The screams outside rose like a storm, a chorus of pain that carried through every street of our nation. The Vernian troops were merciless, cutting down our people as though they were weeds that dared to grow in defiance. Each cry that pierced the air lodged itself in my chest, making me tremble where I crouched. My hands clamped tightly over my mouth to muffle the sobs that threatened to betray me.
They had promised this. The soldiers had warned us: "Disobedience will be answered with blood." And now they made good on their promise.
Inside our house, the air was heavy with dread. My mother had shoved my younger brother into the closet and pressed her body against him, whispering for him to be still, while I crept into the narrow space behind the cupboard. The wood smelled of dust and dampness, but it was the only place I could fit.
For a moment, I thought the gods might spare us. Then I heard the pounding of boots and the splintering crack of our door breaking down. The soldiers stormed in, their laughter cruel, their blades already wet.
And then, disaster. My brother's whimper. It was soft, barely audible, but to a soldier's ear it was thunder. They yanked open the closet door, and before I could blink, a knife slid across his throat. His small body fell limp, and his blood seeped into my mother's dress.
"Where is your man, woman?" one soldier barked, his voice carrying authority.
"My… my husband's dead," my mother stammered, her tears flowing freely. "You killed him in the mines months ago."
They laughed, a sick, mocking sound.
"Who else is here?" another asked, scanning the room like a predator.
"No one," my mother cried, desperation in her voice. "My child is gone… you've taken my only child."
My chest heaved, my heart pounded so loud I feared it would betray me. I prayed; foolishly, to the stars, begging them to cloak me in shadows. But fate was cruel. A soldier's gaze flicked to the cupboard. His footsteps echoed closer. His rough hand tore me out by the arm and flung me into the open.
"No!" my mother screamed, her cry shaking the walls.
I scrambled to my knees, pleading, "Please, spare us!" But the answer was a sharp slap across my face. My vision blurred as pain rang through my ear.
The soldier sneered. "We warned you, woman." He grabbed my mother by the throat and pressed a blade to her skin.
"I beg you," my mother wept. "Spare my child. Take me, not her."
The bearded one crouched in front of me, his eyes dead and interrogative. "Little roach," he spat, "are you the last in hiding, or is there another?"
Still dazed from the blow, my lips trembled. I quickly nodded, admitting I was the last.
The leader straightened and smirked. "Woman, we may let this one live… if you obey without a single question."
I saw the lie in his eyes. But my mother, broken and desperate, nodded wordlessly.
And then, horror. They seized her. Their hands tore away her garments until she stood trembling, bare and defenseless. I shut my eyes, but no amount of darkness could shield me from the sounds that followed, the laughter, the cruel jeers, my mother's screams dissolving into sobs. There were nine of them, and they took her, each one defiling her as though she were not human but prey to be consumed. When she grew weak, they did not relent. They ravaged her body until even her cries withered into silence.
I wept soundlessly, shaking, biting my hand to keep from crying out. Deep inside, I knew she would not survive.
When they were finished, one of them spat, "Let's wipe this thing and be done with it."
It took me a moment to realize the "thing" was me. My body stiffened, my blood ran cold. I whimpered, my eyes wide with terror, silently begging. But my pleas fell on deaf ears.
I closed my eyes, bracing for the knife that would split my throat. Instead, a sharp knock landed against my head, and I collapsed to the ground.
"Keep those sighty organs open, little roach!" one of them barked as I whimpered, dazed.
The blade hovered, glinting in the dim light, ready to end me. And then, salvation, or perhaps a different kind of curse, arrived.
The door slammed open, and a man stomped into the room. His presence alone silenced the soldiers. He was the commander. His eyes swept the scene until they fell on me. He studied me for a long moment, then turned to his men.
"This one," he said coldly, "will serve as a slave for the queen. Look at her, she's already broken, too frightened to defy us. She will not resist."
The soldiers stepped back instantly. Orders were orders.
Rough hands bound my wrists. They dragged me outside, my feet scraping the dirt, my tears long since dried. I felt less like a girl and more like a sacrificial goat being led to slaughter.
Behind me, my home burned. My mother's body lay within it. My brother's blood stained the floor. My life as I knew it had ended.
That night, beneath the cruel stars, I was to be taken to Vernia. A maid. A slave. A prisoner of fate.
And though revenge seemed far beyond me, somewhere deep in the hollow of my chest, a spark stirred. Perhaps not today, perhaps not tomorrow, but one day…