Disclaimer: RWBY is owned by Rooster Teeth.

Edit 25/05/2021 - Added a content warning for this chapter and the tags I gave it on AO3.

Tags added this chapter:

Characters: Cinder Fall

Additional tags: Alternate Universe - Pirates / Pirates / Low Tech / The only Scrolls around are made of parchment / Found Family / Cinder's abuse backstory in Chapter 1

Content Warning: This chapter contains child abuse, though if you've seen Cinder's backstory in Volume 8 only the slapping should surprise you. See notes at the bottom of the page.

"Life is hard." *slap*

"It isn't fair." *slap*

"No one cares about you." *slap*

"No one will save you." *slap*

"Without me, you are nothing." *slap*

Cinder stared at the floorboards, the sound of the strikes still ringing in her ears. Her cheeks burned from the impacts and tears pricked behind her amber eyes, but she grit her teeth and blinked them back, fighting to keep her breathing steady in her terror. She knew from long experience that outwardly reacting would only result in more pain. If she remained expressionless and held her tongue she'd be left alone.

I'm sorry. Please don't hit me again. I'll work faster. Please don't hurt me. Please.

A harsh sigh cut through the silence, and Cinder tried not to tense up as the expensive white shoes before her shifted. The Madam carefully circled her motionless form, the soft swish of her skirts drowned out by the tap of her heels on wood, each step a thunderous echo in the early morning stillness.

"How many years have you lived in my home?" she asked. Cinder's heart clenched, even consumed by dread she felt a brief prickle of anger at the assertion. She bit her tongue and waited. "Why are you still unable to perform your morning duties before the house awakes?" The hairs on her neck rose as the Madam paused directly behind Cinder, out of her line of sight.

The rhetorical question hung in the air, daring her to answer.

She knew better.

Keep your eyes on the floor (How dare you look at me?).

Don't speak (I'll not tolerate your insolence, girl!).

Stay still (You leave my presence when I allow it.).

Life is hard. It isn't fair. No one cares about you. No one will save you. Without me, you are nothing.

The rag she had been using to polish the door handles flopped onto the floor by her side, carelessly tossed from behind her. Brass polish on wood varnish? Her eyes widened involuntarily and her fingers twitched, only the thought of the pain she'd feel if she moved prevented her from snatching it up before it ruined the floor's finish.

"I expect this to be completed before I return from breakfast." The Madam ordered, apparently satisfied with her submission. "Say it." She barked, startling the young girl.

Cinder unclenched her teeth and forced out the familiar words.

"Without you, I am nothing."

"Indeed, you are." The Madam chuckled, then turned on her heel and left.

Cinder waited until her footsteps had faded away before she dared to move, seizing the rag off the floor and desperately wiping away the residue it had left on the varnish with the corner of her apron. The polish came away cleanly, the unblemished floor shined. A relieved sob burst from her and she covered her mouth with her hands, her small body shaking.

Tears leaked from her closed eyes and she hastily wiped them away before they could fall, careful to dry her throbbing cheeks and blink back the rest. She had to get hold of herself; she couldn't risk leaving a blemish, no matter how small. It would be noticed, she always noticed, and Cinder always took the blame regardless of whose fault it was.

She gathered up her cleaning supplies and stood from kneeling, her small and malnourished body shuddered, unbalanced by sudden dizziness. She briefly closed her eyes and drew in deep breaths, until her head cleared. It happened quite a bit, but being dizzy didn't worry her, only angering the Madam did that.

Working quickly, she finished polishing the rest of the Brass fixtures in the entrance hall, then dusted off the paintings and various display pieces. Satisfied with her work, she gathered her cleaning supplies and set off through the house, heading to the store room.

Doing so took her past the dining room.

She paused outside the door as the sounds of pleasant conversation reached her. Cutlery delicately clinked on fine china and girlish laughter echoed from within. She desperately tried not to think about the days when she used to sit in there for breakfast, the room lit by her father's steady presence and warm laugh.

The scent of buttered bread and hot tea drifted through the air. Her stomach growled and clawed at the memories of a time she never went hungry. When she was able to sit at the table for a meal instead of scramble for whatever scraps the Madam would toss onto the floor for her. She grimaced at the nausea twisting in her empty gut.

