EPISODE 2 – THE UGLY SLAVE

THE UGLY SLAVE

“I’m helping you survive... but in the end, it’s still your decision and I will wait for your answer, my... slave.”

His chilling voice echoed hauntingly through the wooden walls of the stable. Then he turned his back on me and walked away, a low, cruel chuckle trailing behind him. Only when his presence had fully faded did I let out the breath I had been holding. Wolfie finally stopped growling and wagged his tail in front of me, as if trying to calm me down.

The tension in my face eased. The tight knit of my brows slowly loosened. I slipped the dagger back into my pocket, a blade that I hadn’t let leave my side ever since the master's son had started showing interest in me.

His desire was insatiable, disgusting.

Out of all the beautiful servants in the mansion, he still chose to obsess over me.

I’d caught him more than once that he was having séx with a servant behind the stables. He had no shame, and now he wanted to drag me into that filth.

I thanked the heavens he hadn’t succeeded yet. I kept resisting, kept fighting. I won't hesitate to kíll him if he reaches the point that he would actually ràpe me.

“Come on, Wolfie... Let’s clean the pig stables,” I muttered.

I stepped out of the sheep pen, my faithful dog trailing behind me, and made my way to the pig stables. There, with no one to help me, I drew bucket after bucket of water from the well, scrubbing each pig and clearing out their feces by hand. The stables stretched far and wide, and I was the only one working, it would likely take me until three in the afternoon to finish.

Finally, I let the last bucket drop to the ground with a thud, empty and splintered from use.

“At last... It's done.” I exhaled deeply.

The pigg stables were spotless now. No more filth, and the pigs' bodies gleamed smooth and clean. I looked down at myself, my dress was spattered with grime and pig's póóp. I smiled weakly.

“Wolfie, let’s go bathe in the stream!” I said with a hint of energy returning to my voice.

I stepped out into the open fields, bathed in the warm, orange glow of the late afternoon sun. The wind brushed against my face as I walked across the sea of grass, my gaze fixed on the forested path ahead.

Somewhere beyond, the stream awaited.

I couldn’t bathe inside the mansion, the servants were allowed to use the baths, but I wasn't even considered one of them. For me, there were only two options. The stream or the well.

When we reached the stream, I took a deep breath, letting the cool gust of wind whip around me. The water was crystal clear, revealing smooth stones beneath the surface. I paused there a moment, just listening to the calming rush of the current.

I was lost in thought until I blinked, startled by the sudden splash of Wolfie jumping in. A soft smile tugged at my lips.

I stepped into the deeper part of the water, letting it rise around me. I washed my arms and legs, scrubbing away the sweat and the filth from the pigs, especially the stains that had splattered across my dress.

After I finished washing myself, I sat under the shade of a tree not far from the stream. I tilted my head back and gazed up at the sky. Birds were flying home, gliding gracefully across the fading light. In the distance, crows hopped between the branches of trees that marked the edge of the forest.

A soft smile formed on my lips again.

I didn’t know how much longer I had in this world. Life was cruel when you had no power, status, or money. But still, even without those things, I wanted to live longer.

My greatest dream?

To escape from this place and find a land far away from people. There, I would build a small hut of my own and grow vegetables. Somewhere I could sleep without shivering at night... without going hungry. Such a simple wish to others, yet for me, it felt like reaching for the stars, an impossible dream.

I didn’t know how long my master's would keep me alive. I didn’t know what plans they had for me. Not knowing made it easier to stop myself from worrying all the time.

“Hey, slave! Get dressed. You still have to water the horses. Make sure they drink enough!"

Just as I was starting to rest under the tree’s shade, a sharp, rough voice shattered my moment of peace.

I slowly turned my head toward the speaker, eyes still low, my long bangs veiling most of my face. Another servant, sent to deliver orders.

“Hurry up,” she snapped before turning on her heel and walking briskly away.

There were 55 horses that needed to drink from the stream. Each one is waiting for me. If I worked quickly, I’d finish before dinner.

