The day was already half gone, the sun now high in the sky. Yet, here her owners were, just now sitting down to breakfast. It was disgusting. She sighed. It was her job to wait on them hand and foot. During the meals she simply waited on them. When they needed nothing, she was expected to wait patiently in the corner and not speak unless spoken to. Which is what she was doing now. The smallish half harpy stood in a corner, dressed in dark brown robes that hung off her slender frame almost obscenely. Her wings were smashed up against her back and bound with harsh and itchy white bindings. She was not allowed to ever unfold her wings. It was rough, but she managed. She'd learned to sleep on her stomach. Sleeping on her crushed wings was extremely painful.
For the first several months she'd tried so hard to get away from her owners. She'd resisted the binding and often escaped out windows when no one was looking. Eventually they'd find her, drag her back, and beat her. They beat her even if she didn't run. And slowly, over the years that fighting spirit had been stolen away. She sighed again. However this time, she'd made a mistake and done it loudly. "Soren do you mind?!" The oldest daughter of the family turned around to glare at her. What was her name again? Constantine. Yes. That was it. Constantine was the oldest daughter of the family. She was now 21 and still unwed. Probably because her nose was crooked and hooked like a beak. Ryiah bowed slightly to the older girl, keeping her eyes on the ground.
"Sorry Miss, Won't happen again. I promise." Constantine narrowed her beady eyes at the girl. "That's right it won't. Otherwise I'll have daddy take you out back and whip you something awful." The rest of the children snickered.
"Soren," Ryiah looked up to see Constantine's "daddy" speaking to her.
"Yes sir?" she shuddered slightly at the sound of the master's voice. He was a horridly, fat man with four chins and a stench of mold about him. "Sing us a song, girl" She nodded. They forever wanted her to sing to them. I suppose it made sense. She did inherit her mother's harpy voice. Most people found it lovely. She took a deep breath, searching her brain for a song. She settled on one that she often sung to herself late at night. Her mother had taught it to her. She opened her mouth and started singing.
"Where have all the good men gone, and where are all the gods?
Where's the street-wise Hercules to fight the rising odds?
Isn't there a white night, upon a fiery steed?
Late at night I toss and turn
And dream of what I need.
I need a hero.
I'm holding out for a hero 'till the end of the night.
He's gotta be strong. He's gotta be fast.
And he's gotta be larger than life-""Stop! Stop!" The master stood up so quickly his chair flew back against the wall with a crash. Ryiah jumped and almost bumped into the wall herself. The man walked over to her, grabbing her chin roughly. "What kind of crap do you think you're singing about? Freedom?" He laughed, and roughly pushed her back against the wall. The children all watched with varying stages of malicious glee on their faces. They loved it when their father hit the slave girl.
"P-Please sir, I was only trying to-" She was silenced by a blow to her jaw. "I don't give a damn!" The master roared at her. "Get out of here, you pathetic, sniveling girl. Go to market and buy our groceries. You'll be getting no supper of your own tonight." With that the man swept out of the room, the children following him. Ryiah stood up, wiping blood from her lip. She knew she better do what he said. She ran into the kitchen, picking up the large basket, small coin pouch, and the list of groceries and headed into town towards the market. Maybe if she was lucky she could smuggle herself a small piece of bread or cheese tonight. She shook her head as she walked. She hated that family. She only hoped one day she'd be rid of them.