Kaya
In my memories, I'm always hurting.
It's a never-ending rollercoaster of agony and despair, humiliation and devastation, loneliness and misery. And all for being born the way I was, without even knowing who I really am.
9 years ago
"Get up."
A deep female voice cut through my dreams like a blade, jolting me awake in an instant. I'd learned—painfully—that hesitation was never an option when someone came to wake you. Not here.
Blinking against the weight of sleep, I propped myself up on my elbows, squinting to see who had spoken.
Anette.
Her expression was tight with irritation, a deep frown carved between her brows. Without a word, she tossed a folded black-and-white uniform at me and crossed her arms over her chest.
"The head butler wants us in the kitchen in ten minutes," she snapped. "Put your shit on and get your ass there."
