Rose Hill, 1778

Rachel ran as fast as she could. She closed her eyes and ran forward, afraid of looking back and seeing someone following her. It was just like her mother had told her. Running free through enormous fields, with the fresh air blowing in your face and your heart beating for a reason.

She didn't know where she would go next. She didn't know how she would manage to survive in the forest until she found a way out. But she believed whole-heartedly that dying free was better than living as a slave. As Quinn's slave, to be exact.

The forest became denser as she moved, and soon enough she couldn't run anymore. The darkness didn't help at all, and she was suddenly too conscious of every tiny noise around her - it would be just ridiculous to go through all of that trouble and then end up dying with a snake bite.

But she should have known better.

Her mother had always told her: a slave's happiness only lasts a second. She was too familiar with that sound - she had waited for it every Sunday morning. A horse was coming, and if she could guess she would say the chances of it being a wild horse were very low.

"I'm gonna stop you right there, young lady!" She heard.

She didn't even have a chance to hide. She thought of running - if she was fast enough maybe he would lose her. But when she heard the noise of the gun being cocked, she knew she had no chance. She turned around in surrender and the man in the horse came closer.

"Did you really think you were the only one who thought about running away through the forests?" He asked with a snort. "I swear to God, you slaves are getting dumber and dumber with each generation."

Rachel lowered her head. She really should have thought it better. Planned it better. If she had taken her time, this wouldn't have happened.

She deserved the death that certainly awaited her when she arrived back at the farm.

"Miss Quinn," Dorea called. Quinn's eyes flashed open.

From all the slaves she thought would kill her in her sleep, Dorea would be the last one.

"What is it, Dorea?" She asked when Dorea took a step back and she was able to shake such incoherent thoughts from her head.

"Rachel ran away," she blurted out. Quinn growled, resting her head in her hands and rubbing her eyes. She wasn't sure if she should be angry or relieved. Maybe it was just sleepiness blurring her judgements. Or maybe it wasn't just sleepiness. "Malcolm found her while roaming through the forests. They're waiting for you in the backyard."

Quinn was glad to find her father already up and in the dining room having breakfast when she came down the stairs. Never in her life she felt as grown up as the moment she realized her father still hadn't heard about the matter - they had told her before telling him.

"What do I do with her?" She asked, taking a bite of her papaya. She was taking her sweet time - she knew how torturous it would be for Rachel to wait for a decision on her destiny.

"Well Quinn, the customary punishment for a runaway slave is to cut off one of her foot." He explained carefully. She knew by his tone of voice this wasn't what he would recommend, but he confirmed her doubts. "But in reality it's up to you."

"I don't think that would be good. She would become even more useless than she already is." Quinn thought, chewing slowly on her food. She had an idea on the back of her mind ever since she woke up, but she wasn't sure her father would agree. "What if I brand her?"

"Really?" Russell asked, and Quinn nodded. "We haven't done that in a long time," he answered, scratching his head. Quinn bit her lip. "It's not really that effective. It won't stop them if they really want to run away again."

"Well yeah, but if she did it would be easier to find her, wouldn't it?" Quinn asked. She didn't really think it would be enough to convince her father, but honestly, she didn't think Rachel would attempt to run away again. Besides, something inside her twitched thinking of Rachel's skin burning with her name, and she buried her nails in her hands to contain herself.

"Perhaps you're right. It's your choice, dear. Sadly I have some business to deal with today and won't be able to stay for it, but I trust your judgement. Go with your guts."

And oh, her guts wanted it.

Rachel awaited. She didn't think she would cry, but when she was told what Quinn decided she felt a shy tear slipping out. She had flirted with death enough times to feel comfortable with the idea, but to carry in her body the initials of someone she hated so fiercely was by far the worst punishment she could receive.

Kneeled on the grass with a rope around her neck, she watched as Malcolm - the overseer that had caught her - filled a brazier with hot coals. It was just out of her reach, on purpose. They didn't know how much pride she had inside. They didn't know she would take her punishment without flinching. Anything to make sure Quinn didn't get the satisfaction of watching her suffering.

