Saving The Devil

Sklavin

Apparently the formalities of the night was over and it was down to business, literally.

I was sent to get myself some refreshments while he handled some business.

Maybe it was just me, but I swore some of the waiters and waitresses were eyeing me and whispering. For some reason I began to feel self-conscience.

There wasn't a single mirror in my room nor in the limo that brought us here, so I had no idea how I actually looked. But I'm pretty sure it was stunning, Nando's reaction told me that much. So what was their problem?

While I downed another glass of orange juice, I noticed a fidgeting frame almost concealed by the shadows of a potted plant.

"Hello there, would you mind if I hid here too?" the figure was very careful not to scream though she didn't do very well at concealing her terrified reaction.

Keeping her head low, she started fumbling with her clothes while her chest rose and fell. She seemed to stiffen as if waiting for...Oh my God "You think I'm going to hit you?"

No response.

"Do you speak English?" Still no response. I didn't want to do this but it seemed the only solution, so I pushed some cement into my voice and spoke again "Don't make me ask you again child."

"Yes, Yes I do Master. I mean Mistress... I..."

"Wait...What did you just call me?" my voice softened.

"Please don't punish me it's my first day... I ..."

"Silence!" I hated speaking like this but she wouldn't respond any other way. "Look at me" my voice now a mere whisper.

"You're giving me permission to look into your..." and when her eyes met mine we were both blown away.

I, for one, now saw how truly young she was and just how equally frightened.

"You're her, the girl everyone's been talking about." We looked over to where a new group of waitresses stood but they separated when they caught my gaze.

"I guess I am... but why?"

"Look around Miss" I did. Nothing stood out. Pulling her collar down, she rotated a little giving me a full view of her tattoo.

My stomach churned and tears stabbed like daggers. That wasn't a tattoo.

"Now you understand Miss, so look again."

This time my eyes roamed the hall slowly. Very slowly.

I shuddered at the realization. Apart from the African princess Amaali and the members of her tribe in attendance, I was the only black woman without a tray or bottle in her hand. Then I noticed, there were only black people with trays in their hands.

Suddenly, with my new found perspective, this ball room seemed much like the 1860s, with the white men and their...

I felt a lump in my throat and try as I may I couldn't finish the thought.

My hands shot to cover my mouth before a sob could escape, while I surveyed the room again.

Then the tears fell.

They were slaves.