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41. The Breakfast Table

Baka sat before the grand oval mirror as a slave girl attended to her, fixing up her hair. It felt weird being the one attended to and she fidgeted a little.

The small girl, whom she’d come to know as Fatima, had wanted to give her a bath minutes earlier.

“No!” Baka had screamed, then caught herself immediately. “I mean, don’t worry. I’ll handle that myself.”

The slave girl had paled, thinking that she was somehow in trouble. Baka noticed the bruises that adorned her otherwise lovely skin tone.

She reminded her of Mosaan. Too young and too innocent for this cruel world.

Her big doe eyes pierced Baka and her lower lips quivered. “But M-master said I should attend to you fully, my lady.”

Baka had briefly wondered if she had meant Boaz or Jerome, finally concluding that it was Boaz.

She understood that for the girl, it was obey her master or bear the consequences either by lashes or death.

But she really, really couldn’t bear the thought of being washed by her. It felt wrong.

“Fatima,”
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