The man reached the back of the boulder, tracing the trail of blood where it abruptly vanished behind the stone. His footsteps ceased. He leaned against the cold rock, his voice dropping into a low, chilling croon designed to fracture whatever resolve the child possessed.
"You know, being a slave isn't the end of the world. It's a career. You get a roof, you get scraps, and you finally have a purpose. In this world, some people are born to sit at the table, while others are born to be the legs holding it up. You're just a leg, sweetie. A sturdy, orange haired little leg."
Maddy's jaw tightened. The word 'slave' hit her. She had witnessed monsters, vile humans, and death, yet the casual way this man spoke of owning another soul turned her blood into liquid nitrogen. A dark, heavy pressure leaked from her, unconsciously warping the air around the boulder.
"Slaves…"
Maddy breathed, the word a jagged shard of glass in her throat.
