The days passed before Wynn in a blur. Her chores were demanding and time consuming but required only physical effort. Her mind was free to ponder and wander and it was this freedom that dragged her down. Nothing seemed able to coax her out of her troubles. The subject that demanded her attention most frequently was the image of what had happened a few days before; the young man that was whipped. He was defenceless, Wynn thought, over and over again.
She
was defenceless. How was she ever going to be free of the Master when she was no match for his cunning and ruthlessness? He could kill someone without batting his eyelids; it would not wrack him with guilt. Life was something he had complete control over, and the incident with the young man had reinforced to Wynn how weak and susceptible to harm her body was. Her flesh could be cut, her body could be broken, her blood could flow. At any moment the Master could decide he had waited enough for her to comply and punish her.
Wynn looked around her room sadly, breaking free from her dark thoughts, and realised it was dawn; she still had a few hours before she had to get up and begin her day. She eyed the pile of clothes at the end of her bed and realised that underneath was the book she had stolen from the Master. It had lain there silently, forgotten until now. She remembered its black leather cover and gold leaf title and it called to her. Had the Master touched it, leafed through its pages? Shuddering Wynn got up from bed, bent down, picked it up from the floor and sat back down on the bed. She ran her fingers over the leather, finding it felt cold to her touch, Wynn pressed her palms to it and almost expected for them to be covered in the crystals of ice that she had often seen on the rose petals in winter.
She laughed quietly to herself at the idea, the book was not cold to her touch, she was imagining it. Slowly she opened it and looked at each page, wishing she could read it. The words looked so important, long words with a meaning so close to her grasp. Flicking through she saw a few of the pages had pictures. It showed hand movements. She copied them with her own hands and wondered what they were for.
“Wynn!” A voice called from the kitchen.
Sighing Wynn hid the book back under a pile of clothes and walked slowly up the stairs. She still had hours before her work began but she had not been sleeping so did not mind as much as she entered the kitchen and Cook handed her a tray. The hours would only have been spent wallowing in misery anyway, Wynn thought.
“Wynn,” Cook called just as Wynn was about to leave, she turned and looked at Cook’s face, studying her fine wrinkles, “There is a new maid being transferred today... be back for midday to show her around?”
Wynn nodded and left the kitchen, the sound of Cook wringing the neck of a chicken drifting after her. Wynn wandered through her day, ghosts of doubt and fear dancing before her, wisps of emotion at the edge of her conscious, at the edge of her vision. She could not grasp hold of the images for more than a few seconds but the emotion that they left was all too clear. She scrubbed the floors of every room in the house, and dusted every piece of furniture until her arms ached with fatigue but her mind would not rest. Her thoughts wandered aimlessly around her head. The Master, the army, her dream, the mysterious book, and Byron. Each one she knew linked back to her in a way that she could not describe. The Master owned her, could do with her what he pleased. It was the law in Inlo for the Lord of the town to have complete dominance over his people. It is surely like this in every town, Wynn thought as she scrubbed at the granite floor, her thin rag slopping dirty water everywhere, that is why running away will be fruitless, I shall just be captured and returned here.
Wynn had never cried. After seventeen summers she had never once wept, but now she felt weak. Her body was strong for all its youth but her mind and soul felt old beyond her years. Everything seemed to building and piling on top of her until she was gasping for air, for clarity, every day was an effort, dragging on in a life that was doomed to continue. She wondered how Cook had survived for so long under the Master's rule. Am I to die, Wynn thought, rag in hand, knelt on a dirty floor, my body young, my heart simply giving up?
Groaning Wynn mopped up the spilt water and returned the rag to the wooden bucket. She stood up and made her way slowly through the Manor, rubbing the necklace she always wore around her neck, the small star pendant smooth from years of contact. After a long moment of daydreaming, she looked out of the window; the sun was near the middle of the sky, her stomach clenched. She was late.
With a loud crash Wynn entered the kitchen, and saw Cook standing by the stove, her arms folded, “The new girl is in the Master’s room, I had hoped you would be able to spare her the humiliation. I said to be here before midday!” Cook cried, flinging her arms out as she spoke. Wynn looked away and studied a fly on the wall, she could not hold the gaze however and hung her head in shame; she understood how the new girl would be feeling, the Master’s eyes searched you, clawing their way into your thoughts.
Cook walked over to Wynn and placed a hand on her shoulder, “I’m sorry; in these times it is easy to lose your temper, I know that you could have done no more to protect her from the Master than I could have.”
Wynn nodded; any effort to protect the new maid against the Master would have been futile. They both felt immense guilt that she would be thrust into this new life without truly knowing how malicious the Master was. Wynn looked into Cook’s eyes and felt something twist in her stomach, she could not stand by and let another girl suffer, as long as she had breath in her lungs she was strong enough to stand up to his might.
“I can try to help,” Wynn said determinedly. Cook opened her mouth to argue, but Wynn was already running out of the kitchen and up the stairs, her heart fluttering.
Wynn knocked gingerly on the Master’s door when she reached it. There was a grunt from inside and Wynn pushed it open. The new girl stood in the centre of the room, her long blonde hair covering her face, her clothes far too large for her. The room was still dark, the Master refusing to open the curtains himself, deeming it beneath him. The candles had nearly burnt out so the light flickered dangerously, teasing the occupants with darkness. Wynn curtseyed and whispered, suddenly finding that her determination was wavering and that her voice had almost disappeared.
