mirror, a satin covered bed, outfits that where so revealing it hardly mattered that I wore anything half the time, especially in court, and hair that came down to my ankles... I hated it all.