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Burrow glares at you as you approach, but she does not swat you as you groom her head. Instead, she perches elegantly, making it clear that you can only do this because she is allowing it.
The servant girl, no older than a single summer, sat huddled in the corner of her dusty room. Her heart raced, her breath coming out in short, ragged gasps. She clutched a tattered rag doll to her chest, its once-vibrant colors now faded and dull. The walls of her prison seemed to close in, pressing against her thin frame, making it difficult to breathe. The air was thick with the stench of rot and decay, and she could hear the faint sounds of laughter drifting up from below. It was the sound that haunted her dreams, the sound that filled her waking hours with dread.
She knew that if she dared to leave her room, she would be met with the same brutality she had grown accustomed to. The master would strike her again and again, until she could no longer stand, until she was nothing more than a broken, bleeding mess on the cold, hard floor. But she couldn't take it anymore. The pain, the humiliation, the endless servitude. She had to do something.
She thought back to the old stories her mother used to tell her, of brave princesses and knights in shining armor who rescued damsels in distress from towers guarded by dragons. Perhaps there was some truth to those stories after all. Perhaps there was someone out there who could save her from this living hell. And so, with a newfound determination burning in her heart, she began to plan her escape.
She spent hours studying the layout of the castle, memorizing the routes and secret passages that led to the outside world. She scavenged for bits of food and hid them away in a makeshift pouch, preparing for the long journey ahead. And she practiced her story, rehearsing it over and over again until she could recite it word for word, until the pain and fear faded away and she was once again the brave princess her mother had raised her to be.
Finally, the day came. The master was away on business, and the servants were distracted by a grand ball being held in the great hall. She knew this was her only chance. She crept down the dark, winding staircase, her heart pounding in her chest as she neared the exit. She could feel the cool night air brushing against her cheek, smell the sweet scent of freedom. With one final push, she threw open the door and fled into the night.
Her heart soared as she ran through the castle grounds, her bare feet barely making a sound on the dew-covered grass. The stars twinkled above her, a beacon of hope in the darkness. She dared to believe that she might actually make it out alive. But as she rounded a corner, she collided with a familiar figure. The servant girl fell to the ground, her rag doll tumbling from her grasp.
The master stood before her, his face twisted into a mask of rage. "You stupid, foolish girl," he hissed. "You thought you could just leave?" He reached down and roughly grabbed her by the arm, pulling her to her feet. "You have no idea what you've done."
As she struggled against his iron grip, the servant girl's heart sank. She had been so close, so close to freedom. But now it seemed that escape was more impossible than ever. Her eyes darted desperately around the courtyard, searching for some means of escape, some way to fight back. But there was nothing. They were surrounded by guards, all armed and ready to protect their master's interests at any cost.
The master dragged her back toward the castle, her body bruised and battered from the fall. "You will pay for this," he growled, his voice cold and menacing. "You will suffer the most horrific punishment I can possibly devise." As they neared the entrance, she could feel the weight of his gaze bearing down upon her, making it difficult to breathe. She knew that whatever fate he had in store for her, it would be worse than anything she could possibly imagine.
Inside the castle, the laughter and revelry of the ball continued unabated, oblivious to the drama unfolding just outside. The servant girl was brought before the master's throne room, her head bowed in submission as she awaited her sentence. She could feel the blood trickling down her face, mingling with her tears, as she wondered if this was truly the end.
The master rose from his throne, his eyes blazing with an unholy light. "You dare defy me?" he hissed, his voice a whisper of doom. "You think you can just run away and live your pathetic little life? Well, I am here to teach you a lesson." He gestured to a nearby servant, who stepped forward, carrying a wooden box.
As the servant girl watched in horror, the master began to rummage through the box, selecting various tools of torment. He held up a pair of pliers, their jaws widening grotesquely as he squeezed them shut. "First, we'll start with these." He grasped a tendon in her arm, forcing her to scream in agony as he twisted it this way and that. "And then," he continued, his voice growing more distant as the pain consumed her senses, "we'll use these." He produced a knife, its blade glinting menacingly in the flickering torchlight. "And these." A length of rope, a pair of manacles. "And these." A sack, a cage, a dark, dank cell.
As he continued to torment her, the servant girl's mind began to splinter. Images flashed before her eyes: the rag doll tumbling through the air, the stars twinkling overhead, the guards standing vigilant around the castle. She could feel herself slipping away, retreating deeper into the recesses of her own mind, seeking escape from the unbearable pain.
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