𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐑

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 | 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍 𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐒.

Her blood ran south, in Callistae, where the land was rich with silt and the moon sat bright in the sky. Athros stood between Callistae and the lands to the north, acting as a bridge between them. A bridge few were willing to cross and even fewer actually could.

She recounted the story without fondness, a dreaded memory she wished had not been passed on to her.

Her ancestors came upon the cursed, cold land under the worst of circumstances. Taken from their homes and sent off to slave for the lords and ladies of Athros. The men were left in Callistae to cultivate the lush fields for Athrosian plates. The women and children served in the manors of the rich.

Things had changed. For better or for worse, that was up to the individual.

Though, as she crept quietly and inconspicuously through the chilly streets of Athros, her mind leaned unabashedly towards 'worse'.

Her eyes stayed low to the ground as the tramping of heavy boots against snow met her ears. The perfect collaboration of the steps signaled the telltale march of the royal guard on their evening patrol. However, they soon passed and her heart took a moment to settle with a deep sigh. She needed only for them to ignore her, without the worry of anyone else noticing her. Thankfully, the people of Athros did not give her so much as a sidelong glance. The muddy hem of her cloak and her old clothes deterred their eyes enough.

As she walked the streets that were covered in dirt-stained snow, she passed murky puddles that reflected her face against the dark sky above. The glimpse she received of herself was to be expected, but still painful.

The cold and her nightly duties had changed her. Her once cinnamon warm skin had dulled to an almost sickly greyish brown. Her hands, once calloused and strong, were brittle and bony. Her heart, once determined and bold, was now gelid and unsated. It was months ago that she still had any semblance of hope, but then, she still lived under the mastery of a rich lord and lady in a disgustingly lavish manor.

Sometimes she forgot the awful things and her mind flooded with images of only her cot and her mothers' gentle whispers. It scared her how much she'd forgotten, how much she struggled to retain.

"Nahresi." She whispered to herself, scared she'd forgotten her name.

But, really it was only the small things that were lost to her. The others were branded onto her mind.

The day was warm, at least warmer than the present, when it was announced that her people would be freed. Nahresi couldn't help but scoff at the notion.

Freedom was a lie.

It was a sudden decree shouted across the land, that the people of Callistae were to be given proper citizenship and allowed to leave the estates of those who kept them in servitude. It was a momentous day, though unexpected.

As momentous as it was short-lived. For a document stamped with the emperor's signet ring could not change a surly mind, lodged behind years of habit and tradition.

Many Callistaens were killed when their masters learned they were to be freed. Bodies were wheeled off to the freezing tides of the sea. Those that had escaped and lived, struggled to find work, with few willing to hire those who had labored for them previously.

Nahresi thought about it and laughed, though it was far from humorous. The Callistaen liberation, held on the same day as their most important winter festival, was marked on the second month of the season, and yet just a year later there were few Callistaens left to celebrate.