On Saturday afternoons, her mistress made young Willow play the harp. It at least eased her mistress' temper, and as Willow's young delicate and scarred fingers glided across the strings of the harp, plucking sweet melodies, it soothed the savage beast that was her owner. But one Saturday, while playing and the house was silent except for that melody, a knock came to the door. It was the mistress' son, back from war a two and a half years. Willow was curious and scared, she had never seen this man before and was fearful of what he would be like, since she had been purchased just after he left. When one of the other slaves came in and introduced him, the mistress jumped up and ran toward the door. He came in, he was young, ans handsome in a rough way, he must have not been older than twenty eight. Immediately, her fat and overbearing mistress hugged him and showered him with foul smelling kisses. He in return hugged her back and smiled, the way any sweet dotting son would. Willow was confused, how could this handsome thin thing come from such an evil creature. Willow was immediately afraid of what it would be like to have any of the mistress' kin in the home to wait on now. She turned to Willow, "Child, remove his shoes now!" She bent in front of the soldier and her small hands untying them and pulling off. "Well whats this we have her?" he said in a booming cheery voice "Well how do you do Scout?" he patted her head fatherly. Willow was surprised at this touch of kindness, no one had shown her any affection, not even the other slaves. And so it went, the soldier gave her sweets when his mother wasn't around, and even played his harmonica for her. He even gave her a name, Rose. And he called her Rosie, after this girl he had saved once in battle he said. Late at night they would sit in the kitchen and he would teach her card games and tricks, they would practice the magic she had. And some afternoons, when the mistress was out he would read to her, and she would fall asleep on his lap, listening to his soft father-like voice telling her tales of lands outside the manor, about creatures she had never seen and the magic that surrounded them. But then, one weekend, the mistress left on a business trip. All seemed fine, they played games and laughed and read stories. But that night, after tucking Willow into bed, he left for a Tavern. He didn't return until the wee hours of the morning, when all the servants were asleep, including Willow. He came into her quarters, reeking of alcohol. " Rosie, Rosie. Wake up" he slurred. He pushed her off the bed, and Willow's head hit the concrete floor. She was wide awake and bleeding. "Sir...." she said weekly. He tore off her rags, and pushed her small six year old arms and held them over her head. Her wings were pinned under her, and she was no math for the soldier. He grabbed at her chest, though she had none, then with his free hand he undid his pants. She was scared. Too scared to scream or cry, but choked completely with fear and confusion. He pushed himself into her,and she could feel herself ripping. She silently cried to herself as he thrust in and out of her self. She was smashed against the concrete, and so completely helpless and in immense pain. He finished himself, and pushed her down and left. She was left with blood pouring in all sorts of places. She wept to herself silently and cleaned up the blood. That night she discovered she could heal her wounds and it would come in handy for many a drunken night. Whenever his mother was out the soldier would go to drink and come back and violate Willow. It was a year gone by since the soldier first came to them, and no matter how she avoided him, he always found her. Willow needed to get away, go to those places in the stories, far away. Her mistress clipped her wings, so she couldn't fly, so she would have to run. She left the kitchen back door unlocked, and grabbed a butcher's knife from the cabinet and left it under her mattress. She didn't sleep at all that night, and like clockwork the soldier stumbled in. She took out the knife and hid it under her head. When he positioned himself over her, her seven year old hands grasped the knife and stabbed him in the throat. She knew that way he couldn't call out like that. She shoved her way out from under the bleeding man and ran. Ran forever. She was free.