I grit my teeth at the woman, staring at her with disgust and hatred.
"Didn't I tell you to leave me alone?" I snapped, my voice trembling with rage.
Before she could respond, I lunged, pinning her to the ground. My hands pressed against her shoulders as I began to punch her, each blow fueled by fury, frustration, and helplessness.
She gasped softly with each strike, the sound weak and almost polite, but she didn't resist.
"If you must," she whispered, her voice trembling, letting me continue.
I felt a sick thrill of power mix with my anger as my fists connected again and again, the force echoing in the small, empty hut. Her skin grew red, her lips split, and blood trickled down her face. My hands shook, my chest heaved, and my tears mingled with the sweat and dust around us.
Every punch I threw released a fragment of the fury that had been building inside me since I woke in that cursed village. I had been trapped, watched, bound by the mark, forced into a role I had never wanted. And now, for the first time, I could unleash it.
Her face was slowly turning a mess of red and purple, yet she remained under me, quiet, unresisting. She did not cry out in anger or fear—only gasped softly, weakly, letting me have my rage.
Finally, when my arms were trembling, my fists raw, and my breathing ragged, I collapsed beside her, shaking. The room was silent except for the low thrum of the mark beneath my skin, alive and pulsing, reminding me that even this act of violence could not free me.
I stared at her bloody face, my chest heaving, my tears streaming, and realized, with a sudden chill, that I had never felt such power before… and never such emptiness.
I had lashed out, I had hurt her, and yet I was no closer to freedom. I was only more aware of the chains that bound me.
Outside the hut, the villagers remained still, silent, waiting, watching. They felt the pull of me, the heartbeat of the mark. And I knew, horrifyingly, that they would obey me, no matter what I commanded—even as I struggled to control myself.
I pressed my forehead to the floor, my hands clutching at my knees. My anger had subsided into exhaustion, leaving behind a hollow ache. I had no memory of who I was before this place, no clue of how I had arrived here, and now… nothing but the weight of my own wrath
I stood, leaving her there on the floor, silent and battered, as I stepped out of the hut. The village stretched before me, quiet now in the late afternoon light. The villagers moved about their tasks: hauling water, tending crops, repairing fences. Their devotion was everywhere, unspoken, omnipresent. I could feel it pressing against me, even as I wanted nothing to do with it.
My stomach growled, painfully empty, and I instinctively pressed my hands against it. Hunger gnawed at me, sharp and urgent. I hated that I was weak enough to need anything from these people — and yet I could not ignore it. I would have eaten anywhere, with anyone, except here, under their watchful, unwavering eyes.
I turned my head, trying to avoid their gaze. Then I noticed someone walking toward me — a female guard, moving with careful, measured steps. Her soft smile contrasted with the armor of loyalty she carried in her posture. She stopped a few feet away, noticing my bloodied hands. Her eyes flicked briefly to the beaten woman inside the hut, then back to me.
Her hands moved quickly, gently, as she reached out and began wiping the blood from my skin with a clean cloth. There was no judgment in her eyes, only quiet care, though a subtle tension ran beneath it, as if she recognized the rage that had driven me to violence.
"Are… are you hungry?" she asked softly, her voice steady but gentle.
I looked at her more closely for the first time. Her brown skin glowed softly in the sunlight. Her natural hair was gathered in a poofy bun at the back of her head. Her eyes were warm, curious, and observant. In a flash, a thought struck me: there were others like her here. People who looked like me. And yet… were there really? Or was she the only one?
I didn't answer immediately. My chest heaved from the remnants of my rage, my hands still shaking slightly from the fight. The hunger clawed at me again, and I pressed my palms to my stomach.
"You… you don't have to answer," she said softly, stepping back slightly. "Just… eat something."
I nodded, reluctantly, unsure if I could trust even her kindness. Hunger had a way of breaking walls, though, and my mouth felt dry enough that I had no choice. My stomach protested as I followed her, each step heavy with exhaustion and tension.
As we walked toward the central area of the village, I observed her more carefully. Her movements were precise, protective, yet quiet. She did not speak again unless necessary. Her loyalty to me, her reverence, was clear — but it was tempered by something human. Something that reminded me I could survive here, if I chose to navigate it carefully.
And as I glanced back at the hut, the beaten woman still lying on the floor, I realized something terrifying: they were all loyal. Every single one of them. Even those who seemed tender or gentle, even those who smiled at me or tended to my needs… all of them would obey. Every command I gave, every wish, every whim… could be executed without question.
The realization made my stomach twist even more than hunger. The villagers were human, yes. But their humanity was bound to me, to my presence, to the mark.
And I was their queen.
I looked at the black woman again, her eyes meeting mine. Something unspoken passed between us — a fragile acknowledgment of self in a village of devotion. Maybe, I thought, she could understand me. Maybe she could be… something closer to a companion, a mirror of what I once was, or what I had hoped to be before all this.
But even that thought brought fear. For she, like all the others, would obey.
And the mark beneath my skin pulsed, reminding me that it was not just loyalty, but power — dark, dangerous, and utterly uncontrollable.
I pressed my hands against my stomach again, and the hunger gnawed at me, sharp and urgent. I would eat. I had to survive. And in that moment, I realized: survival here meant learning to wield the power I never asked for, in a village that was watching, waiting, and ready to do anything I demanded.
Even if I hated myself for it.