Chapter Text
The sun had just begun to rise, casting a soft, pinkish hue across the verdant fields of the sugar plantation. A young mulatto slave girl, no more than twelve years of age, stirred from her slumber in the cramped quarters she shared with several other slaves.
She arose and stretched her slender frame, wincing as a pang of hunger gnawed at her empty stomach. Despite the pain, she knew her duties well and set to work preparing breakfast for her mistress and the newly arrived master.
The girl's nimble fingers skillfully placed platters of steaming hotcakes, crispy bacon, and fried sausage on the table, along with a pot of coffee. Just as she finished, the new master entered the dining area, flanked by two burly house slaves.
He observed the table, the food, and the slave girl arranging everything. His eyes lingered on her young form for a moment too long. "Is this the new handmaiden?", he asked, his voice gruff yet not unkind.
The mistress spoke up, her tone nonchalant. "Ah, that one's been here for a while. She's but twelve years old." She seemed almost disinterested in the girl's presence.
Meanwhile, the new master's gaze never left the young handmaiden, his eyes studying her lithe form with interest. "She's a bit young to be a handmaiden, isn't she?", he inquired, the hint of a smirk flickering across his face.
The mistress, ever calculated, explained the situation with a sense of detachment. "Those young ones, they're easier to control," she said with a shrug. "And this one's a light-skinned mulatto, with light eyes. I paid extra for her. She'll serve you well, I assure you."
The master's smirk widened as he observed the young handmaiden standing obediently before him. His eyes roamed over her form, taking in every detail. He walked closer to her, his footsteps echoing through the room.
"What's your name, girl?", he asked, his voice low and commanding.
The mistress interjected before the girl could respond. "Her name is Madeline, sir," she said, her tone flat and unemotional.
The master nodded, still looking at the girl intently. "Madeline," he repeated, as if testing the name on his tongue. He reached out a hand to touch her face, gently tilting it upwards to get a better look at her features.
The mistress grew visibly irritated by the master's prolonged attention to the handmaiden. "If you're done admiring your property, sir, breakfast is served," she said sharply, gesturing towards the table.
The master chuckled at her irritation but reluctantly withdrew his hand from the girl's face and seated himself at the table. He began to eat without further comment, but his gaze kept drifting back to Madeline standing by the wall.
The mistress glowered at the master, her irritation evident. "Will you stop ogling the girl and eat your breakfast?", she snapped.
The master chuckled again, unperturbed. "Can you blame me, madam? The girl is quite fetching," he replied with a grin.
The mistress rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath about "dirty little negroes." Meanwhile, the young girl stood quietly against the wall, her gaze lowered demurely.
After finishing his meal, the master stood up, patting his stomach satisfied. "Well, that was quite a good breakfast," he commented. "I'm off to the fields to oversee the work."
As he headed towards the door, the mistress called out to him. "Are you going to whip the slaves again?"
The master paused and turned back to her. "Of course I am," he replied casually. "Gotta keep 'em in line, you know."
The young girl collected the dirty dishes and utensils, her movements efficient and silent. Meanwhile, the mistress hummed a cheerful tune under her breath, seemingly unfazed by the earlier conversation.
As the girl finished clearing away the remnants of breakfast, the master strode out of the room, eager to begin his grueling inspection of the plantation.
The girl looked up from her task as the mistress called her name. "Yes, ma'am?"
The mistress smiled sweetly, a false sweetness that sent a chill down the girl's spine. "Come here, my dear," she said, gesturing for the girl to approach her.
"You wicked girl," the mistress hissed. "I saw how you looked at the master, like a sultry wench trying to tempt him. It won't do you any good. Must run in the family. You're just a whor* like your mother."
The mistress gripped the girl's shoulders tightly and shook her forcefully, her anger and frustration surfacing. She slapped the girl across the face and stared smiling smugly at the obedient way her disrespect was tolerated. She had trained this girl well.
"You may go now." She boomed
The girl nodded and walked as fast as she could carrying the tray of dishes and leftovers.
With tears streaming down her face, the girl fled to the kitchen, seeking comfort in its familiar surroundings. She found a quiet corner and allowed herself a few moments to cry, her young body shuddering with the force of her sobs.
