I don't know how long I remained in that bed exactly, my form stretched in discomfort on that pillow, my consciousness only returning enough to sip at water. It might have been weeks or days, or perhaps mere hours, but when I did truly wake enough to take notice, the first thing I found was the incessant pounding pressure in my head. Blinking my eyes into focus I tried to take stock of my body.

Every part of me was stiff, the wounds scabbing beneath my bandages. I tried to raise the arms laying by my side and found them unwilling to answer my command. Memories of being stretched around the post of punishment filled me, the dragging by the tired limbs when my feet failed, the abrasions over the whole of my skin. Exhaustion seemed to echo in my very bones. My mouth tasted of cotton laced with the tinge of blood from cracked lips and my throat was red hot, dry like the deserts I'd read about in my youth within the pages of Lexia's books. Vast wastelands without any moister.

My eyes scanned the room with the limited scope of vision allowed by my immovable body and I saw the pitcher. Someone had set it on a table next to my bed, all metallic and shining, rivulets of condensation along its sides. A filled tin cup rested beside it and my thirst cried out impatiently, dry throat all the more painful with relief so close.

In spite of the stiff agony, I forced my elbows to prop myself up and inched towards the edge of the bed. With a deep breath, I reached out one shaky arm and locked my fingers around the cup, managing to bring it to my mouth and pour the liquid down my throat. Cold relief that rushed through me but it was gone all too quickly, the cup empty, my body too weak to sit up and attempt to pour a second glass. I allowed myself to drop the glass, listening to the metallic echoing clang as it hit the floor and I collapsed back onto my stomach.

Lying there, already exhausted by the few motions I'd managed, I tried to take stock of my injuries. The headache was bad, but no doubt more water would provide remedy. My mind felt relatively clear, enough to rule out the possibility of serious damage.

I opened and closed both hands and wiggled my toes. The actions hurt, but it was clear I had still had use of them. That was lucky. If Dulane was intent on keeping me in life I would prefer to live with no debilitating injuries and knew I would have to regain my strength as quickly as possible. I wondered how long he might wish to play this horrific game. Surely it was only a matter of time before I would be put to death.

It was not long before a slave girl I did not know appeared at the door. She brought me a bowl of plain gruel that I ate without complaint as she put one spoonful after another into my mouth. It was almost comical. A child caring for me as if I myself were an infant. And that's what I was. Entirely helpless. Fully at the mercy of whatever came next.

"Miss Dreda will come later to check on you," the girl said quietly when I'd finished my food.

I nodded. But though I expected the child to leave now that her task was complete I was surprised to see her hesitating, standing awkwardly beside my bed.

"Was there something else?" I asked, somewhat afraid of the potential answer. What the girl might have overheard. I assumed if Dulane wished me to live he would give me at least a few days rest before inflicting his next round of torture but I also knew there was no guarantee I would have that long recover. The child only shook her head in response to my question.

I looked at her more closely now, my attention heightened by her strange behavior. She was at least six years old, only just a bit younger than my Mary. The thought sent a crippling wave of pain to my heart and I fought to push back the emotion that threatened to overwhelm me.

The girl looked nothing like Mary, of course. Her eyes were dark brown, her hair was a mess of dirty blond curls. A sweet innocent being born to captivity but still young enough to be horrified by my disfigured form. Did she understand that this might be her future? Was that why she stared now.

"Thank you for saving Lina."

The words hung in the air and my mouth nearly fell open in shock.

"She's my friend," the girl continued, with the recklessness only a child so young might manage. "She took care of me when she working in the nursery and I missed her when she went to work in the main house and I'm glad you didn't let her get hurt."

I forced a nod in repose to the simplistic praise. What could I possibly say? That I regretted having done it? That if I could turn back the hands of time I would have let my Master pick up that chair leg and slam it down on the child's skull? That if I'd known my own daughter might be forfeit I would never have taken such a risk as I had? But the girl seemed content with my nod, though I imagined she wished for more response.

"Might you bring me more water?" I managed to ask, filling the awkward silence. "The cup is on the ground. I dropped it." My voice was croaky and weak. I hated it. I hated that I was confined to this bed. That I had made so many mistakes to find myself in this position. That I was still in life at all.

But the child didn't notice my self-loathing. She nodded solemnly, clearly happy to be charged with such an important task. Her small body disappeared from view as she went to the ground, crawling beneath the bed to find the cup, setting it on the table, and hefting the heavy jug to fill my glass.