I stood up and whistled softly. My dog, who had been lazily rolling in the grass, lifted his head and came bounding toward me. We returned to the sheep stables so I could change into a dry dress.

My prediction was right, I managed to finish watering all the horses just before the sun fully set.

While yawning, I stepped back into the sheep stable and I saw my dog already curled up on his bed, right next to mine. I made my way over and lay down, finally feeling the softness of my mattress, handmade from sheep’s wool, just like my blanket.

Around us, the sheep were resting quietly in their pens, their presence oddly comforting. My body ached from the long day’s work.

Today wasn’t as exhausting as most days. There were no heavy tasks, no endless orders barking at my back. My body wasn’t screaming in pain.

I found myself wondering...

What would my dinner be tonight?

Maybe just stale bread.

Or perhaps leftover rice, shaped into a cold, crumbling rice ball.

If I were lucky, maybe some plain boiled vegetables.

Simple, tasteless things, but they were enough to get me through the night.

The crows had started cawing from the forest nearby. Their cries echoed faintly through the stable walls. Outside the wide window, I watched the sky slowly darken, now painted with deep orange hues as the sun dipped closer to the horizon. I remained still, eyes fixed on that fading light.

Then I heard footsteps approaching.

Voices. Soft giggling.

They were headed toward the stable door.

Must be servants.

“Hey, slave. Open the door already,” one of them called out with a mocking tone. The group stopped right outside. I rose slowly from where I lay and walked over.

I unlatched the two-part wooden door and opened it.

Three female servants stood before me. The one in the center was holding a tray.

On it sat a small bowl filled with watery rice porridge. Thin and grayish, with just a few clumps of actual rice floating in the broth.

“You’ve got to be kidding. That’s her dinner?” the one on the left said. I immediately recognized her, she was one of the servants I had seen earlier today, gossiping in the yard.

“I told you already, Rosie... This is her food,” said the girl in the middle. “She’s been getting this stuff for a long time now. Sometimes worse. Just wait ‘til tomorrow. I’m guessing moldy bread for breakfast.”

The servant named Rosie, the newest one among them, lowered her eyes to look at me. Her expression softened, but only a little. Her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but all she could manage was a quiet, uncertain whisper.

“She’s… pitiful.”

The way she said it made me feel smaller than I already was like I was something fragile and filthy at the same time.

A creature meant to be watched, not helped.

Her gaze lingered on me, unsure if she should feel sorry or disgusted.

They were talking right in front of me as if I were a ghost, something that could neither hear nor feel. But I was used to it. This wasn’t new. This kind of scene had played out so many times before.

“Can we at least give her proper food?” Rosie asked, her voice laced with concern. “She won’t even get full with that…”

“Don’t waste your sympathy,” another servant cut in with a scoff. “She only looks pitiful, but she’s got a sharp tongue and a rude attitude to others. Doesn’t deserve help at all. She’s cold to everyone. I’ve been here for years, and I’ve never heard her say a single word... except for when she’s screaming... cursing... badmouthing while getting whipped.”

Rosie lowered her gaze. “Still… It’s just… sad.”

“You’re too kind, Rosie. Would you still feel bad if I told you she’s flirting with Lord Donis... you know, your crush?”

“F-Flirting?” Rosie stammered, suddenly glancing at me.

“Yeah. She pretends she doesn’t like it, but she loves being harassed by him,” the servant said with a cruel grin.

“Why would Lord Donis be interested in someone like her? She looks like some… ghost woman,” Rosie replied, giving me a slow, judgmental look from head to toe.

I stayed silent, still waiting for them to hand over my dinner. But instead, they kept gossiping in front of me.

“I don’t get it either,” said the other servant with a chuckle. “Maybe she seduced him first, then acted like a victim.”

I listened quietly, saying nothing. Their words were filled with malice and ignorance. They knew nothing about me, yet they spoke as if they knew everything.

I didn’t care what they thought. I couldn’t change how they saw me.

“Ugly slave,” one of them said. “Take your dinner bowl.”