Someone she didn't recognize molded the branding iron to form a perfect Q and F. Rachel hadn't eaten in a while, but she could still feel something rising from her stomach. She was strong, though. She had always been. Malcolm pushed the iron into the coals to heat it up and Rachel watched a smile creeping into Quinn's lips.

"Stand up, girl." The man said, tapping her shoulder. "You don't wanna choke."

He knew nothing. Choking herself to death sounded way better than her eminent destiny - especially considering how that would ruin Quinn's moment. But she stood up. If she made it out alive, it would be for a purpose. She would torment the hell out of Quinn's life.

Rachel heard the noise of the metal getting out of the basket, and held herself against the wooden pole. She couldn't let Quinn see the shiver that ran through her body. She felt rough hands pulling down the sleeve of her gown, and swallowed hard.

Don't yell. Don't cry. Don't give her what she wants.

Rachel locked her eyes with Quinn. The burning iron hissed against the skin of her back, just below her right shoulder, and she felt the fire going straight into her eyes. She knew Quinn saw it. She saw Quinn gulping. The man pushed the iron harder against her skin, and she felt it bubbling. The smell was terrible, and she had to swallow bile once more. Quinn walked to her.

"Don't fake it. I know it hurts. You're mine, and now you won't ever forget it - even if you want." She hissed, before turning on her feet and getting inside.

Oh, it hurted. She wanted to growl and run and throw her body at the river. But at the same time, she felt her legs giving out. And it pained her to know it was more due to the anger in Quinn's voice, than to the physical pain.

"What is wrong with you?" George stormed into her room, making Quinn stumble in startle and drop the book she was reading.

"Me?! What is wrong with you?" She asked with a nervous chuckle, grabbing the book from the floor. She had no idea what was going on, but she knew her brother was slow to anger and if he had walked into the room like that she was definitely in trouble.

"You branded Rachel?" He asked. Quinn swallowed hard. Not me, I just commanded it. She knew her brother wouldn't laugh, but her silence spoke for her. "Quinn, you are sick."

"Sick?" She scoffed. "George, I was suppose to cut her foot off. I did her a favor! She ran away from me!"

She wouldn't mention how she felt her whole body melting as Rachel's skin did. There was no reason to. It's not like her brother would understand, anyway.

"Quinn, you have no idea how degrading that is. How much it hurts!" He reasoned, sitting on the chair by her side and grabbing her hand. She felt an urge to pull it back, but she didn't want to hurt him like that. "You don't have to do what people tell you, Quinn. She only ran because you were being awful to her. Why are you being like that?"

"George, I don't know what you saw and learned in England but this is how things are over here! It has always been like that and I can't be the one to change it. If she disrespects me, I have to punish her. It's only logical. How else would she learn?"

"You could reward her for doing what you need, Quinn. That's how it's suppose to be. She wouldn't run from you and she would respect you as person, and not because she has to or because she fears you," he replied.

"But I want her to fear me!" Quinn leaned forward, nodding vigorously. "It's- It's enthralling, George! You should have seen her eyes while they branded her! She's crazy! It was almost like she was enjoying it!"

George was the one to pull his hand back. He shook his head, and Quinn knew she had scared him. She didn't mean to share so much, but he was pushing her. She couldn't see what she did as wrong. She wouldn't feel bad for it. In fact, she wanted more.

She would do anything to see Rachel back down.

"Quinn, your tutor is here," Judy knocked on the door. "Don't keep him waiting again, it's not polite."

Rachel whimpered in the kitchen as Abbie changed the wet rag from her scar. She shut her eyes tight and tried not to curse as the cold water hit her skin. It felt like she was being burned all over again. In fact, it felt worse now that she didn't have to proof a point for Quinn.

Out of nowhere, Abbie stood up from the chair and bowed her head, bringing Rachel back from her thoughts. Rachel furrowed her eyebrows and chuckled confused, only turning around when Abbie jerked her head towards the door.

