The Dead Man’s Palace
II
Slave Girl didn’t have a name,
no one had ever thought to give her one,
even herself.
She’d rarely seen her reflection,
distorted in puddles, glass shards,
uneven shiny surfaces.
Others said she was ugly, with a nose
too squashed to suit her face,
hair too dirty and unkempt to be attractive,
lips too thin and chapped to be tempting,
skin too calloused and sun-kissed to entice.
A life of malnutrition left her feminine curves
underdeveloped and overlooked.
She was thankful for this; she’d seen
what happened to girls who caught men’s eyes.
Her earliest memories were of dirt and
aching limbs, soil inside cuts and the
constant dampness of putrid sweat.
Harsh voices echo in her past,
full of commands and demands that she
never considered disobeying.
She knew no different.
She didn’t know what a parent was,
no one had claimed to be hers.
Nights had been spent in overcrowded huts,
her small comfort of a mat to lay on
wrenched from her by stronger slaves.
Her only sense of belonging came
when her voice could join the others
during the short freedom between
eating and sleep time.
Only then did she realise
she was an individual, her sound distinct.
It was strong and clear, pleasant to hear
but impressive only to the musical ignorant.
Some guidance would have made her worth something.
But she was overlooked as useful when
her owners fell on hard times,
and sold those not essential.
She was not beautiful, she was not a strong man.
And so she was forced from her only home,
bought by a slave trader at auction.
She spent months chained like an animal with others like her,
forced to walk behind a cart while
her new master shouted ‘Slave girls for sale!’
They travelled in towns, villages, even unsavoury lands,
reaching a castle everyone in the area avoided.
When a young woman appeared at the window
Slave Girl’s master almost lost his composure.
‘For sale? Please sell me one!’ she begged,
pale as death and eyes haunted with madness.
She would not come down, head always
turning to look behind her.
Instead she threw a heavy bag of coins
at their master, its thud on the ground
satisfying his greed. Even so, he counted the
many coins carefully.
‘Any will do, just send them in, alone.’
She was chosen because no one else had wanted her.
It was the perfect chance to discard unsellable stock.
She entered the castle in the dull afternoon
and squinted at the bright entrance that greeted her.
Lamps burned in every corner, forbidding shadows
from forming. Forbidding any hiding.
Light reflected off the polished marble floors,
leaving her disorientated and stumbling towards the stairs.
Her bare feet was leaving a dirty trail,
her flesh causing a squeak of protest.
No one came to greet her, and she was
too conditioned to call out.
She waited, expecting a head servant to direct her,
but nothing disturbed the light.
‘Where are you?’ A far-off call from upstairs rang out.
Slave Girl ascended the stairs, not answering,
but following the sound.
She saw the pale girl peeking out of a room.
She looked tired and ill, hair limp and dull,
eyes glazed, her body frail and thin.
But a beautiful smile broke across her face
at the sight of Slave Girl.
‘Oh thank you! Thank you for being here!
I need you.’
And from that short meeting, Slave Girl
already knew she’d do anything for this person.
Anything.
Scribbled Thoughts 