My parchment and pencil quiver in my hand. Three broken bones, I believe there is. They're small, but it'll make writing these passages a bit more difficult.
As if it weren't already difficult to find the time to write them.
I had taken quite the beating tonight from Lady Joseline. In her drunken rage she had stumbled upon a marble bowl and with the little strength she had she managed to score a perfect pitch at my face, if I had not blocked it with my hand.
Nonetheless, I should be grateful for the small light radiating from the oil lamp beside me and the thin map underneith my feet. I should be grateful for the small portion of food thrown at me daily and the leaking roof over my head.
I should be lucky, Lady Joseline said, that she allows me to sleep in the shed.
I reach across the small map to bring the oil lamp closer to my small notepad and pencil. On these long nights it's hard for me to catch any sleep after Lady Joseline has one of her outbursts.
It used to scare the h--- out of me, I try hard to remember. I would try to run, to hide, but soon I began to run out of hiding places. The beatings weren't as bad back then. A smack, a warning, nothing too harsh.
But now..., now they were becoming a daily thing. A lash across my back with a whip or a strong blow to the side of my head. A kick in the ribs, a push or shove into the wall.
Lady Joseline was a smart woman. She always hit me where no one would be able to see.
Lady Joseline was always lusted over by the men that would come over from the royal palace. They would bring flowers, chocolates, animals that needed slaughtered and fresh bread. and she was, indeed, a very beautiful woman. Long, lovely black hair that fell over her shoulders and shined in the sun light. Her pale complexion was usually replaced with a creamy splatter of crimson. Her long lashes and hazel eyes stunned others into awed silence.
If only that beauty could have touched her soul, because behind those gentle eyes were boiling pits of rage that craved for something, someone to hurt.
And here I was, waiting to be destroyed.
I slid my pencil into the folds of my thin robe and shoved the piece of parchment paper under my map. I lifted the oil lamp and hung it, blowing out the tiny speck of light before climbing onto the map once more. Night brought a blanket of chills that caused me to shiver violently and curl into a ball.
If Lady Joseline didn't kill me, this winter surely would.