Lady Angeline.

Rachel stood up and bowed her head too. She didn't know she had to, but she mimicked Abbie before she could get in further trouble.

"You can sit down," said Lady Angeline with a chuckle and a dismissive wave of hand. "How is it healing?" She asked, looking at Rachel's shoulder.

"I'm not sure, lady. I never treated a burning so bad like this one," Abbie answered.

"May I take a look?" She asked, slender fingers resting on the edge of the edge of Rachel's gown. Rachel shivered, but nodded. No one had ever asked for permission before touching her. Lady Angeline pulled down the sleeve, and sucked her bottom lip when she saw the scar.

"Is it too bad? Is it infected, lady?" She questioned apprehensively.

"Can I get some water?" Lady Angeline asked Abbie, before turning to Rachel. "Is not infected. It's burnt deep, but it will heal." She dipped her finger in water and ran its tip softly along the letters, getting tiny threads of the rag away. Rachel bit her tongue hard, and felt blood flooding her mouth. It hurt too badly - but she was quiet. "You're strong, I would be crying by now." Lady Angeline complimented with a smile, and Rachel blushed.

"Do you want a clean rag?" Abbie asked, breaking the moment before it could even start.

"No," she answered shaking her head. "It will heal better with the air. Here, I brought you this." She said, grabbing a tiny box from her pocket. She opened it and Rachel scrunched up her nose at the mint scent. "It will feel terrible, but should you spread a thin layer over it, it will heal faster."

"Thank you, milady." Rachel whispered, bowing her head with a shy smile. She had no idea why she felt so timid and nervous around the woman. Lady Angeline dismissed her gratitude and stood up to leave.

"Abigail, let me know if it gets bad, will you?"

She didn't leave until Abbie agreed. And for once, Rachel felt protected.

Rachel was angry. She was furious and in pain and honestly, she was bitter Quinn had read her so well during her branding. But she was still a servant, and now, more than never, she needed to behave as one, at least temporary - she couldn't endure another punishment in such short time. Quinn would get what she deserved, but Rachel would take her time to plan it well.

Quinn rang the bell, ordering Rachel to come up to her room and help her into her ballet clothing, but once Rachel arrived Quinn was already dressed. Besides the fact it was cut short just a few inches above her ankle, it didn't differ at all from Quinn's other gowns, but still - Rachel choked on air.

She looked like a dream. Maybe it was the different shades of pink, or the embroidery along the sleeves, or even the way it hugged Quinn's body perfectly. It was everything Rachel could ever want in a gown. One she could never - and would never have.

Upon her arrival, Quinn sat on a chair and pointed at her shoes. They didn't exchange one single word. Rachel was impressed by how Quinn could dismiss everything that had happened earlier in the day and go on as if nothing happened, but once she kneeled to help her owner with her shoes, she knew Quinn was not done.

Quinn planned every action beforehand. It wasn't a mere coincidence that she was already fully dressed except for her shoes - she wanted Rachel to kneel by her feet. It was submissive, humiliating and Quinn loved every second of it.

Rachel tied the ribbons on top of Quinn's feet, stealing glances to watch Quinn's delicate and hail fingers fixing her hair up in a perfect bun. There wasn't one stray hair strand, and as she left for her dancing classes Rachel felt compelled to follow her.

Quinn spun around the room on the arms of her tutor with more grace than Rachel could ever describe. If someone had told her, she would never believe the elegant ballerina in front of her was the same one to beckon such atrocities upon her. Rachel was light-headed already and the song wasn't even close to its climax. She had no idea how Quinn could dance with such agility and manage to breath all at the same time.

None of them could tell when it happened, but their eyes locked again. They weren't the same eyes Quinn had seen on that morning. Quinn's face tensed up - but she quickly reminded herself to recompose. It was unsettling. The eyes that held so much anger in the morning, now looked at her with utter adoration.

And Quinn didn't know which one she liked the best.