I'd like to write a bit here before you read on. On other fan fiction sites, I am able to tag more options and have a larger space for a summary, so here on it is difficult to really give a feel for the story before someone clicks on it. If you have an issue with violence, psychological elements, non-con, underage sexual activity, etc etc please do not read on. This is a dark story, and takes place in a dark alternate universe. Although my intention is for things to progress positively, there will be times in this story that may be hard to swallow for some people. Do not read on if you are sensitive to these subjects.

Lastly, please understand that I do not agree with or condone any of the actions displayed here. I am merely a storyteller, and that does not mean that I agree with the story I tell or would live such a life myself; much like those who write about murderers or other deviants. If you have harsh words for me and would like to attack my character, you are free to do so in my personal inbox.

Thank you.

Chapter One

The Servant

It was a warm August evening when the boy arrived. The sun had just hit the horizon, casting light over the damp earth and long shadows among the thick forest surrounding the mansion. It had rained that day, I recall, as the boy's filthy knees knelt in the doorway and I was overcome with disgust and upset at the prospect of cleaning it once he was gone. Little did I realize then, that the boy wouldn't be leaving that night; or any night thereafter.

The day started like any other, of course. I awake in the earliest hour to prepare my Master's tea, placing it neatly at his bedside before gently retracting the curtains just enough to allow the soft glow of morning to wake him. His favorite way to wake, as he'd told me many years earlier. Without word, my young master accepts the tea and morning paper whilst I retrieved his small breakfast from the maid at the door. It's the blonde, much to my dismay, with her icy glare and sharp nose that seems to pierce right through anyone in her line of sight. Most likely, this is the exact reason the master graduated her from sexing the sheets to cleaning them. Who could fuck proper with those hawkish eyes on them? Certainly not myself, anyway.

As if reading my own judgmental gaze, she gives a sly smirk and leaves. Without looking up from his paper, my master chides me, "Don't bother Annie, Han. She'll poison our food."

I smile politely. "I haven't said a thing, young master. Certainly she wouldn't be so bold."

The silence between us is comfortable and light. We both know Annie would indeed be so bold, but I say nothing more. Her presence and position under his care are as much a testament to his kindness as my own, although his harsh reputation keeps anyone from noticing. The mansion is surrounded by grassy fields on one side and dense forest on the other. The nearest neighbors are all miles away, and would require a carriage ride just to exchange pleasantries. Despite that distance, the power of gossip seems to find them and anyone else out here in the countryside.

'He's ruthless. Beats his bitches and maids alike, I hear! No better than a monster.' The other nobles will whisper among themselves at whatever big event they're holding that week, as if he is a bear among wolves. A master who hurts not just his slaves but his staff is somehow appalling, and they fancy themselves the better. A beast is a beast is a beast. No owner is better than another, if you ask the servants beneath them. However, his terrible reputation comes from his predecessor; the deceased uncle to which he owes his inheritance, and the true monster whom once terrorized this countryside with the bodies of his beaten charges. Although my master is in his own way kind, he is still a master. Raised by the monster to become a monster. I believe these two warring sides are to be this house's downfall, but it isn't a servant's place to think; certainly not to interfere.

As the day moves on, I tend to my duties as the master's trusted servant. I clean his room to the high standards that the maids never seem to meet, as well as the adjoining bathroom. In the kitchens, I check the storerooms for his favorite foods, teas, and spices. The wine cellar is well stocked, and I finish my list in record time.

I recall feeling that the day had been going quite well.

I meet up with my master again outside, at one of the many seating areas around the mansion's wrap-around deck. He sits quietly in a warm patch of sunlight, writing fiercely over a scroll of parchment. I take a seat at the opposite end of the round, metal table, keeping my matching metal chair distant and pointed away from him as a sign of submissive respect. After a few long minutes of appreciated rest he seems to finish his work, scanning his slate-grey eyes over the paper and folding it into threes, then stuffing it into an envelope. "Bring me the small one, with the fair hair that I like. I'll take her in my office, after tea." He orders as the rich, red wax drips and dries over the crisp paper.

With a silent nod, I retrace my steps back inside and down one of the many long, lavish corridors of the house. The thick rugs that line the hallways are a lusty red that reflect beautifully off of the well-polished grey marble floors. The walls contain paintings of various nobles and landscapes that have been long forgotten by the residents to the point that we can't even be bothered to remove them. I doubt my master has even looked at them more than once in his lifetime of living here. When I turn a sharp corner on the second floor, the atmosphere changes noticeably from the expressive show of wealth found downstairs.

