Sethrak's life flickered before my eyes, a waking nightmare. Contrary to the portraits on the wall, her family had not abandoned her. Quite the opposite.
They kept her close, just within reach, a perfect distance to inflict pain and humiliation. They never treated her as a person, never as a daughter.
They kept her in the stables of that grand palace, among the horses and other beasts. The place was unfit for a child, unfit even for an animal.
It could hardly be called warm or clean. Raindrops and cold gusts of wind seeped mercilessly through the gaps in the wooden planks. And always, the heavy stench of manure and rotting hay hung in the air.
For food, she was fed scraps from the palace kitchen.
On cold winter nights, she tried to sleep wrapped in filthy, damp straw. She was afraid to go into the city. She was afraid to even step outside the stable in daylight.
