…Waking with a gasp, I sat up and wiped away my tears.

Every few nights, I would go through that night again…

Before ten, live was simpler…

Now it is terrible.

My life had seemed to evolve around the scar on my face quite often…

Straight away, they had classified this scar as an accident that I had obtained on my own and I was never to voice upon what I had seen that night...My mother's cries and death could only be in my memory, a memory that would never fade! It was as though her mother’s life meant nothing, as life carried on without her, that not much change happened because of someone dying...Yet, for me...My life changed dramatically...

The depths of hell emerged out of nowhere, and so very sudden…I have gone from a child, one that was even learning how to read and write, one that was able to play, able to talk about anything and even the bullying wasn’t so bad…Now, I was a lamb with a pack of wolves, unable to play at all, only learning how to work harder and faster…

I was an ugly slave that has indeed gone mute…

I knew that I wasn’t pretty, far from that of the Young Lady in the residence. No, she had it all, she was loved and valued as the eldest daughter of Lord Billing, her name was Venus...Much different to mine...Her name was known as a Goddess, mine was Malory...One that is practically unheard of...

But that was okay…It had to be okay…As I was a slave and slaves are known to be ugly and nameless. But I felt even more uglier than normal when she was around. She had a father, in which I didn't...She had a pretty face, a lovely and respectful look...And I was in a slave’s garbs, dirty and no longer had soft hands...She also had nothing wrong with her face like I did...She was everything that I wasn't...

I had to live with my face as it was for two years now, and it was something that I could never forget about it, even if I wanted too!

Not only does it remind me of that fateful night of my mother’s death, which was also the start of my muteness, but, other’s always make fun of me because of it.

The children of other slaves and the few that would see the young Lady and Mister, all knew about me and had specific names that they would spit or yelled out at me. ‘Monster’ was the most used name, as they knew what was hiding underneath my homemade mask. If it was very windy, my mask would be blown around and people would see the burnt scar that was there. Of course, they not only called me ‘Monster’, but also ‘Hideous freak’ and ‘Sinister Devil’, which it took me awhile to get used too. Being called something like that did not help me grow to become a sweet, little girl...Like that of Lady Venus...No...I was stuck inside of a dark vortex, unable to be free from my face but also not sure if I wanted to be free from it anyway...

What else could I do…I can’t change my face…So I had to endure…

Who wants to be pretty anyway? It’s just a scar, why look at it?

That was my life…Making excuses so that peoples actions made sense to me. I don’t think I do it on purpose, I just wanted to understand why being called ‘Monster’ seemed to be something that people laughed at and threw things at you for…And this was the best that I could do…

I had secretly learnt how to apply make up onto my face a few times since…That night…

I felt an extreme type of...Well, I don't know what it was...But, with everyone calling me monster and how that nightmare kept waking me up, I wanted to see what I could do to erase the scar. Even after these two years of enduring with it, I still was not sure why I felt that way...It was confusing to me that I wanted to forget and pretend I wasn't a monster, yet at the same time I loved my mother and didn't want to forget her...

It is unbelievable to me that my scar could nearly disappear with makeup, but…I have not shown what I had looked like to anyone, as I would have gotten scolded because that make up wasn’t mine and in a place that I shouldn’t have been in. Actually, I would have been more then scolded, I may have also been beaten and put inside a dirty closed off area in seclusion. I had been there once before…After…After becoming a slave…

It wasn't as dark and scary as the place my mother had died in, instead, they didn't feed you and you had to stay in the stench of your own faeces. There was a bucket, but that bucket hardly was washed out and so the bugs would be around to make things even more dreadful, that and only having one crude blanket that hardly gave comfort from the cold. It was a terrible place...

Before being a slave, I think I was in my own little world most of the time, disappearing without a trace until dinner time…Was I unhappy even then? Or, was it more fun to go into the bushlands close by and be by myself? Or, was I untainted and had no idea on the cruelty of the world that I had felt that doing that was what made me happy?

Even though I had only gotten bullied by three people back then, the worst worry I had, was that I was not doing my homework. If I didn’t do my homework on time, then I would be hurt…But, everyone knew that! The teacher wasn’t biased on their students, they would hurt anyone with a ruler if that person hadn’t done what they were told to do!

