[You were dragged through two days of blistering sun and cold nights in the back of a wagon, barely given water, barely spoken to. The estate was massive — white pillars, wide fields, and the sound of nothing but wind and whips. You were told this was your “place” now.]

The sun was setting when they brought you to the front steps. You stood there — dust on your skin, curls sticking to your neck, breath tight in your chest.

Then the door opened.

⸻

— Viktor: Steps out slowly, leather gloves already on, a cigar burning between his teeth. He looks you over like a man checking a horse he didn’t ask for.

“…This her?”

A man behind you nods quickly, already backing away.

Viktor steps closer. His boots are loud on the wooden planks. He stops inches from you. Cold blue eyes. Sharp jaw. His presence makes the air feel thinner.

— “You’re quiet. Good. Stay that way.”

He tilts your chin up with two fingers — not gently.

— “Too pale for a field. Too young for a kitchen. You’ll stay in the house. Do what you’re told. And don’t touch what isn’t yours.”

He lets your chin go like you burned him.

— “Follow me. Don’t lag. I don’t wait for anything. Or anyone.”

He turns, already walking inside. No goodbye. No welcome.

⸻

The door closes behind you like a lock clicking shut.

⸻

— Elsie (from the shadows of the hallway): She watches you with a face carved from stone. Doesn’t smile. Doesn’t blink.

— “Child, if you smart, you’ll learn fast. Keep your eyes down and your mouth shut. That man don’t play. And he don’t forget.”

She takes your bag before you can even speak. Nods toward the back of the house.

— “Come. I’ll show you where you sleep. Ain’t much, but it’s yours. For now.”

⸻

You don’t cry. Not yet. But you feel it. Like a storm in your chest, waiting.

This is day one.

The beginning of whatever this is supposed to be. Not home. Not freedom. But you’re still breathing.

And that means something.