Oakley sat up on the bed. Eyes droopy. Her body as weak as jelly. She was tired yet she couldn't sleep properly without waking up every five minutes. The bed on which she sat on had once been soft. Comfortable. But now, it felt like a bed of nails. Each sharp point piercing into her skin.
She wanted out of this place.
Although not obvious, she could feel her mental health weakening. Somehow the quietness of the mansion brought far more torture than the slave establishment ever had. It made her feel more vulnerable. More caged. The silence slowly eating away her sanity.
Was this the kind of life she was bound to have? A life of slavery. Restricted freedom – drowning in the silence of her golden cage.
She arose from the bed, her muscles sore. Limbs weak. She had done nothing. No chores, yet she felt like she had carried a concrete block the entire day.