At last, the tray was held out to me. I reached out for it, but just before my hands touched the bowl, the servant pulled it away with a smirk.

“Wait, this porridge is too bland for you. Want me to add some flavoring?” she teased with a crooked grin.

I simply lowered my hands.

“Silence means yes. Go on, Fara, do it,” said the other servant encouragingly.

I kept my head bowed, eyes subtly watching the servant holding the tray.

Right there in front of me, she puckered her lips, gathered spit inside her mouth, and spat directly into the bowl of porridge.

The other servant laughed. “Your turn, Helia,” she said, shoving the bowl toward her friend, who followed with her own glob of saliva.

“You too, Rosie. Maybe your spit is sweeter... add some extra flavor,” Fara teased with a wicked grin.

Rosie flinched. She shook her head, clearly uncomfortable. “You don’t want to?” Fara said mockingly. “Fine, I’ll do it again.”

Fara turned back toward me. This time, she didn’t aim for the bowl. Instead, she drew up a fresh mouthful of spit and launched it directly at me. It landed on my hair, the strands that fell in front of my face.

Both girls burst into laughter.

Rosie didn’t join in. She stood off to the side, her face twisted in a quiet mix of disgust and unease.

“Here you go,” Fara said mockingly. “Take it, your special meal.”

She shoved the tray toward me.

I reached for the bowl silently, finally taking it.

Their laughter grew louder.

“Enjoy your meal, ugly slave!” they sneered as they turned and walked away, still talking about me as their voices faded into the distance.

Only when I was sure they were gone did I act.

Without a word, I walked to the edge of the stable and flung the contents of the bowl into the dirt. Then, without hesitation, I hurled the bowl against the stone wall.

It shattered with a sharp, hollow crack that startled the sheep.

I stood still, breathing evenly while my expression was blank.

Then I heard a soft whimper.

I looked down.

Wolfie, my dog, was staring up at me with sad, questioning eyes. He had seen it all.

“I’m sorry, Wolfie,” I murmured gently. “You can’t eat food that’s been spat on. Come with me... We’ll look for dinner in the forest.”

I stepped outside, the last of the sunlight barely brushing the ground, and my dog followed eagerly at my heels.

“Let’s check the fish traps in the stream,” I added, walking the familiar grass-covered path into the forest’s edge.

When we reached the stream, I checked each fish trap I had hidden beneath the water days ago. With each empty one I pulled up, my hope drained a little more. Not a single fish.

I sighed and lowered the traps back in, praying tomorrow would bring better luck. It was one of the few ways I had to survive. When I wasn’t drowning in chores, I would fish here. But if my days were consumed by labor, I could only rely on these traps.

“Wolfie, let’s go find apples instead… Let’s hurry before it gets too dark,” I said softly.

My dog barked in response, as if he understood the urgency in my voice. We left the stream behind and made our way toward the part of the forest where the apple trees grew.

The chirring of crickets and other insects had already begun to fill the air, a sure sign that nightfall was creeping in. The light was fading quickly, casting long shadows between the trees.

Our search didn’t take long.

In the distance, a lone apple tree stood, its branches bearing a few pieces of fruit. I approached and quickly counted. Five apples. Three were ripe, their skin glowing a deep red under the dimming light. The other two were smaller, still a bit green. I took them all anyway.

“Let’s go home, Wolfie.”

With the apples in hand, we ran back through the underbrush, dodging low branches and fallen logs, guided only by instinct and habit. The sky was nearly dark when we reached the stables again.

I sat down on my rough, hand-stitched mattress and reached for the small oil lamp on the wooden table beside it. Striking a match, I lit the wick and watched the soft golden light flicker to life.

“Sorry, Wolfie… It’s fruit again for dinner,” I murmured, slicing up two ripe apples for him. “But… I’ll try to sneak into the storage room at dawn and steal some dried meat for you.”

He began eating right away, tail wagging, and I couldn’t help but smile at the sight of it.

I picked up one of the under-ripe apples and took a bite. My face twisted instantly from the sourness, and I laughed softly to myself.