“Wake up, Karina, you miserable little shit.”

I awoke to the usual greeting of my master, and I glanced up from my worn blanket on the dirt floor to see him glaring at me. His burly arms were crossed in front of him, and his stained clothing reeked of rot and bodily fluids. “You have a delivery. Wake up,” he repeated venomously. I slowly sat up on the floor, the events from last night causing me extreme discomfort. The bruises on my thin arms were going from a dark blue to a sickly yellow. I didn’t dare speak, because I knew that if I did, then he would put new marks in between the healing ones. The shadows under my eyes accented both my exhaustion and depression.

“That’s more like it,” my master grumbled. He threw my leather satchel at me. “You’re to deliver these potion ingredients to a very special customer. And no dwindling in the village, or I’ll cut your hand off. Got it?” I nodded once, looking at the ground.

“Hey, look at me when I’m talking to you!” he yelled, smacking me across the face with his calloused, meaty hand. I didn’t resist at all, just fell to the ground limply. Biting back the urge to cry, I turned my dull blue eyes up to meet his gaze. “Better,” he said darkly. He then pulled me to my feet by my dirty, matted blonde hair. “Now get out of my fucking sight,” he grumbled, pointing to the door.

I went to walk out of my shack of a house, but suddenly, my boss pulled me back violently. “Actually, I think you deserve a bit of punishment for your rude behavior today,” he whispered, his foul breath infiltrating my nose and creeping down my neck. I shivered slightly, before being tossed back into the corner of the one-room hut like a rag doll. My master untied the rope that held up his trousers, and I braced myself for another round of torture.

As he violated me, I thought once more about suicide. The sweet thought of death helped me mask the pain ripping through my lower body. But I couldn’t kill myself, no matter just how horrible my life was. I had to keep living, for the sake of my parents, and their memory. Killing myself would destroy the little scrap of dignity I had left.

Once my master was finished, he threw me out onto the muddy road. I stood up, straightened my tattered, muck-covered clothes, adjusted my satchel, and walked into town, trying to put as much space in between me and the foul man that gave me shelter.

Little did I know that I would soon find salvation in the strangest of places.