They were alone now.

  Socia was in the tub, submerged up to her neck by its water.

  Cool. Soothing.

  For her Lady poured her life into it, as when she walked on the fields of so many plantations, all those years ago.

  A goddess of life and plenty, so glorious, under the sun’s rays walked, for all to love and adore.

  Socia still couldn’t talk. Only rasp, her words all garbled.

  But her hand was on her Lady’s cheek, oh so beautiful.

  Her fingers they stitched and healed her wounds now, but still her cheek was brass, and her eyes so red, and full of wrath.

  Her wings were gone, her crown extinguished, yet she remained a thing of brass.

  She convulsed, and her Lady held her in her place, as her back arched, as every piece of her spine began to slide into its proper place.

  Tick, tick, tick.

  Her spine was on fire, and she began to shake.

  “My Socia,” her Lady said.

  As she had said a hundred times before.

  Her mind wanted to escape into the black, to leave the waking world.

  But her grip and touch they were still there.

  And she still needed to say it.

  Her ribs began to realign.

  To shift back into their proper place.

  Snap.

  Pop.

  Crack.

  She thrashed about, but her Lady kept her from harming herself, held her in her place.

  She could breathe, to take the air in properly, and let the words out.

  “The servant,” she said.

  But her Lady didn’t move or avert her gaze.

  Don’t be cruel.

  It still hurt to talk, bones were set; but her flesh — still torn.

  “They’ll… kill him,” she said.

  For she knew that was the truth.

  They allowed this to happen to her. They laughed.

  What was he to them.

  Nothing.

  Don’t be cruel.

  Like them.

  Like your father.

  Her Lady’s eyes shone no more. They were not red with wrath, nor deep and dark, only two mirrors of brass.

  She tried to speak again, but only blood came out.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  So, she looked her Lady in the eyes.

  Caught them with her own gaze.

  Stayed with them.

  And told her with her eyes.

  Don’t be cruel.

  Her Lady’s eyes, so deep and dark, they turned away, her grip loosened and then it slipped.

  And into the blood-soaked waters Socias arm sank.

  She heard her speak from the doorway, a room away.

  “The servant is now mine by right.”

  “Take him to my palace.”

  You are not cruel.

  Her head lost its hold on the rim, and it sank beneath the surface.

  My Lady.

  She felt a hand behind her neck, cupping the back of her skull, and gently it freed her face from the water.

  My…

  She took a breath, and let it go, for she had said what needed to be said.

  And then everything went.

  Black.

  Black.

  She woke beneath black silk, smooth against her skin.

  Sunk into the soft bed, her eyes looked around.

  She was at her Lady’s palace.

  Home.

  The windows allowed her to see outside, the sun high above the horizon.

  It was late in the morning.

  As she rose from the bed, her muscles still ached, and her skin hurt, even though it felt whole.

  A silver-white nightgown was all she had on.

  So, on bare feet she walked to her mirror, to see if she was still Socia.

  Eyes searched, fingers traced, she was still Socia.

  She limped out of her bedroom and found her Lady.

  Shades, scarf and fully dressed, with skin impeccable.

  “Come, my Socia,” she said.

  “Breakfast is ready.”

  Socia had some tea, a few pieces of bread, with yam.

  She dabbed her mouth, then set the napkin beside her plate.

  “The servant,” Socia said.

  Her Lady took a sip of tea.

  “Is fine. I am most grateful to him after all,” her Lady said.

  “I saw him hold you up.”

  She put her cup down.

  “Shelter you.”

  You are not cruel.

  “You will assign him tasks suitable for his skills,” her Lady said.

  “Mister Stone is already on it.”

  “But….”

  “You will decide.”

  Her Lady spread some yam on a piece of bread.

  “And you will take a week off,” her Lady said.

  What?

  Socia blinked a few too many times.

  Her Lady saw it.

  “I cannot heal you with a wave of my hand,” her Lady said.

  She finished spreading the yam.

  “Or I could. But it would hurt you,” her Lady said.

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Ever.

  “My Socia.”

  Her Lady lifted a slice to her Socia’s mouth.

  “Have a bite.”

  Her Lady tilted her head.

  Socia took a bite.

  It was crunchy and sweet.

  Two things that together tasted.

  Better.

  Things were getting better.

  Food was brought from restaurants of the most varied kind, and they ate it together.

  Though she was getting annoyed at the Lady feeding her.

  “Please try this, my Socia,” she had said, too many times.

  But her Lady had impeccable taste, so Socia didn’t protest too much.

  In the morning papers she could read.

  OUR BELOVED SOCIA SAVAGELY ASSAULTED

  Assailant Punished by Our Most Merciful Lady, Harmony Prays for Our Socia

  She didn’t read beyond the headlines.

  It was just the two of them now, servants did come and go, but they were of the kind that acted without being seen, leaving them both alone, with each other.

  And day by day she grew stronger.

  Her Lady’s touch.

  Her own strength.

  She was Socia.

  But one night, when the stars could be seen so clearly, and the moon was full, she could hear… sounds.

  She rose and went to where they came from.

  “My Lady?” she said.

  As she stood by the door of her Lady’s bedroom.

  There was no response, only the sound of sheets that rustled and twisted.

  She opened the door, wasn’t it her right, after all she was her Socia.

  On the bed, her Lady was a thing of brass, covered by silk so black.

  Her legs jerked, her hands scrabbled at the blanket as she tossed and turned.

  Socia entered her bed.

  A low, slurred murmur emerged from brass lips.

  She could only hold her.

  And listen.

  It was a litany of syllables, and it didn’t make sense.

  At first.

  But as time went on, it did make sense.

  A phrase.

  “Father. Father, please.”

  Over and over.

  She held her now firm and could feel her shaking.

  Her tremors.

  Her terror.

  She thought of her own father. How harsh he was at times, stern and demanding. But she knew in her heart that like the father of the fool who lost his hands, he would gladly give his life for Socia.

  For such was his love. The love of a father.

  Something her Lady had never known.

  For centuries.

  So, she did what she could do.

  And held her close.

  And as her shaking began to cease.

  “Mother,” her Lady said.

  “Mother,” she said repeatedly.

  “Talk to me.”

  Her Lady never talked about her. The Bride. First Wife of the Ambition. Purest of them all. It was the one question, always met with.

  Silence.

  And as her Lady finally ceased to shake, and she felt the brass disappear, and her fingers could feel the skin beneath her nightgown, she shed a tear.

  Once she had told a man, a perfect man, that she was born as nothing.

  Fool of a woman she was.

  To her parents she was everything. Their world.

  And always would be.

  And what was her Lady to her parents?

  Nothing?

  So, she stayed with her.

  Under the moon’s silver light. Covered by black silk sheets. Her cheek to her Lady’s neck. Their breath, slow and shared.

  For her Lady was everything to her.

  And she was.

  Her Socia.