It was true: the unforgiving sea. It surely was unforgiving to my stomach. I can't count the number of times I threw up during this voyage, and I've no idea how long and where we were headed.

The men and women were seperated. I was stuck with the men.

The constant motion of the ship as it's carried by the waves was stomach wrenching but also, I could barely see a thing in here, the only light of hope we had were the oil lamps spread accross on every 5 wooden columns holding the deck above us. Luckily I was directly parralel to one of those columns, the only luck I'll ever get in this damned ship.

The ceiling was so low that I had to arch my back and just sit for what seems to be the rest of the time I would be in this wretched place.

The smell was unbearable, a mixture of human excrements, sweat and other bodily fluids corrupted the air. We were like animals in a cage, free to urinate and defecate wherever and whenever we pleased, except it was not pleasing in the slightest.

It was't as crowded as I had expected, but I could practically still hear everyone's thoughts and murmurs. Every cry and every plea. Every prayer and every gossip. These sounds filled the compartment and it certainly wasn't helping in raising my morale.

I too wanted to cry; soon I would be sold as a slave and live my life as a slave, and be treated as a slave. I would rather go back to the orphanage where I spent the rest of my life than to live the rest of it in shackles.

I was too pre-occupied with my thoughts but it wasn't long before my body pulled me out of my trance. Even my body wouldn't let me have peace. It hurts, everything hurts. My back, my behind, my shackles were starting to merge with my hands and feet, and I was basically bathing in my own vomit.

A dreadful place I found myself in, but I had no intention of escape. I had no doubt that vigils stood guard from every corner of the ship, and I had no idea of the layout of the ship either, if I decided to escape, it would mean I would go in blind, which wasn't the best of ideas, possibly the worse. Not to mention that my shackles were interconnected with 10 other people's. If it was just me, maybe I could move about a little more, but that wasn't the case. It was clear I had no choice. I will have to endure and find the opportunity to escape on land.

*************

Every so often, a lady, looked to be roughly the same age as me, 20, black hair tied into a ponytail, would come visit us below deck. She wore a plain and simple red dress and a white tunic under it as well as a leather belt with things attached to it, I couldn't tell what those were. It wasn't noticable at first because of the poor lighting here, but on her forehead, she had a mark, it was a palm, almost like a tattoo, it was embedded in her skin.

I too had a mark on my right arm, everyone here had it. Mine was a tower of some sorts, reaching the heavens above. I cursed this mark, it was the sole reason I'm here in the first place.

Back in the orphanage, 4 years ago, when Mrs. Grop had heard of the sudden appearance of the mark on my right hand, she didn't even hesitate to turn me in for a few bronze coins! Not even silver ones!

I grit my teeth at that. My freedom for a few bronze coins, how utterly ridiculous. If it weren't for the mark, would she have just given me away at the right opportunity?! I sigh, it was pointless to think about it, but it brought me great pain to see the faces of those I grew up with slowly fade away into the horizon as I was dragged further in a cage. They were the only family I had, as for my real ones, I had no idea, nor did I care, not anymore. I've spent my days in the orphanage for as long as I remember, the world was small back then, so so small.

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I riminisced on the memories of the orphanage but was woken from my trance when the ship had suddenly rocked. The waves were getting bigger, the sudden stronger rocking of the ship proved to be sufficient evidence. A storm was coming.

*************

The lady with a palm mark was checking up on every single one of us and it was now my turn. I stared at her pale and dead eyes, she seemed to be lifeless, like she's been doing this for all her life and had known nothing else. I pitied that look, to do something so repetitive must suck the soul out of anyone. She placed her palms against my chest and closed her eyes. I just sat and stared at her face, it was more elegant up close, almost serene, but it lacked something, life.

I was lost in a trance as I stared at her. Her lips were thin, her skin was that of light clay and only noticing now, she had a mole on her right cheek, the other cheek was red, I suspected someone had slapped her recently. She also had a scar on her collarbone. I kept staring, it might be considered rude but It wasn't surprising, it was the only good sight I've seen for the past however many days or weeks, I already lost track of time.

Perhaps it was an impulse to make conversation in such a situation. I opened my mouth with the intention to speak but found that only air could escape, not words. I had not noticed that my mouth was as dry as when I had Mrs. Grop's stew; it was practically salt with water and not the other way around. The crewmen would occassionally give us water, but it was certainly not enough.

She opened her eyes at my attempt to speak. Those black eyes almost pierced my very soul, but beyond that dark abyss, I found a hint of life. Perhaps I was the first to break the monotony of her work by attempting at a conversation. She stared at me a moment longer, her palms still against my chest. Maybe she feels it beating faster and faster, no, she most defenitely feels it.

She reached for something on her belt, a leather water canister. The very thing I desired the most right now is inside that bottle. I was desperate for water. I thought about swiping it from her grasp and quickly drinking from it, but I had not the strength to even try.

She opened the container to reveal sweet sweet water. I wasn't sure if it was just my imagination but it was sparkling.

"Drink" she said. Her voice was smooth and calming despite her piercing stare. She tilted the bottle ever so slightly above my mouth to release its delicious contents.

I was surprised at that, such kindness I didn't expect to find in this place. To think I considered stealing it too. That planted a sort of guilt in me but it was quickly washed away by the soothing fluid that flowed from my tounge, to my throat and down to my stomach. She had poured the water into my mouth as my hands were too stubborn and tired to move. I felt every drop of it, and it was a marvellous feeling, it brought me a sort of ecstacy that I never thought I'd get from the most flavorless thing in the world; water.

It wasn't long until the ecstacy stopped, the canister was now empty. She shook the container as if checking if it had more; it didn't, so she kept it in her grasp

A fleeting moment passed, her eyes still fixated on mine. She removed her palms from my chest. It was a second later before I noticed that suddenly I felt better than I had before, not only from the water, but I could now slightly move my arms, as well as small cuts and bruises have healed.

With my now hydrated mouth, I found my voice to speak.

I moved my arms and looked at the cuts where they had originally have been. They were gone, they really were. It was baffling to me.

I would ask her but, it seemed she was in a hurry. After a brief pondering, the answer was obvious, her mark, no human could do such a thing, only those with Agnesian blood.

Rather than asking how she did it, I asked a more important question. It seemed I could only ask one as she was already standing and taking her leave.

With her back against me, she paused and tied the canister to her belt.

"What's your name " I asked

She was still in proximity of the oil lamp near me so I could see her clearly. She looked back with a surprised look, then, curved her lips into a smile. A sight to behold, her smile was as elegant as I'd imagined.

"Lilith" she said

Lilith, I'll remember that. It felt natural to speak it, almost as if I've said it a thousand times before our encounter, but I didn't.

It was no surprise she spoke Agnesian, only Agnesians had marks in their forehead or right arm.

"Might I ask yours" she said

I was pleased by that, not many would ask of a slave's name.

"Adam" I said

She frowned at that, for the reason? I had no idea.

Whatever it was, she gave a familiar feeling, as if I've seen her before, somewhere, some time, somehow. I thought about it, I had nothing better to do, but eventually let the thought go

With a curt nod, she turned her back and began to leave. I continued to stare at her but soon she was slowly consumed by the darkness that lay ahead until she was no more. I was alone again.