Broken - Part 1
Warning: Mentions of abuse, torture and manipulation.
Eight Years Later
"Angel!" called a voice, and the white-haired woman turned, her face thin and hollow, her once bright blue eyes now dull. She stood with a straight back, but her body too thin, too stiff. The eye on her left side was ruined, but now covered under a patch in silver and white. Her entire ensemble was in white or very light grey, simple but had a sense of importance with the pristine white cloth. Apparently it suited her. Even her collar had been replaced with a smaller one, painted white to match. Despite the name she had been given, she was more like a ghost. The one addressing her was a human woman, a young one. She swore the new slaves kept getting younger and younger. The zabrak swallowed it down and looked down at the girl that had called to her. She didn't reply of course. She never did anymore. Ever since that day, Zaiya had never spoken a word to anyone.
Give them nothing.
And so she locked it away. All her rage, her anguish and pain. Her grief and mourning at having to watch her master die, at having the last memory of him, her amulet, stolen away from her. She locked it away, she locked herself away, so there was nothing of her but a shell. D'Sarr had been frustrated, but seemed to think he had broken her too quickly. He spent much of the time he was around her watching her. At least at first. She had become rather important over the last few years. A silent slave was rather useful. She had been called his favourite by some of the other slaves.
It didn't mean the torture stopped though. Pain was still a part of her everyday life. The Zygerrian seemed to enjoy bringing her to the point of passing out, seeing if he could make her scream as she had done before. The most she gave was a grunt or groan, and none of it willingly. It was agony but she held to what her master had said. She gave nothing.
The shorter human hurried over, a smile on her face, Zaiya had come to be wary of these looks. It usually meant trouble. The human panted, trying to get her breath back.
"Ieya needs you in the kitchen!" The human, whose name she had recently learned was Clare, was far too smiley for her liking. She seemed to be keen to endear herself to her new master, and was willing to step over others to get to the favoured spot. Zaiya, or 'Angel' was in her way.
She fixed the human with a flat stare. Expressionless, and yet with a strange intensity that had the girl look away swiftly. Good. The Nightsister turned away again, heading toward the kitchen. The Twi'Lek gave a smile as Zaiya approached.
"Can you tend to the nuna?" she asked in her silent hand motions. Zaiya had learned how to communicate with hand signals, so Ieya was the only one she 'spoke' to. The Nightsister nodded and got to work.
There had been a few skills that she'd had to learn that had not been important before now, like cooking, and playing music. She still saw the music everywhere, though the screech of this terrible place, the music she felt here was… it was awful, painful not just to her ears but her skin and her very soul. While she refused to sing, the solace of learning instruments had helped. The violin, piano and guitar had all been thrust upon her in an effort to entertain the masters of the house. She had also learned new languages, though that was mainly from having heard various dialects from the various visitors. D'Sarr had her stand behind him during many meetings, he recognised she was powerful, though he had not been able to find out much about her. He liked to use her as an intimidation tactic, and as a flaunt of his power. Usually it worked. He especially enjoyed it when he had an excuse to order her to kill his 'guests'. She obeyed, like a hollow puppet on strings, the fight in her all but snuffed out.
As for her current task, she set about chopping the meat to go into the pot, while Ieya went to the far pantry for more ingredients. While there were replicators, and droids to do much of this work in the rest of the galaxy, D'Sarr especially liked to have it all done by hand, something about authenticity. The task she had was mindless, dull and she moved much like a droid. She knew the recipe, it was D'Sarr's favourite meal, meaning something was happening upstairs. Joyous. That meant more posturing and more standing around and being gawked at.
She heard the sounds of footsteps and looked up blankly. It was another servant, this one was a togruta, an older woman that D'Sarr had gotten as a nanny for his children, and just kept her after they had grown up for whatever reason. She was well liked in the household, and often prattled to Zaiya about something or other, often asking about whether she had seen the beyond. Whatever that meant. Apparently Nannie, as she was called, knew about Nightsisters, and would speak to her of the things she knew about them. Luckily no one knew about these chats, else D'Sarr would have asked her about the Nightsisters before now. Nannie was the only one Zaiya could tolerate. Clare was greedy, Ieya was spineless, the newer slaves were afraid or ignored her, and the only other one she had known the name of, Ketlana… well she was long gone. Zaiya didn't know how but one day the Twi'lek was just no longer in the manor. So all there was, was Nannie.
"Any dreams, this time, Child?" Nannie asked, Zaiya shook her head at least this one didn't call her Angel too. She approached, looking curiously at the white-clad slave, muttering about some nonsense. The old togruta did something that she had not done before. She reached out to touch Zaiya's arm. Though on her bad side, Zaiya caught the old woman's hand before it reached her, holding it in a crushing grip.
Darkness, then the light of dim torches faded in. There were people gathered around a clearing and the soft clank of chains. Nannie, on her knees and D'Sarr's twisted smile as he waved a hand. Then there were screams.
Zaiya jerked away violently, sending the knife in the counter clattering to the ground as she whirled about to lock Nannie with a stare of wide-eyed alarm.
