Miradjinn

If I had to sum up my first year as a slave, the term "misery" would be most appropriate. My beauty was often praised as a great fortune, but what good was it if it only brought me torment?

I came from a deeply religious family. We are convinc that no one was perfect, so defining me as such solely based on my appearance was absurd. I rather considered that anything that seemed to be a quality but turned out to be poison was, in reality, a disguised trial, varying according to individuals.

Through my conversations with Suraken, I became aware of the diversity that spirituality represented. He and I did not worship the same creator; the proof was that, unlike me, he did not believe in the existence of "Fate" but rather in "Karma".

I think I grew a lot spiritually despite my difficult conditions. But I also suffered numerous losses. What surprised Suraken was learning that I never shed a tear, no matter the circumstances. It took me time to understand that a quarter of what I had endured would have made even the toughest warrior weep.

Year 725

It had been a year since I was reduced to slavery, and my daily life was such that I was entitled to a semblance of happiness only at few moments.

Every morning, I was brutally awakened by the guards and punished with the whip at the slightest delay. Slaves like me, exempted from manual labor, were deprived of breakfast and dinner, but were allowed a meal at noon. It was the only time when all the slaves, regardless of their task, mingled.

It was there that I found Suraken, who always educated me about the others, indicating who I could turn to and who I should avoid, especially in his absence.

One day, he had told me about two of them: an old man and a young girl with wavy bluish hair. Fascinated by the natural aspect of her hair, I had asked him who she was.

Apparently, she belonged to the "Naiad" people. Kidnapped during the war about a decade ago, she had an eye torn out as punishment for trying to resist. Due to her rare beauty and belonging to the 'elementarist' race, our masters had decided to keep her for exploitation.

As for the old man, he was very weak. It was said that he was one of the master's first servants, having lost his freedom during the war after seeing his family perish. His seniority allowed him to understand the suffering of both categories of slaves without distinction.

Upon hearing this, I had taken a portion of my meal to approach them and offer them my share, but the situation deteriorated.

The girl knocked over my tray, scattering my meal on the ground, while the old man insulted me. "Get lost, doll," he spat in my face as the girl hurt me with her words: "You live a good life while we suffer, you privileged human filth". If only they had known what I was really enduring, but I had kept silent. I was nicknamed the doll because I appeared to be well-treated by the masters, but I wished so much that they knew the truth.

The mistress treated me like a monster and forced me to clean up the mess she made herself. If I left the slightest speck of dust, she would whip me while hurling insults and contempt at me. The master, for his part, conducted all sorts of experiments on me, not on my body but on my mind. He developed in me a visceral fear of insects that plunged me into a panic attack at the mere sight of them. He sought to make me cry, but I resisted nonetheless.

One day, as I was going about my duties, I witnessed an atrocity: the lynching of a pregnant slave. The child would have been the master's, so the mistress had promised a roast chicken to whoever would kill her. Many slaves rushed at her until death ensued. The mistress seemed to relish the spectacle but, in the end, she did not award the promised reward, devouring the chicken before their eyes.

Months passed, and I met a strange boy entirely covered in bandages. The other slaves nicknamed him the mummy because one couldn't distinguish his face. Observing him, I had guessed that we were probably the same age, so I tried to befriend him. It took me several months before I succeeded in making him talk and, as if to push me away, he had shown me his scars on his chest. I had then laughed and showed him the whip marks on my back, as if to make him understand our similarity. According to Suraken, he had been bought with the intention of reselling his organs, having been mutilated before arriving here. Despite everything, I had managed to make him my friend, just like Suraken.

However, I had to take the initiative to distance myself from them when I caught the masters mistreating them because of their proximity to me. When Suraken approached me, I found an excuse to disappear. I waited for the mummy to fall asleep to bring him part of my meal before slipping away without a word.

This situation persisted and, at the age of 8, I made a discovery that I would have preferred to ignore.

The master had set up a torture using water drops falling irregularly on my forehead. At first, it bothered me slightly, but over time, it became unbearable. I felt as if each drop was burning me and that it was impossible for me to keep my sanity. I was unable to think, but a conversation between the guards had captured my attention more than usual.

Then, one evening, as I was enduring another session of this insidious torture, I heard the guards talking near my cell. The words they uttered struck me like a dagger: the village I came from had been annihilated, and all its inhabitants had disappeared!