As I watched her, I thought about her words. I did not even know this child and yet rumors had clearly spread of my actions. Perhaps now they would see I was not the grey skin they'd once believed. A small consolation to be sure.

What's your name?" I asked the girl as she took the cup from my lips after I'd drank my fill.

"Clarissa," she answered, her face lighting up at my recognition.

"Thank you, Clarissa," I said. "You are very kind. Never forget to be kind, child. Not ever. Be kind to every human on this estate. Can you do that for me?"

The girl's face became almost comically serious as she nodded.

"Now go to whatever chores you have," I said. "I don't want you to get in trouble on my account."

Clarissa nodded again and quickly went to the door, eager to do as I commanded. But the look in her eyes would not leave me. It was fascinating. There was nothing but awe and admiration in her gaze. But how could that be?

I felt only hatred towards myself and the broken shell I'd become. Her admiration created a dissonant vision to that of my agonizing self loathing. I was no hero. I was the women who had sacrificed her own daughter for the sake of another. I hadn't acted selflessly as she believed. It was nothing more than instinct and I resented having done it given the consequences. Not wishing to deal with the thoughts in my mind I closed my eyes and willed myself back to sleep.
———
The next time my eyes opened it was Dreda by my side again, Clarissa in tow.

"I have to change the bandages," she said, her voice gruff.

I closed my eyes and bit my lip to prevent from crying out at the pain as she wiped at my raw wounds and reapplied salve and bandages. My whole back was on fire. Dreda said little as she worked, barking the occasional command at the girl who was clearly her assistant for the day, finishing the work quickly.

"I will bring you dinner when I can," she said. "There are other's I must care for and none of my actions go unnoticed."

I nodded understanding the code.

None of my actions go unnoticed

She was being watched. I knew if she was not careful one might accuse her of showing too much sympathy to my plight and that could not happen. If Dreda was to lose her position we would both be in dire straights with none to help us. Her cold affect made perfect sense.

I wondered who she might suspect was watching too closely. Clearly not the little girl by her side. But as I caught her eyes, Dreda held my gaze.

"Your greatest admirers are not pleased even now," she said. "You might have taken your punishment, but this does not mean you have been forgiven."

Her words were chilling. There could be no mistaking the message. Everett and Dulane were not satisfied after all they had done. Perhaps she'd heard news of something more? Was that possible? Just yesterday she'd claimed Dulane had ordered her to save my life. Here was proof that he'd only done so to continue his torture.

"I humbly apologize to any I might still offend," I said not wishing for her to leave without offering more information if she had it. "I have been justly punished and accept my reward. But what more might I do to prove my contrition?"

Dreda cast a quick glance at the young girl before answering but I could see clearly from her expression that Clarissa was entirely confused by our coded conversation. All for the best. I certainly didn't want her to find herself being questioned and abused for something I had done. I already had far too much young blood on my hands as it was.

"Those who are irredeemable might still be useful to their Masters. Perhaps even reproduce," she said.

I stared at Dreda in confusion for a moment, uncertain I had heard her correctly. Then, it hit me like a hard punch to the stomach.

Reproduce

I was irredeemable in my Master's mind, but he still planned to breed me again. He wanted another one of my offspring. I felt ill, desperate to disprove the interpretation though I was certain I'd understood correctly.

"No," I said, voice shaky. "I have failed in my lot and wish only for release."

I saw the look of true sympathy come to her face as she shook her head.

"Nothing is decided but you might have to wait a bit longer," she said. My heart sank.

"I will see what more I can bring you later," Dreda said, "For now, this tea should offer dreamless slumber. Rest while you can, Alice."

I accepted the tea Clarissa offered, thanking her and managing a weak smile for her efforts. I certainly hoped that whatever was in the brew would indeed force sleep upon me. It seemed my waking life had become a nightmare and I was desperate to gain escape if only temporarily.
———

Unfortunately, it was not Dreda who came to bring me my evening meal. Hattie, my one true enemy in the kitchens was the one who came to my bedside next. On her face, she wore an entirely satisfied smile. No doubt she was pleased to see her chance to rise once again. I found it ironic that she could not see the reality of the situation.

