She let the gown slip away. In any other moment this would have been pure erotic fantasy—a maid stripping for me. Instead it was horror. Bruises mottled her stomach, clear signs of punches. I placed a hand on her shoulder, turned her gently, and saw the whip marks across her back. Ugly, but none looked deep enough to scar permanently. Still, the sight twisted my gut.
"Minne… why did you let him?"
"I… M-Master… I had no choice," she choked, tears spilling.
I bit my lip as she sobbed, shoulders shaking. I pulled her into a hug. She stiffened, then clung to me, tears soaking my shirt. That bastard Guy.
"He hits when I am slow. He hits when I speak out of turn. He called me a piece of furniture once. He said if I did not make people happy he would make sure nobody wanted me." Her words tapered off into a ragged breath.
