No escape

The chains clinked softly as Charlotte scrubbed the floor, her hands raw and blistered. The cold stone beneath her knees felt like ice, even through the thin, tattered fabric of her skirt. The grand hall stretched endlessly before her, its tall, vaulted ceilings casting deep shadows in the flickering candlelight. She had long stopped being impressed by the grandeur of this place. The high walls, once imposing, now felt like a prison that closed in on her every day.

She was no more than a shadow here, a slave in all but name. They called her a servant, but Charlotte knew better. The fine lines between servant and slave blurred quickly in a world where power was held in the hands of a few. And those few? They cared little for the lives beneath them. Her master, Lord Kael, was the worst of them all. He was the kind of man who found pleasure in cruelty, his lips curling into a twisted smile whenever he dealt out punishment, and his dark eyes gleamed with something far worse than hatred—amusement.

Charlotte had learned to keep her head down, to keep her mouth shut, and to do her work without complaint. The marks on her back were a reminder of what happened to those who dared defy him. Her memories of a life before this place, before the shackles and chains, had faded to little more than whispers. The laughter of her brother, her mother's gentle hands, the scent of her father's tobacco—all were distant, almost forgotten. But one thing remained—her hatred.

It burned in her like a coal that never cooled, a small but fierce flame that refused to be extinguished. Every day she bided her time, every lash of the whip and every harsh word only fueling her resolve. She would escape this place, no matter the cost.

The sound of heavy boots echoed down the hall, interrupting her thoughts. Charlotte tensed, her body instinctively curling inward as her master's overseer, Mathias, approached. His hulking figure towered over her, a permanent sneer etched into his scarred face.

"Faster, slave," he growled, kicking her bucket over with a careless flick of his boot. The soapy water spilled across the floor, soaking her dress as the filth she'd just cleaned splattered across the marble once again.

She bit her tongue, the familiar taste of copper filling her mouth. Mathias enjoyed provoking her, pushing her to the brink in hopes that she would break. But she wouldn't. Not today. Not yet.

"Clean it again," he ordered, his voice low with warning.

Charlotte nodded once, not trusting herself to speak. She dipped the rag back into the soapy water, her hands trembling slightly as she resumed scrubbing the floor. Mathias lingered, watching her with the predatory eyes of a wolf. He bent down, gripping her chin roughly in his hand and forcing her to look up at him.

"You'll never get out of here, girl. No matter how hard you dream of running. We'll always find you."

He released her, laughing under his breath as he walked away, his boots echoing ominously in the distance. Charlotte stayed on her knees, frozen in place, her heart pounding in her chest. She waited until the last echo faded before letting her rage fill her chest.

She hated Mathias. Hated the way he looked at her. Hated the way he took joy in her misery. She wanted to claw his eyes out, to watch him bleed. But not yet. She had to be patient. Her chance would come soon enough.

For ten years, she had been plotting her escape, ever since the day she was taken from the ashes of her village and sold into this nightmare. She had watched, she had learned, and most importantly, she had waited.

Night was when the shadows grew thickest, when the halls were quiet and only the whispers of the wind could be heard through the narrow windows. Her window of opportunity was coming. She could feel it.

That evening, after the evening meals were served and the hall had emptied, Charlotte crept through the corridors. The key she had stolen months ago weighed heavily in her pocket. The time had come. Her stomach churned with a mix of fear and anticipation, her every step calculated and silent.

She slipped past the servants' quarters, moving toward the east wing where Lord Kael kept his personal valuables. The vault. There was no running without something of value to trade for her freedom. Money, jewels, anything that could buy her passage across the borders and away from this cursed place.

The air grew colder as she approached, and her heart pounded in her chest like a drum. She had memorized the guards' shifts, knew when the halls would be unpatrolled, but still, every creak of the floorboards sounded like a death knell in her ears. She reached the door to the vault and quickly fumbled for the key, her hands shaking as she inserted it into the lock. It turned with a soft click.

Inside, the vault was filled with treasures—gold coins stacked high, jewels glittering in the dim light. But Charlotte's eyes fell on something else—a sword. It stood alone in a glass case, its blade shimmering with a faint, eerie glow. She had heard rumors about Lord Kael's prized possession—a blade and a weapon of unimaginable power.

She didn't hesitate. Smashing the glass with the hilt of her dagger, she reached for the sword, its cool metal humming beneath her fingertips. This was more than just a weapon. It was her ticket out.

Charlotte turned, the sword strapped to her back as she made her way toward the hidden passage she had discovered years ago. But as she reached the door, a voice stopped her cold.

"Going somewhere?"