Hattie was nothing to Dulane and she was only five years younger than myself. She'd given birth to multiple female offspring and though a one or two might have been spared from harvest, she'd never been given any special dispensation to care for them. I wasn't even certain if she knew which of the young slaves might belong to her bloodline. She was a victim like me. A commodity Dulane was only using. I had no wish to be enemy to the woman even if she believed me to be so.

"Madam said I am to make sure you eat all of your meal," Hattie said as she placed a covered tray beside my bed. "Dreda is used to caring for children and has been far too lenient. You need true strength so you may return to work immediately."

I didn't answer. From her glee it was quite clear that whatever "work" I was meant to return to would not be pleasant. She uncovered the tray to reveal a bowl of some thick stew. I recognized was the leftover concoction often made for those not deemed worthy of more quality food. When it was my job to create such a stew, I did my best to make it palatable at least, but I knew most just threw in whatever contents they had, giving no thought to the unpleasant constancy and flavor its recipients might have to endure to finish their portion.

In addition to the stew, there was a large chunk of plain brown bread and a cup full of a dark brown liquid. Vitamin syrup mixed in water. Staring at the assortment of unpalatable items I felt my stomach roil. I'd barely been able to manage soup and porridge. Still, I knew I would have no choice but to hold down the offered meal. I certainly wouldn't give Hattie the satisfaction of reporting any disobedience on my part.

"Sit up," she ordered. "I have no intention of spoon feeding you. I have seen others take far more lashes without such drama."

Somehow, at her words, a surge of strength poured through me. I wouldn't allow her to see me as weak, the challenge in her taunts forcing me to life.

Ignoring the protests of my aching body, I pushed myself up into a seated position,  pushing past the pain. When Hattie set the tray before me I swallowed the stew, forcing myself to ignore the flavor and smell. I downed the vitamin drink. I saved the bread for last, hoping to settle my stomach with the one item she'd brought that might taste like food. But as I bit down upon the brown slab my teeth were stopped from closing. The bread must have been days old given how stale it was.

"I guess you are no longer to receive any special treatment," Hattie said, a slight smile on her face at my struggle. "Madam has already made it quite clear that you will never be first in the kitchen again."

I nodded as I gummed the bread to soften it, unwilling to take her bait. She was so focused on taking my place that she did not see the truth. None of us had stability here. None of us meant anything to our Masters. We were merely items to be used and then slaughtered when our time was through. No promises would be kept, not affection maintained. First my mother and now me. Hattie would one day face the same and I felt nothing but sympathy at that knowledge.

"I am already dead," I said, finishing my stale bread in defiance. "I would hardly think our overseer might wish for a ghost to run her kitchens."

I watched the woman's expression change as she stared at me, perhaps too surprised by my statement to respond.

"I sincerely pray you are given as much time at your new position as fate allows," I continued in her momentary silence. "I never meant to cause you any ill and hope you will keep my memory favorably in your mind when I am gone."

The younger woman didn't answer at first. Maybe she was too cynical to imagine I might wish her anything but ill. Maybe she had always known the truth. That her position was as transient as own. That no amount of favor earned would protect her in the end. The smug expression was entirely gone now.

"I will do so," Hattie said finally in answer. As she collected the dishes and brought me a glass of water at my request, I could see she wanted to say more, though whether her tongue might hurl insults or offer sympathy I couldn't be sure. In the end, she waited until she was almost out the door before she spoke again.

"You should know they are coming for you," she said. "I overheard Madam speaking to Master Dulane. I don't know what they have decided but I know you will face it within the next few days."

"I hope they offer death," I answered, though I was certain I would not be that lucky. Dreda's earlier comment and the meal I had been given for dinner only confirmed that Dulane was not through using me quite yet. "Thank you for the warning,"

The woman nodded, her expression solemn. She might never be my friend, but I was glad I might leave this world with one less enemy. I wondered what had happened to keep Dreda from me. I certainly hoped she wasn't in any sort of trouble.

With Hattie gone, there was nothing to do but sleep once again. Her words had implied that I would indeed need my rest for whatever was to come. I decided it didn't matter. Eventually, Dulane would tire of making me suffer or one of his punishments would inadvertently cause my end. There was comfort in that.

As I closed my eyes I tried to call to mind an image of my beautiful daughter. I imagined holding her, hearing her laugh, feeling her kiss on my cheek. "Soon, Mary," I whispered aloud. "I will be there soon."