And the bullying went as far as name calling, as I was a ‘slave’s daughter’, and a few times of being pushed into water or down a step or two. But…I felt like I was lucky, and when my mother told me that I could not retaliate, I guess I just did as I was told without thinking about it…Trusting her completely. And my mother would hug me and read to me before bed, she would cook for me, play with me and make me smile…Even though we had very little time with each other.

It really was like a whole other life, compared to now…A whole other me…

Back then, I didn’t make up excuses, as I hadn’t had to yet...I hadn’t really seen much else besides my mother and I…But now…Now, my eyes have been opened…

Life just got harder and harder…The small sense of freedom I once had, completely disappeared into smithereens and I don’t think I’ll ever get it back…No…I don’t even think about it now. It is something that I can not have!

What would I do with freedom anyway?

I started to realize though, that I was running out of excuses and had to accept that my fate was just like that of my name...And that the people might just hate me…Perhaps…Even my mother.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

After she left, I was demanded to take her position as a slave and had to take over all of her chores, even though I was much smaller and weaker then her. Of course, they had to slap me quite a few times because I was still in absolute shock over what had happened that night, but that was what had happened afterwards…Besides that of the minimal help I got with my newly burnt face…

They even made some crude mask for me to put on, their reasoning was that I was just too ugly not to wear the mask…Yet, they took it off themselves and that would confuse me…If they say I looked terrible and give me a mask, then why do they take it off? Did they forget?

And again, I have to make excuses for their actions, so that I could potentially understand. But, it was only just a few months ago that I had made this new mask, as the other had made me itch and made my scar look worse. This new ‘mask’ was a cloth that hung down the side of my face, instead of being all over my face…Strangely, the side of my face that is seen, is relatively still that of a normal twelve year old child’s and I felt better knowing that I was still somewhat normal…I guess…I guess I had lost a lot of self-confidence and I really needed this new mask…As…If I hadn’t had made the mask…I'm sure that the dark vortex, that I was in since my mother's death, was only going to swallow me even more than it already had...

My first excuse about my own mother, was that my mother had done nothing wrong...But, if she had done nothing wrong...They why had she been tortured like that...

Even though I knew I was young and stupid, I knew that what I had been thinking then, did not seem right. What my thoughts seemed to go into, was another type of right and wrong...That my mother may not have done something wrong by me, but instead had done something wrong by Lady Billings. This thought process had confused me quite a few times, but again, it was something else that my mind has been opened up to...

Then, if my mother had done something wrong by Lady Billings, was it still enough to kill her…

Excuse after excuse…And I never understood, but, I have more excuses after that and did not want to continue from disliking my mother, to potentially hating her. I am still unsure how I feel about her even now…But, recently, I have been able to remember the good things about her. How she had made me smile and had me know, even after a long day of work, that I was very important to her.

With the small amount of time that we had, she would gift me a leaf, a branch or some dirt. She had started this from a long time ago and I can never remember why, but every day, she would give me something and smile, smile like there was nothing wrong…

I don’t know, even as I think back now, why she would give me such silly things. Some of those silly things were with her possessions and were now with Lady Billings, yet…For some reason, they felt special and I did want them returned to me…It was just…It was like a far and distant dream though…Because I had started to feel like perhaps I don’t need them anymore or that even if I worked for thirty years…They will never be returned to me…

My thoughts were strange, as they only entered into my mind on the short glimpses that I had when I saw Lady Billings from time to time, but I never understood why she would not give them back...Yet, that was how I felt...

I had been unable to find a reason straight away, as to what happened that night. A reason for my mother's death, my scar, my life being turned upside down. Why?

I guess it was because I was just too young…But, I have found that excuses tend to run out, and through that…I have found a few real ‘reasons’ out in the last couple of months, one of them is why my mother was even killed that very night…Yes, I remembered what the Lady had said, that my mother had said something that she wasn't supposed to…

“Malory! Don’t make me call you a third time!”

Getting up in a hurry, I take away the light blanket over me, that hardly keeps me warm, and put on attire over my under clothes. Quickly, I placed my mask on, tying it up at the back and over my hair, which sometimes gets caught into the knot.

