Myra lay curled into a ball on a stool in Dragon Tavern, hiding from her master, a pig of a man by the name of Grapper-Greed. She despised the wretched cur; he'd destroyed everything she'd built since that day so long ago. That day when she'd been left on a cold, brick surface near Christmas. It would be two years tonight. Christmas Eve was a horrible time of year for her-- when the other kids got to play outside or convinced Cook to give them pies, Myra had to work until her master was satisfied. Sometimes he would work her through the night and well into the next day.
Only allowed a few hours of sleep, Myra was always falling asleep while she helped Cook in the kitchen or Darren in the stables. They felt sorry for her, even Harlan, sour and detached. She did everything Grapper-Greed asked/ordered of her without complaint or gripe. Far faster a learner than others her age, Myra knew enough about her master to keep him away from her for the rest of their lives-- but she didn't tell a soul. And the things he confided in her in his drunken state, she kept inside her when the weight of the words he said would have killed a lesser man.
Myra could kill the lout if the need arose but he kept her out of the streets. He was not a cruel master in the way one thinks; he fed and clothed her, gave her shelter, and trained her to take care of another person, someone different than her. Myra was glad of the teaching. The other servants that were permitted to talk to her more than order-wise kept their mouths shut about her hollowness in which she spoke.
