One of them speaks, her voice a low, melodic whisper. “Who are you, then?”
My heart lurches. Who am I? The question hangs in the air, heavy and impossible. I open my mouth, the word ‘Grace’ forming on my lips, and then a flicker of doubt crosses my mind.
No, Grace is not me.
Grace is the name I was born with, the name I had once, but not anymore. Not now.
They exchange glances when I don’t answer, their expressions unreadable. Then, a woman steps forward. She’s the one who spoke, with long straight perfect black hair. The other two, the redhead and the brunette flank her, rising smoothly from the chaise. They move as one, their steps silent on the plush floor. They start circling the cage, their eyes never leaving me.
I feel trapped, exposed. The blanket is my only shield, but it doesn’t offer much warmth or security. I clutch it tighter, pulling it over my body, trying to regain a sliver of dignity, of normalcy.
One of them reaches through the bars and as her fingers make contact with my skin, I jump. Another seizes the moment and grabs the blanket, ripping it from my grasp.
I cry out, falling back and land on my arse.
They gasp in unison, staring at me more, at where I’m now exposed.
I try to cover myself, to snatch back the blanket but it’s three against one. They reach through, smacking at me, chastising me the only way they can.
With a sharp crack a hand slams into the side of my head, forcing my skull against the unforgiving metal. The sound is sharp, loud. Stars explode behind my eyes. Pain radiates outwards, sharp and sudden. My vision blurs for a moment.
“Dogs are not shy,” the redhaired girl hisses, her voice dripping with contempt. “Now, behave.”
The other women laugh, a low, throaty sound that doesn’t sound remotely amused.
“What’s this?” A voice calls from the other side of the room.
The three girls stop, turning in one synchronised movement to face the newcomer.
“Mistress.” They murmur in a tone of unmistakable reverence, and that word puts the fear of God into me.
My arms tremble as I force myself to sit up, to face whatever this is.
But I’m not allowed to look at her. At a mistress. Panic swirls in my gut and I hastily drop my gaze, hoping that no one has realised what I’ve done.
I can hear her feet as she approaches. I can see the sharp, delicate, expensive shoes as she comes to a stop outside my cage.
“I see you’ve met our new addition.” She says, but not to me, to them.
They don’t reply but I feel the way they react, as if my mere presence is both an affront and an insult to them.
The Mistress squats down, reaching through the bars and snatches at my face as I cower.
“Look at me.” She snaps as she does it and my body relaxes, my body obeys despite my terror.
It’s the same woman from before, the one who’s trained me, who’s tortured me, who’s abused my body so much I can barely think straight. The thought doesn’t give me any reassurance.
She drops her gaze, staring at my body. She makes a point of sneering more at the way my skin rolls over itself just a little, at the way I curve out around my waist. In my head, I snarl that if they wanted a woman who was skinny then they should have stolen someone else and not me, but I know better than to voice it.
She frowns as if she’s heard my thoughts and then she stands, folding her arms over her chest.
“Not much to work with.” She mutters, and the three waifs giggle loudly.
She produces a key from her pocket, opening the cage and she stands expectantly. Only, I don’t know what to do. She hasn’t given me any instructions.
“Get out.” She hisses, snatching at my hair, yanking me forward. “Master will be here very soon, do you think he wants to wait for the likes of you, dog?”
I don’t know what to say, what to do. I cry out more as she drags me across the room, using my long hair as a leash while I struggle to get any footing. WhenI get to the other side, I can see the three women are there, preening, prettying themselves.
