The Forsaken Hero

Three months passed. What had once seemed to be light and easy servitude, with food and rest aplenty, was laden with darkness. After that fateful day, Aurle was returned to us, and I learned such occurrences were common. Every few days, Lord Byron personally visited the Slave Chambers and selected a girl to accompany him for the day. They were returned early the next morning, covered in bruises and weeping.

But after I refused him, the pattern changed. Instead of carefully selecting his slave, he came straightway to my cage and asked politely for me to offer myself to him. And each time when I refused, he would simply smile and nod, choosing instead whatever slave had recently treated me well, or even just spoken to me. They would taken away, and I would receive my beating, leaving me bloody and sobbing, unable to perform my duties for the rest of the day.

"Hey, Starlight," Aurle said, looking at me through the bars, "Want to partner with me today?"

I stared at her for a moment before nodding. More often than not, she was that slave. I had pled with her to stop, to get some distance from me, but she ignored it all with a smile. No matter how bruised or bloody she returned each morning, she greeted me warmly and hugged me the moment I was free of the cage. Why couldn’t she just hate me? Then she wouldn’t have to suffer with me, and I wouldn’t feel this awful guilt and responsibility.

The other slaves took the opposite approach, distancing themself from me. Whenever the butler or a guard was nearby, they were certain to be cold and cruel, often harassing or hurting me to prove their hatred. I could see the guilt in their eyes whenever they struck me, but I couldn’t blame their actions. It meant they would be safe from Lord Byron’s ire.

Their whispers and gossip surrounded me day in and out, repeating the sentiment the Butler had conveyed. It was my fate to break, so why must I fight it? Why condemn the rest of them to pain and agony? In their eyes, the end was written. Lord Byron had broken countless strong wills, reducing them to puppets in his hand and bed. The longer I resisted, the more pain I and others would suffer.

As I dressed with Aurle for another week as a maid, I couldn’t help but sigh. In my heart, I knew I was close. Every time Aurle was returned, she was more battered and bruised, sometimes bearing wounds that took until Master’s next visit to heal. She refused to speak of what he did to her, as all the slaves did, but it wasn’t hard to imagine.

The cleaning was light today, and we found ourselves relaxing in one of the empty reception rooms, gaining a brief moment of reprieve from the day’s labors.

"Hey Starlight, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say where you’re from," Aurle said, glancing at me with a curious smile.

I paused, weighing her question carefully. Lord Byron had already revealed I was a hero, but the rumors around that had died shortly after. If I were to reignite the interest, word might leak beyond the slaves to the world outside this mansion. If they gained enough traction, Lord Byron would be forced to take action and kill me, upholding his end of the bargain with the church.

"I’m sorry," I finally said, gripping my skirt tightly. "I can’t say. It’ll only hurt you more."