Prijafai was the worst kind of slave. Lower than a house slave, or a mining slave, or a body slave. Gedlin the Whipper was her master and he owned her soul.
She had barely reached her fourteenth year when her parents sold her to Gedlin. Her father, Ietro, had slipped behind on his fish tributes. When he lost the boat to a winter storm, he was forced to sell his only possessions to the highest bidders. Mama was deft at the finest of embroidery, and Lumarp the Costumer paid dearly for her skills. The law forbade that Prijafai sell her body for two more years, and her malformed spine prevented her from accomplishing laborious tasks. The last option, Ietro's only choice, was to sign her over to the Whipper.
Gedlin worked for the Duvutchya Lenders. When tribute dropped behind, he extracted suitable recompense. No beating was too brutal, no torture too painful for a laggard assigned to him. His soul was empty and he so he consumed Prijafai.
Hate was the first emotion he sucked from her. She did not think she harbored such a hurtful sentiment, yet daily he consumed a dose. Then came contempt and spite. He relished every element of negativity within her, until she forgot what it felt like to be happy or generous or kind.
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