"What did you see?" She asked excitedly. Zaiya just eyed her warily, wondering if that was some trick of the old woman's. Though… she had seen something like this once before. The concern on Zaiya's face was enough to tell Nannie that whatever the vision was, it was disturbing. "Whatever it is, tell me later, hm? The Will of the Force is strong with you." Zaiya rolled her eye. The Force. If everything was as it was willed to go, then the Force wished for her to be cut off from it? Hardly. She held little weight in destiny now.
"Do not look so derisive, young one, it is through the force that I was guided to your lost treasure…" An intense blue eye fixed her with a hard stare suddenly. Was she serious? A pale hand moved to her chest, where her amulet used to be.
How? Her expression read.
"Not to worry dear, I will help you, it is your most precious possession, is it not?" She asked in a low, conspiratorial tone. Zaiya nodded, a kernel of hope daring to sprout in her chest for the first time in many long years. "Then, tonight, during dinner, I will sneak away to fetch it… you just have to keep the Master occupied." Zaiya was wary, she had seen other slaves attempt to break out, or steal things… their fates were indeed unkind. Though she had seen a glimpse into the future, she was sure of it. Was her amulet going to come at the cost of her only ally's life? Or was that the price of failure? Was there a way to obtain the amulet as well as keep the woman safe? She bit her lip in thought, finally turning to fetch the knife. There were more footsteps, and Ieya returned, arms full of items for flavouring the meat that was now browned and ready for the broth.
Nannie nodded and turned away, as though they had not discussed anything at all. Ieya flashed a look of confusion as Nannie passed, she made a gesture to Zaiya.
"What was that about?" she signed. Zaiya just shrugged with a disinterested look, Ieya frowned, unsure but eventually turned away to continue her task.
There were a few people in the kitchen now, each of them undertaking a different part of the meal. Zaiya took the dessert, it seemed she had a knack for working with sugar, and the cakes and delicate sweet treats. It was meticulous, and took a long time; it was good to take her mind off everything else. She didn't have to think about the collar when she was cooking, or about the house in which she resided, the constant pain or the hollow and empty feeling in her gut. She didn't eat much of it, foremost, she wasn't permitted, and secondly, she hadn't felt the need to enjoy any such luxuries. Nothing had tasted flavourful, everything felt ashen, food, music, conversation… everything was just like dust in her fingers.
Some time passed before she came out of her trance, finishing her task of making a delicate, sugary and complicated dessert, a crisp bowl made of strands of melted sugar layered and hardened like a cage of gold. It was a fancy looking decoration over a creamy and decadent dessert. She had just finished, when Clare returned, she looked sour, it suited her.
"Angeeeeel…" Clare purred, knowing that she hated that name. "Master says she wants you upstairs…" Zaiya restrained from rolling her eye and removed her apron, moving to return to her room and dress for dinner. If she was going to have to stand about behind the Zygerrian, she would have to make sure she was presentable.
Her clothing was simple, and over the years she had earned her own room, so she was able to change in privacy. It consisted of a bed, table and wardrobe, she didn't bother to decorate it, she didn't see the point. This was not her home, and would never be. All her clothing was white, simple, consisting of a sleeveless shirt with a high neck, held in place with the only adornment, a crimson red gem pin, a long sleeve cropped jacket, white leather gloves and a pair of cropped leggings, belted at the waist and a fanned skirt. She also had heeled boots that came up her calves, the end of the leggings tucked into the top of the boots. She looked imposing, the stark white of her figure was eye-catching in any room, but as she was preparing to leave the room, she noticed a package on the small table wrapped in paper. With suspicion, she picked up the little note atop it and regarded it with a curled lip as she immediately recognised the hand that had written it.
Wings for my Angel.
D'Sarr obviously had been in a good mood, and by the look of the gift, he wanted her to be even more intimidating this time. It was a pair of white feathered pauldrons with fine silver chains and detailed accents. Angel indeed apparently. She despised that name, and the way he purred it as he spoke it. It made her skin crawl. Despite the indifference to pain, she didn't have the patience for it, so put the 'wings' to her shoulders. She had a mirror, and had to make sure she looked presentable. What a joke. She looked like a ghost with feathers now. The only colour was the red puckered skin peeking out from under the eyepatch and the tattoos across her face that could be seen. Everything about her appearance was revolting, she was not even able to wear her hair in her warrior braids… it sat in a sleek high ponytail that hung down to her mid-back. When undone her hair easily fell past her waist now, far longer than when she had arrived. Part of her wanted to cut it all short… but she couldn't bring herself to do it, she recalled when the younger zabrak brothers used to play with it- NO.
She shut down the memory, burying it swiftly as she turned away. She would not think of it. She would not remember it. Not here. She was not safe here.
Notes:
So! Things aren't looking good for our girl! This one is a bit shorter today but! There will be another long chapter next week! Sometimes splitting the chapters gets a little difficult.
There will be some more warnings next week. Things are gonna get worse before they get better!
As always I adore your likes and comments, I love the feedback, you guys are AMAZING. Stay tuned for Broken Part 2 followed by Emancipation - Part 1!
I shall see you then! 3