“The new girl is needed in the kitchen.”
The Master got up off the bed and walked assertively over to Wynn. Wynn’s skin crawled and her heart beat furiously as she waited for the Master’s hand to touch her cheek. It didn’t come; instead he grabbed her throat and forced her head up to look at him, his palm easily covering the width of her throat. Wynn whimpered in pain and fear but refused to cry, she knew the Master would enjoy inflicting punishment on her far more if he knew she would weep each time.
“I’ve been thinking about you Wynn,” he purred, “your beauty, your voice, everything about you... I don’t think you understand what an offer from the Master means. Disregard it and I will have to prove to you and everyone else that you are mine. I have not marked you as my own because of your beauty and your never-ending clutch at hope. You are different from the other girls, you have not broken, but the time has come when obedience is required. I believe the only way to do that is to scar your pretty face. I need more than the servant’s cut to show others how special you are. I mean, what if another man wants you? I can’t have that! You’re all mine, aren’t you my love? With a voice like yours...”
His grip tightened around her neck and Wynn gulped, feeling his palm as it moved with the motions of her throat. He didn’t need to finish his sentence, the malice and lust that resounded through his words was clear to anyone who could hear. The new girl had turned to look at the commotion, her eyes wide in fear. The Master glanced at the new girl and laughed.
“Don’t worry girl you’re not my type, Wynn is the one my heart wants, and I’m going to brand her to show every man that she is mine.”
Wynn screamed in defiance, but it was muffled by the Master’s hand around her throat, squeezing so tightly that breathing was almost impossible. Her small hands tried to pry the Master’s hand from her throat, scratching and clawing wildly, but he was too strong against her frail frame. Slowly he drew a dagger from his belt, using his other hand, and held it up to the candle light. The blade glistened menacingly, the surface so polished that Wynn could see her reflection. The Master smiled at Wynn’s discomfort and slowly held the tip of the dagger to her cheek; the point was so sharp that she didn’t feel it pierce her skin. The Master’s other hand gripped Wynn’s throat; she could breathe just enough to remain conscious, for now, but her vision was beginning to fade. She could feel a trickle of warm blood run down her cheek and felt the Master wipe it away with his thumb, in a twisted display of affection. All the while the new girl watched with horror, she knew there was nothing she could do. What the Master was doing was his right. He owned every servant in his Manor and could do with them what he wanted.
The room seemed to spin as the Master’s grip tightened; a red mist slowly formed over Wynn’s eyes. Her stomach clenched and nauseas fear washed over her. In her mind she was screaming in defiance but the Master's hand stopped her from voicing her protests. Her breathing was desperate and ragged and her eyes blurred. She felt the tip of the knife prick her skin once more then slowly the Master dragged the edge of the knife along Wynn’s cheek bone. Wynn felt blood pour from the open wound, down her neck and onto her clothes. It was warm against her chilled, sweaty skin. She didn’t feel the pain, it didn’t register, instead she could feel herself falling into blackness. The Master licked the knife and grinned.
Wynn saw none of it, for something inside her had broken.
She felt it as a physical and emotional pain deep inside herself, in a place that seemed alien to her. She had never broken a bone, but she compared it to that sensation, a broken bone, a snapped rope and it hurt beyond words. It was like something had both broken and awoken and through that break Wynn could suddenly feel the Master's lust as though it were her own. It was as though she was inside him, feeling what he felt and thinking what he thought. It was like nothing she had ever experienced before, she was very much still able to think and feel, but part of her brain was now registering the Master’s thoughts too. The Master seemed oblivious to the change in Wynn, and his thoughts – which flooded Wynn’s own conscious like an oppressive smog – continued to centre with Wynn’s pain and his own attraction to her. It pulled her from the blackness and forced her to feel and sense everything around her.
“My heart longs for you Wynn, say you want me too and I won’t cut the other cheek,” the Master warned, his eyes wide with expectation, in his twisted mind he believed Wynn loved him, he didn’t realise by cutting her he was destroying the one thing that he loved about Wynn, her beauty. Wynn shook her head in disobedience, the pain in her cheek was less than she had expected, her head told her that the Master had done her a favour by cutting her with a sharp knife, the cut was clean and would probably heal if left alone. Her heart, however, told her that even if the cut healed, it was too deep to fade with time, it would scar and she would be forever recognised as the Master’s property. He and the other maid’s of the Manor had gotten their wish, she was marked and she was his.
The candles flickered dangerously then, as if signalling to the Master. He had raised his knife to cut Wynn’s other cheek when there was a violent knock on the door. He cursed, throwing Wynn out of the way and opened the door; Wynn could feel his annoyance deep inside her mind, persistently demanding her attention. Outside stood a man with a shaven head, his eyebrows furrowed, his mouth scowling. He entered the room at Master’s indication, glancing at Wynn who was holding her apron to her cheek to try and stop the bleeding as the new girl comforted her. He raised his eyebrow and waited until the Master sent them away.
As soon as Wynn had been freed of the Master’s grasp the new maid’s emotions had washed over her. Terror, revulsion and pity clouded her mind like a mist, and combined with the Master’s feelings she felt like she was drowning. Now as the strange man entered Wynn felt his urges and feelings as clearly as if she was inside him, he was burningly curious at the situation, but had enough respect and fear for the Master not to question it.
She felt sick with it all, her head swam and her breathing became ever more laborious.