EMMA
Feeling awkward, I plunk out my arm for her to wash. A tub in a corner of the room had been filled with water and at present, I sit in the freezing coldness, patiently sitting through the maid's quiet administrations.
My eyes trail the firm line of her lips, coasting over her beaten face. She's young, I can tell. But one could easily think she was so much older. An assumption brought on by the warped history of Al Hara.
She moves on to my other arm.
I adjust in the water, giving a voice to my curiosity. "Of all the queen's maids, were you the only one to survive?"
Green eyes briefly flicker to my face. The distant crackle and pop of wood from the flames sound. It takes a while before she responds quietly, "Yes. When the men were depleted, the women were sent."
A heaviness falls
