Dreadful meal

I buried my face in a pillow and cried. No, I screamed as loud as I could while the tears stained the pillowcase. I’ve never felt so humiliated or so on display like tonight. I was a dressed-up mare at the market!

The old lady who dressed me was in the room all night, keeping an eye on me with two other servants. They stood against the wall like they were just decorations while we were eating, drinking, and discussing what could be changed with me and how much effort it would cost them. My skin was touched and smelled. I was turned around and studied from all angles. What I ate, how much, and how I ate it. How I held my glass wrong, the sips I took too big. My hair is too dry, my skin is too pale, and my eyes dull. I seemed uneducated, thin, and had a temper. My ass to flat, I’m a little too short, and my breasts could be bigger. Anger, hatred, and self-loathing swirled in my stomach. Like I was going to be sick. I never cared about others thought of me, but this was awful.

They brok