The girls stay here on the second floor. Between the first floor where the guests are entertained and the business happens, and the third floor where the Master's suite oversees us all, they stay in their own world of sterile halls and simple beds. The hallway wall is soon replaced by a long, seemingly endless pane of glass, allowing me to look within at the equally endless rows of beds and slaves. Here in their small world, the master is their god and I, his messenger. They don't see me right away. From their side, the long window shows only their reflections, a constant reminder of their place and the importance of their appearances here. Some stand staring into it while fixing their hair or smoothing the mandatory white gowns they each wear. Some sit atop their beds socializing with each other or looking through one of the preapproved picture books from their small bookshelves. Before entering, I stare into the eyes of a girl, just inches from my face; her gaze fixed only on a crease in her brow and missing me completely from behind the glass.

I remember once when I was young, asking my trainer the curious questions of childhood. "Sir, why are some girls slaves and some girls aren't?" It was a sensible question at the time. In a world where women were objects, why did some of them draw the short straw, and why was the long straw hardly any better?

"Some slaves birth other slaves, Han. When a girl is no good as a slave, she becomes something worse; homeless. Free for all men to pray on in the streets. So the good girls do their best. Sometimes that effort is rewarded, and they are taken from the slave trade and made into maids and other servants. Then, they don't have to do the bad things to live in safety."

I nodded my head like I understood, even though I didn't. "But what about the noble ladies?"

I knew I was crossing a line by asking, but I also knew that he didn't really mind when I was curious. He called it one of my 'strengths'; something I wouldn't understand either for a long time. He shakes his head at me and whispers, "We don't talk about the noble babies, Han. If you ever let a noble hear you question their purity, they'll have you hanged. Understand?"

I didn't know if he meant literally or figuratively, but I knew I didn't want to find out. I nodded again.

The ornate white wooden door swings open easily on the hinges. The door has no handle, only a lock to which there are few keys. At my entrance, the ladies all stop their movements and look to me expectantly; composed and submissive. A few of the new arrivals appear uncertain and afraid, but I ignore their questioning eyes, scanning the room for my master's requested slave.

"Miss Petra," I say when my eyes finally catch hers in the far corner of the room, trying to disappear into the cream colored paint behind her. "Come with me." I extend an elbow and she takes it with soft and trembling fingertips. The gesture is my only form of sympathy for the girls. Letting them pretend they are being whisked off to a ball is much kinder than the truth: being whisked off to master's rough touch.

In the large washroom at the end of the second floor, Petra undresses shyly and avoids my gaze as though this isn't a regular occurrence. I watch her closely to ensure she has washed thoroughly to the Master's liking and help her redress into a new white gown, one with a petticoat and without undergarments. I could see acceptance in her eyes but I felt no sorrow for her fate. We are all a slave to someone. We must all give ourselves to a master. Her self is simply more desired than theirs.

I instruct her to wait in one of the small sitting areas near the main staircase on the first floor, and fetch the afternoon tea tray. Master's carefully organized office looks expectantly pristine, as does the crisp suit he wears as he works. Although he rarely leaves the mansion, he always dresses as if he were expecting a business meeting at any moment, which I silently admire while he sips his tea. I bow and turn to leave him to his peace, but he stops me. "Hanji. How long now have you known me?" The question is quite out of character, and catches me unaware.

"It has been many long, fruitful years, Master Levi. Since we were both young boys, and so I would wager at least twenty years." I don't ask why he has questioned me so, for I know that he knows exactly how long it has been since our meeting. Instead, I keep my gaze steady in his direction, but do not meet his eyes in challenge.

"Then you know how easily I grow bored, do you not?" I nod once and bow my head, awaiting his continuation. "The girl... she's getting old. Bring me my things, and prepare her. Do not bring her before me until she is ready, understood?" I swallow a hard lump in my throat but bow again.

The large wooden chest remains in the dark corner of Master's large closet. It is heavy, and I struggle to stand it up on its side. I struggle even more when I take it by the handle and begin my decent back down the stairs, where Petra waits in a wide, dark leather chair. She picks at a cuticle nervously. When the trunk hits the floor beside her heavily, she jumps quite literally from her thoughts and gives a small whimper. 'Oh, how the Master shall break you.' I think to myself.

Her eyes grow wide at the sight of the box in its obvious importance. It's wooden and metal holds the corners and seams together, with three locks total - one for each side without hinges. "Do not look inside, little miss." She closes her eyes obediently, wiping the sweat from her brow. I pull the key ring from my breast pocket and select two of them, one small one for the side locks and a larger for the main, front lock. They each click one after the other as the box cracks open. I pull from within a long, black strip of silk and two lengths of rope that have been treated carefully and made soft and pliable. I tie the cloth around her eyes securely and quickly. She lets out a small gasp of surprise but makes no move to escape. The ropes cause her obvious unease when they pull at the skin of her wrists and elbows; her arms secured behind her tightly. I close up the trunk but do not lock every lock. With the thick leather handle in one hand and Petra's delicate shoulder in the other, I take them both down the hall of the first floor and to the Master's office.

