7-11-19 RP Notecard
Morning came... and found the woman still leaned up against the wall, she still saw herself as a woman, not the "girl" she would become when slavery had settled about her like a comforting mantle.... Sleep had been a fitful and fleeting thing for her, as it had been since that night on the road to the Sardar - that required visit, expected of all good southern free men and women. She had night terrors, the feeling of that hand slipping over her mouth, her eyes flying wide as she looked up and saw a stranger's face, only ihns before the capture scent-soaked rag pressed over her face did its job. Flashes of the slaver's face, mocking, laughing, taunting from the other side of the bars and at the same time, a fleeting flicker of expression, buried in her subconscious, that he had given her - an expression that was somehow more than what she had seen on the faces of men who had sought her companionship, and so subtle that her conscious mind had been unable to process it. When her sleeping mind was not forcing her to relive the dismay of the last days, weeks... it filled in the blanks of what her future would be like; from what would surely be the most painful experience of her life, to be branded, to the doldrums of what life would be like if she were made nothing but a kettle and mat girl. Some vision of her, decades in the future - worn and weary, face lined with weather and work and sorrow - until she was finally just given away, of no value to anyone. Schemes and plots, plans to find some way to escape the fate holding her within those walls also danced through what little sleep she managed; and each of them failing, each of them leading to a look of disappointment... then exasperation.. and finally.. disgust and disdain on his face - HIS face. Anger, hurt, hatred, depression, loathing, denial... coursed through her veins during the night - and yet beneath it was a flicker of something else, after all, why would her subconscious mind care if he looked upon her with disgust if not for the pull of something about him that was striking a cord deep within her?
Sounds of life reached through her restless slumber and her eyes slowly flickered open. In that brief moment between sleep and wake, she could almost forget her circumstances, expecting to snap at one of the slaves for being so loud as to wake her. It was only a fraction of an ihn, but part of her did not want to leave that particular moment. Focus came to her sight... the bars, the stone walls... and some of the underlings milling about. Two of them standing just on the other side of the bars, one holding a pile of fabric, the other holding a slave goad and a tray that looked to have a bowl of water, a sloppy cake of soap and some rough looking rep cloths. Damned if the remnants of her night did not crowd upon her feelings as she could not help but think of something one of the slaves had mentioned... about Masters who enjoyed grooming their slaves just as they might their kailia, washing them, combing their hair, oiling their skin - and she had a flash of thought about the slaver doing that to her. She was horrified by the vision, but more so by the tug in her belly that followed. She snapped at the men standing there "seriously? a bowl and some cloth?", she did not even let her eyes linger on the pile of blue cloth the other one carried, some yellow and some purple showing, too. Ok, yeah, she looked. It wasn't exactly a bad looking fabric, it actually looked quite soft, and the color was vibrant and appealing.. and there was certainly enough there to cover all of her body. Had he decided to free her, have robes delivered to her and permit her to return home, unscathed save from the fears that would plague her over the experience?
In her current state, the bowl of water, soap (which she doubted was scented) and rough cloths should have been welcome - her face was dirty, tracks of tears dried on her face. She was looking a bit gaunt and the dark circles under her eyes were a stark contrast to her normally flawless skin. Her eyes lacked the normal bright shine, sunken slightly so that they seemed larger than normal, framed by lashes that would have made Aphris of Turia weep with envy. She looked disheveled and yet somehow even more beautiful in the vulnerability that was so clearly displayed by the helpless girl trapped in the cell who was doing her best to look far more brave than she felt. The man holding what she hoped was robes reached to unlock the door...and so began the day.
~Rowena~
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