Cinder forced herself to walk on, just like she did every morning since that woman had robbed her of her father.

She kept walking unhurriedly through the corridors, like she normally did ever since that woman had taken over her life and then replaced her with two spoiled bullies.

She quickly entered the staff area, which she worked in ever since the staff had been let go and she had been forced to take over all of their duties, made a slave in her own home.

She managed to keep her cool until she stepped inside of the supply closet and closed the door.

Life is hard. It isn't fair. No one cares about you. No one will save you. Without me, you are nothing.

She violently tossed the supplies at the wall opposite, the tin of Brass polish clanged satisfyingly loud against the stonework and clattered to the hard ground. She covered her nose and mouth with her hands and screamed her helpless fury into her own flesh.

How many years have you lived in my home? That woman had asked. Her home?! Cinder's rage burned with no real outlet, bubbling up and festering beneath her skin until it exploded in rare moments like this. The temperature in the room raised ever so slightly, her breaths heated by the warmth radiating from her palms.

Cinder had never felt hate before that woman had arrived. She'd never truly felt hopeless or vulnerable until after her father had died. She did now. She felt it all, now. She released her nose and pushed her left hand into her dull, short black hair, pulling roughly at one of her pigtail bunches until her scalp ached.

Oh, father... He'd not known what kind of person he would be leaving her with, he'd just been desperate. A desperate, dying man worried about leaving his child alone. Cinder had never called the Madam mother, step nor otherwise; not even after her father's marriage to the woman. She would never call her by her name. That woman didn't deserve one!

She'd never say it to her face, she wasn't stupid, but in her mind she could say whatever she wanted. Even unkind things! The... the witch! Her rebellious thoughts brought a smile to her face, and she visibly sagged as her frustration ebbed. There was nothing she could do anyway, she had to endure it.

When she had calmed she dropped her hands from her hair and mouth and opened her eyes, blinking the dark spots and dizziness away. She still had duties to perform, after all. With a sigh, she quickly finger combed her short hair back into place, re-securing it in her usual style. She checked over her appearance, her bland grey work clothes and apron were as good as the old fabric would get. Nodding to herself, she picked up the supplies she had thrown and stored them on the shelving.

Cinder left the storage closet and made for the kitchen. Once there, she splashed water on her face and dried the evidence of her frustration. She fixed her expression to one of indifference and walked to the dining room to collect the plates from breakfast. They should be done eating the food she had made and laid out for them by now. Her stomach ached, growling pitifully.

With any luck, there would be some scraps left for her to finish off.

The large dining room was empty when she arrived; the sun lit the interior beautifully, unhindered by the curtains she had drawn earlier that morning. Light cream and peach wallpaper accentuated the wooden furniture and Cinder took a moment to appreciate the stillness. This was the room that held her favourite memories of her father. Of happy mornings spent together before he left for work. Of better evenings when he returned and they could talk all about how their respective days had gone.

But those days were long over.

With a sigh, she turned back to the table, to continue her work. The plates were empty, no scraps left at all and no tea left in the pot. A quick look around told her they had poured it onto the potted plants. Again. Cinder collected the plates into a stack and lifted them; a fine sweat broke out on her forehead. She had to lean against the table to keep her balance.

She'd have to try sneaking something to eat later.

She just made it through the threshold of the dining room when her foot caught on something and she fell, landing heavily on the floor. The plates tumbled from her arms and smashed; shards scattered in every direction and bounced off her skin.

Cinder's heart clenched and she struggled to sit up. Shards of her father's fine china stuck into her palms and she stared at the devastation, numb. Another thing they had taken from her, another piece of his memory gone.

Two very familiar voices laughed behind her. Of course it was them.

"You should be more careful, that will have to come out of your pay." One snide voice piped up, chuckling.

"Oh, but she doesn't get paid." The other 'reminded' her.

"True. How does mother punish her, I wonder?"

"I couldn't begin to imagine."

"Nor I."

