The dim early morning light filtered through the metal slats of the window. The tiniest streak of light rested on Sorrow's eyes, irritating enough to keep her from falling back asleep, but not enough to make her want to get up just yet.
She laid on the hard stone slab, the thinnest straw mattress the only sort of comfort offered to her back. She heard the rustle of other slaves shifting, getting up, getting dressed, putting on their shoes. She didn't have to open her eyes to know that they would be waiting by the huge metal door, waiting for it to be unlocked by a guard so that they could start their work.
Ever since Sorrow could remember, she had always woken before the sun could even reach its glowing hands of warmth out to touch the sky. She had always done the same thing for the last 600 years.
She did what every other slave did.
Finally, after another moment of lying there, she sighed, her breath icy in the cold air. Her deep blue eyes slowly opened, greeting the sight of the cracked stone ceiling she fell asleep to every night. She slowly sat up, her spine creaking as she stretched the stiffness from her sore muscles.
She swung her legs out from under the worn out, wholey grey rag she called a blanket and got dressed, pulling on her grey slave attire and plain grey flats.
She heard the lock click, the door swinging open on its hinges and slaves starting to file out of the filthy room into the heated, golden hallways of the palace to get their breakfast and chore list.
She knew she had to hurry, else the Head Maid would accuse her of being late, and she would probably have to forfeit her meals for the day.
Sorrow pulled the cracked silver hand mirror from beneath the edge of her straw mattress. She made sure none of the other slaves could see, as such objects were often stolen and made their way from person to person until it got confiscated from the Head Maid. Sorrow glanced at her reflection, picking out any bits of straw from her hair and making sure there was no dirt on her face. Then, she pulled her hair up into a ponytail and slipped the mirror back under her mattress, hurriedly rushing out the door to start her day.
After her sad breakfast, which consisted of dry, rock-hard bread, a bowl of grits, and a large cup of water, she picked up her chore list from the Head Maid, who eyed her with her beady, angry eyes.
Her eyes skimmed over the small piece of paper, which would be returned to the Head Maid at the end of the day to approve of so that she could get her dinner.
Usually there would be at least four or five chores on the least, each of which would take hours to complete. But today, there was only one:
Clean Prince Loki's Chambers
Sorrow reread the slip of paper several times before she finally felt the block of ice settle in her stomach.
Prince Loki was known for the cruel tricks he would play on the slaves that came to clean his room. A slave girl years ago had been sent to the Healing Halls after an "accident" involving a dagger, a rope, and some water. If anything happened, she would go without a meal for a week, given twice the amount of chores, and receive twenty lashes.
She really didn't need that right now.
She was most likely given the chore because another one of the Prince's chamber maids had refused to serve him any longer. Of course they were punished for disobeying, but it was such a regular occurrence that the Head Maid was a bit less furious when it happened.
Sorrow picked up her cleaning supplies from a closet and started making her way to the upper levels of the massive golden palace. She travelled millions of stairs before she finally found the grand hall that led to Prince Loki's chambers.
She stopped in front of the door, her heart beating as fast as a bird's, fluttering with the beat of its wings.
Sorrow knocked.
Loki flipped through the pages of an old book, having already read it thrice over.
His chamber maid hadn't showed up the day before, and he knew she had left, just as all of them did, most likely broken already. The slaves now were too easy to scare, make cower in a corner, tremble with fear and beg for mercy.
He cursed the day he had fallen to tormenting petty slaves for amusement. But whenever their screams of fright rang through the halls, he couldn't help but feel satisfaction at having played another victim.
He knew his actions were cruel. But feeling the fear in the air, seeing the animosity the slaves felt for him, coming up with new schemes. It kept him alive. It kept him awake. Aware. It kept his mind sharp during such a frustratingly dull time in his life.
He knew he would get a new slave to fill in for his old chamber maid today, if not just temporarily, until they found a replacement qualified enough to serve a Prince of Asgard. He knew this because he had gone through the process so many times in the last ten years. He hoped she wouldn't be as dopey-eyed and useless as every other slave that had served him, but those were only hopeless wishes.
Loki heard a tiny knock on the door, and he grew excited, turning a page in his book as he anticipated the only form of entertainment he was now allowed.
He pretended not to care when she entered the room, preparing his magic for some sort of trick.