When I pause outside of his door, a small, kind part of myself that I tend to ignore bring me to a stop. I lean close to her ear, even knowing her senses are sharp with her eyes covered. With a whisper, I give only one warning before shoving her through the threshold with the trunk and closing the door, locking it.

"No matter what he does to you, don't cry. " She will cry, of course. They always do. Then, it will only get worse."Like his uncle before him, he is cursed with an unquenchable thirst." The words of my own predecessor ring in my ears, even after these many years without him.

I lose myself in my thoughts of him; wondering where he is and if he is happy there. I'd never tell Mr. Smith this, but I always admired his sharp intellect and understanding heart. It is that spirit that I try my hardest to carry with me, but the years of cruel memories have hardened me in a way that never seemed to affect him. The day grows sour as the storm clouds roll in. The maids scramble to bring in the laundry from the lines and a few of our landscapers look disheartened as they descend the steps to the basement level where the servant chambers are. As I flit about the first floor's various offices and meeting rooms, party rooms and the dining hall, I train my ears on the sound of raindrops tapping the windows; anything to avoid the sad sounds of Petra's despair that leak through from Master's office. He takes his time with her this evening, no doubt the last attention he intends to give her. I wonder momentarily where she will end up when he's bored of her.

I've finished my personal assignments and have moved onto helping the maids with their usual work by the time his office door cracks, and the sound of my call bell chimes only once. Not a good sign. If the master only rings once, and it isn't heard, a severe punishment will meet whomever when they do arrive. I let out a breath of relief that I've managed to stay on the first floor all of these hours, and hurry to the door immediately.

The master has gone from the door, but it remains cracked so that I may enter. I do, and am met with the sad sight that is Petra. Only it isn't Petra, not really. She is a new Petra now; broken in a way that only my master can manage to make so beautiful and so tragic. Her cheeks are pink and stained with tears, but otherwise her face has been left untouched. "I told you not to cry, little miss." Although I should be sad, I find I am only upset at what this means for me: more work.

"Clean her up. Send someone to clean the rest." He waves a hand in the general direction of the office. The large desk towards the back wall has been utterly disheveled, and a few pens and other things lay about the floor, which is spotted with wet spots of varying color and consistency. Blood there, drool there, and you-know-what over there...

I help her up, not in any mood to be gentle. Her body still shakes with silent sobs but the spots on her cheeks are drying, as if she's run out of tears. The corners of her mouth are reddened, and it sits in a permanent frown. I pack up my master's things into the trunk, and take Petra back to the second floor. She doesn't get a trip to the washroom right away, but I send someone a while later to care for her. The used items in the trunk are cleaned to spotless perfection before being tucked away in the closet again. Blindfold, ropes, ball gag, a string of wooden beads, master's favored riding crop... I mentally check them all off the list and ensure nothing has been left behind.

It is then that the fateful event happened. Of course, no one knew at the time that it would be fateful; one rarely does, I suppose. The doorbell was ringing, and I immediately start toward the stairwell for the thousandth time that day. The ring cuts short, however, as if the person ringing has changed their mind, which causes me to hesitate on the stairs in confusion. Not a second later it's ringing again, this time in quick successions of panic. I hurry down the spiral, and the closer I get to the ground floor the more panicked I become, because if I don't get to the door soon I can't imagine what the master will do to me. Their fists are pounding at the damned thing now, as I pass master's office and see Annie inside. She pauses in her scrubbing over the carpet to throw me a worried look and I return it, sweat dripping down my brow.A few long strides bring me at last to the large doors and I swing them open hastily, expecting an entire group of policemen, or hoodlums, or anyone but the small, fragile looking person staring at me. I can't believe someone so... pitiful could have been making all of that noise.

"Please, sir! I must speak with your master!" It's a boy! The shock must be apparent, because he lowers his face to the ground as if to hide it in his hands as he kneels on the welcome mat. "Please! I must! I must speak with him immediately!"

The small frame is thin and dirty; obvious signs of his trek through the forest can be seen clinging to his legs and arms in the form of mud clumps and scrapes. The pale skin was easily mistaken for that of a girl at first glance, but now that I know he is male I can see that his slender figure is due to undernourishment and not his birth. When I don't move or answer, his wide eyes look up to meet mine with a piercing blue-green clarity. His gaze is determined and reminds me of a wild beast. His chest heaves heavily with exertion and he stinks of sweat even from my distance above him. As if reading in my face that I am about to turn him away, he looks momentarily panicked, and shuffles forward on his knees until he is inside; dirtying the carpet and pushing me backwards.

"Hey! Kid, you can't come in h-"

"Please!" His filthy hands grip the hem of my trousers and I feel anger bubble within me. The sheer shock of what is happening is holding me back, however, and the boy gets away with his pleading a moment longer. Then, the feared thing happens.

"Hanji, what the hell is going on out here!?" My master's stone-cold, irate voice sends daggers of ice down my spine as he speaks from only a few feet behind me.

Well, shit.