The room I was in held other slaves just like me, they also have what I have and put on the cheap, heavily used leather boots over our well used, and even in need of repair, socks. My hard, yet enduring, outer clothing was not comfortable, but I hardly thought about it now. Before I was ten, I had better clothing, but they were all confiscated along with my mother’s possessions. I did not have any jewellery, nor did I have any makeup. I held very little in my small quarter where my bed was, and those items are not even worthy of being stolen…

I was a slave…Slaves should not have anything of any value, they aren’t to think and do as they are told…They work from sun up to sun down…And, it was now time for me to work...

***

I was a slave in the Billings residence and there was a difference between a maid and slave. Maids were able to sleep longer then I, eat more then I and most likely did less then I…In fact, because the Billings residence had quite a number of slaves, they didn’t require all that many maids. I found out that maids actually get paid and can leave the residence every now and again, so I guessed, since we were working basically for free, why would they purchase or employ more people…Especially when slaves did more work, where as maids mostly worked inside the house and with their master…

As a slave, I shovelled smelly or rotten deeds from animals and even people, carried heavy lots of harvest, food or materials over large distances, washed clothes, even in the coldest depths of winter, feeding animals, planting, boiling or harvesting crops. I was rarely able to bathe, stop for a snack, take a leisurely walk and I was to always do as I was told…

I had even seen my name on a piece of paper once…I think that meant that…I think that I am owned…Like that of a painting or jewellery. But, is it really like that?

...I guess, it was something that I was too scared to find out about…I already know what it's like to never be able to do as I want, that wanting something was useless to a slave...But, if I am like that of jewellery or a painting, will they dispose of me whenever they want? It wasn't like I didn't notice a slave had gone missing while I had been here...Where did they go? What had they done?

Some slaves were lucky, they were able to work inside the residence and got treated a little bit better then I…I, whom has been told now to clean the stable.

I nod, as it was only natural to do as I was asked. Not only that, but I have refused to speak since…That night…

At first, they hadn’t paid much attention to the fact that I had become mute, as I was recuperating and trying to stay out of trouble anyway. But, after some time of practically being ignored and not treating my burn as good as it should have, they had come to see that I was still not speaking and…Well, after I was abused, the Lord of the residence stated that it didn’t matter that I was no longer speaking because I was still doing my work. After that, they had walked away as though it was nothing…Like they had done what they could or took it as far as it could go…And simply left.

Now that I was a little older, I guess they had just wanted to bully me and the chance disappeared after the Lord had said that.

I didn’t understand all those many months ago, why he was being lenient. Why he had stopped them from punishing me anymore than they already had…Well, I had been slapped and kicked, my face only showing damage, but my insides had hurt worse. But, as a slave, I can’t say it was injustice, it was being punished…I was punished for being silent…

So, I guess, after some time, that had made sense. That I was to endure what they were to do with me…Yet, at the same time, it didn’t make any sense whatsoever…As I felt like I hadn’t done anything wrong…They had told me to never speak of what I wasn’t supposed to, and I hadn’t…Was this…Was this going to be my life from now on?

Could they really even kill someone, and it didn’t mean anything to anyone? Just like that of my mother…

Yes…I wanted to know the reason why they had killed my mother. I wanted to know so badly, why I had to watch her go through so much suffering, why I had to go through so much pain!

I wanted to see if there was a way to stop my nightmares, or perhaps find another way to live. I wanted…

Yes, it took awhile after my mother’s death to gain some kind of want in my life, and this was it. To find out why she was tortured and killed…And it had to do with my father…

My mother hadn’t spoken much of my father, only that he loved me. I never met him or knew his name. I had never known where he lived and why he wasn’t with us. Why hadn’t he helped us? This question was always on my mind…Why didn’t my father help us when we needed him?

After I found out who my father was though, I no longer asked this question. It was a dim shine of light all these years, that…Maybe, he would come and rescue me. That he wasn’t dead but maybe on a trip and would return and take me away…But that dim light vanished and darkness was the only thing that was left behind…

The information I had found out, also had something to do with the Lady Venus and Mister Mason, and their stares and glares at me.