She was shorter, with sleek brown hair pulled up into a tight ponytail. Her skin was a ghostly white, the tiniest hint of freckles splashed over her cheeks. Her ribs showed through her plain grey slave dress, and he could see the gaunt look about her features. The exhaustion of an overworked slave, the dark circles under her eyes the most noticeable thing beside her unnaturally blue eyes. Her eyes contrasted with her pale white skin.
Those strangely blue eyes were cast to the floor as they should be, not daring to meet his own. Good slave.
She bowed to him, and he ignored her presence as she began cleaning.
He could see the tiniest shake in her hands, the shift from foot to foot. Nervous? Maybe. Perhaps she was shaking from hunger as most slaves did.
There was nothing particularly special about this slave.
He was almost disappointed. Almost.
He lazily set his book on the table next to his chair. He could hear the crackle of the fire place, feel the heat settling against him as he concentrated, his sharp eyes narrowed, his hand outstretched, his fingers curling as a shimmer began to appear on the floor.
The slave didn't notice right away, didn't see the images forming into snakes as she continued straightening the papers on his desk clear across the room.
Loki's mouth twitched into a cruel smirk as the black snake materialized completely, its obsidian scales shimmering in the dim light that filtered into the room from the balcony. Its pink tongue flicked out, smelling the air, searching for fear.
Loki pointed at the small slave and the snake seemed to chuckle as it slithered over to say hello to its victim.
He was on the edge of his seat, waiting for the slave to see the snake at her feet and scream. He wanted her to beg for help as it sank its fangs into her ankle. He wanted her to beg and cry and grovel on her knees, asking what she had done wrong and apologize for existing as many other slaves had.
But it never came.
She flinched, jolting a little in surprise as she studied the snake, a death wish in her eyes. Its black body writhed and wriggled as it sank its fangs in as deep as they could go. Finally, with a flick of the wrist, the black snake disappeared, and the slave, though a little shaken, went back to cleaning.
Loki cleared his throat, making the slave girl jump and whip around. Her deep blue eyes met his cold blues. This gave him something to play with. It was considered extreme disrespect for a slave to meet anyone's eyes that were above them unless given permission. And she had just met the eyes of the God of Mischief.
"I should punish you for that." Loki said with a smug grin. The slave girl didn't respond, so Loki continued. "Should you get a whipping? A skipped meal? Thrown in the dungeon?" She didn't even blink an eye at any of these threats. She was starting to get on Loki's nerves. Why could he not even cause her the slightest bit of panic? Other slaves would be on their knees begging for forgiveness, but she stood there silently, still a ghostly white, silent as a grave. "Are you going to ignore your Prince when he asks you a question?" Loki snapped.
The slave girl's soft voice finally came. "You may punish me however you see fit, my lord."
"You are not going to beg for forgiveness of your crimes?" Loki asked.
"Not unless you wish, my lord. It would do nothing to lessen my punishment, my lord."
Loki was beginning to like this slave girl. She still betrayed no emotion and he yearned to make her wince in pain, or cry in frustration. "What is your name, slave?"
"Sorrow, my lord." She replied smoothly.
"Your name is Sorrow?" Loki asked, confused. Of all the weird names, he had never heard of anyone named Sorrow. Who would name their child Sorrow? This only added to his interest in the slave girl.
"Yes, my lord." The woman replied.
Loki compared her to his other slave. He didn't really like his other maid. She was boring and ornery. He had already broken her, and she scared too easily. She had begun coming up with excuses as to why she couldn't fit him into her schedule.
A thought began to slither its way into his mind. This slave girl was a challenge. And lately, he needed a new challenge. She was fun to play with, and he yearned to find a way to break her. Perhaps she was already broken, but it didn't seem like. She didn't seem broken… just… distanced. He would find a way. He had to. With this slave girl around all the time as his personal servant, he would have all the time in the world. He would have to request her as his chamber maid.
He beckoned her to continue her work. He sat in his chair, not hiding the fact that he was observing her, watching her, scrutinizing her every flaw. Her every strength. The very structure of her mental walls. And he enjoyed watching her pale face… nervous. Sad. Anxious. For what?
And the time came when she finished cleaning his chambers. He dismissed her and she picked up her cleaning supplies and left.
What fun this would be.
