9 | New Nightmare

In the new dimly lit cell of the servant's rooms which is more like a byre, the scent of my own blood and decay lingers heavily in the air, mingling with the overpowering stench of unwashed sheets and stale sweat.

The single bed, with its malodorous sheets, is barely large enough to fit one person, let alone two women. A tiny closet, devoid of anything useful save for a few scuttling cockroaches, stands ominously in one corner, and a small, grimy bathroom completes the dismal surroundings.

“Ouch! Stop looking at my tits and do your work properly!” My voice comes out sharper, a mixture of pain and fury fueling the harshness of my words.

I flinch as the needle pierces my flesh, the pain radiating from the wound, a stark reminder of the violence I’ve endured. My eyes snap to the man hunched over me, ostensibly tending to my injuries, but his gaze is fixed not on his work, but on the bloodied remnants of my bra struggling to cover my exposed chest.

The guards, in their infinite incompet