"Out girl, OUT!"
Lord Hector was in a mood. Abandon all hope, ye who encounter Lord Hector de Santo when he was in a mood. Awen Grace discovered this big problem that night, late in the hour, and out of luck. She had just been sweeping away, as was her duty around this time, and was met with the screaming fury that was her drunken master. A late night, too much tequila, and a lost bet had put him a foul mood that night. She had, apparently, dared not to move when he was storming through, and instead attempted to do her conscripted job.
He grabbed her roughly by the arm, the other hand lingering much to long around her chest for her liking. Than, with a shove, he threw her out of the villa, and slammed the wooden doors. Awen, ruffled, got up and dusted off the dirty rags that her master called 'a dress'. More than likely he would be demanding she be back at the crack of dawn, then complain that she tried to run away.
"This was not the Spain mama spoke of..." she sighed, deciding she might as well take a walk. Thinking of her mother made a smile drift to her face, and an old lullaby drift from her mouth, ever so softly. The welsh language was not lost on her tongue, despite her absence from the home land.