Dismayed, Cinder glanced behind her at the Madam's daughters, Amanda and Lee. The twins were ten years old, Cinder's age, and she believed they were the main reason her father had chosen to marry the Madam; so she would have sisters her own age. In her darker moments she refused to believe he could have ever loved the woman herself.

Their straw coloured hair was perfectly made up and, if not for their haughty expressions, they appeared to be the picture of angelic in their expensive white and periwinkle dresses. The delight on their faces as they taunted her over the punishment to come revealed the lie to that notion.

The sound of heels on wood clattered closer. Cinder felt sick to her stomach. The twins' giggling returned full force as she slipped on the shards around her when she tried desperately to pull herself up to kneeling. She dropped her head down in submission and watched as those awful white heels approached. They stopped just in her view. Cinder didn't even dare to blink.

"Just what have you done now, girl?" the Madam demanded.

Cinder knew better than to answer.

In one quick movement, the Madam stepped over the pile and Cinder's head twisted to the side from the force of the backhanded slap she received.

"Of course, your clumsy hands strike again." The Madam sneered, shaking her head at the broken crockery scattered around her cowering form. She pointed at the mess. "Clean this up, now." Cinder swallowed hard and gently began to push the shards into an orderly pile.

One of the twins walked to her mother's side, purposefully kicking the pile and sending the larger pieces spinning away. The other laughed. Cinder's breath hitched and she paused as she fought the mounting humiliation and dread.

"Faster."

Cinder held her breath and quickly swiped the floor, grimacing as the sharp edges cut into her skin. Hands shaking, she scooped it all up into her apron, twisting the edges of the fabric together so none could escape.

Once the floor was clear, except for the thin streaks of red, the Madam crossed her arms and smirked down at her. "Say it."

Life is hard. It isn't fair. No one cares about you. No one will save you. Without me, you are nothing.

Cinder bleakly repeated the only words that the Madam ever wanted to hear from her.

"Without you, I am nothing."

Later that day, Cinder lay on her blankets staring up at the ceiling of her storeroom bedroom. The cuts on her arms and hands were nasty; she'd had to wrap them in old dish cloths that she had found in a cupboard. Doing so had put her behind schedule for clearing the rest of the dining room to prepare for lunch. She'd been playing catch up with all of her duties since then.

She wasn't supposed to complain, but her arms really hurt. Her duties were so much harder when she had to constantly stop because of the pain. Even the Madam had seemed concerned that she was still bleeding.

The Madam had actually allowed her to make something for herself at dinner, and she had licked the pans and utensils after cooking for them. So despite being a bad day, she had at least had something tastier than her stale bread today.

It was a shame she'd thrown it all up.

She'd tried to rewrap her arms after the day ended, when the dishcloths were stained red, but she was very tired. She'd gotten halfway through and had to lie down. She blinked, attempting to clear her vision but the dizziness was quite bad. It would probably be for the best if she went to sleep.

Maybe she'd feel better tomorrow.

The ringing in her ears was too loud to sleep, though. It sounded like bells.

Alarm bells.

Like the ones at the Port garrison.

Were those voices? They didn't sound like the Madam, or Amanda or Lee. They sounded sort of... male.

Were they getting closer?

She tried to sit up, but oddly she couldn't make her body move. Her eyes were drifting shut. She tried to keep them open, but the darkness was taking over what she could see anyway.

Noises echoed through the house, tapping or maybe doors opening. Something like that.

Light spilled onto her and Cinder gathered every scrap of determination she had left to force her eyes to open once more.

Standing silhouetted in the doorway was a large man. He gasped and quickly approached. The last thing she saw was the blurry image of two worried brown eyes.

Father?

Just before she lost consciousness, she heard-

"What the f-?"

Notes

Obviously since this story is low tech I had to do something different than the canon shock collar, so I had her be slapped instead. It's a lot less torturous than an electric current and the Madam had to be more selective when she used it, so I amped up the psychological abuse aspect to even it out. She's still worked to the bone, starved and bullied, just like in canon though.

Cinder is a bit more meek due to her initial noble upbringing, so less likely to resort to violence than canon Cinder.

Next chapter will be meeting the Pirates!

This story is also posted to AO3, and is a few chapters ahead there.