"Master, I feel lonely sometimes. Could you bring one of the slaves to spend time with me?"

  "Of course. Which one do you want?"

  "The one with the curly hair."

  Alison watched them with half-closed eyes, the guard shaking her to keep her awake. Mia watched Alison, not turning away from her, tears welling in her eyes. Roy watched Alison from the corner of his eye, while Sasha and Hannah wore deep frowns on their faces. Dinner ended, and everyone headed to the hut.

  The dilapidated wooden walls didn't stop the cold from seeping in, but on those nights, the cold was the least of their worries. Alison lay on her side. Hannah approached and patted her head. "Everything will be alright," she whispered softly. Alison didn't move or respond, but her face contorted in a grimace. Hannah went toward Sasha, and they exchanged words while Mia listened. Alison drifted off, then everyone followed.

  Alison awoke in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat. She remembered the hidden food, pulled it out, ate it, and went back to sleep. Two hours before dawn, the door burst open, and the guard shouted at them. The women rose, went to the manor to clean and prepare lunch, and everyone had breakfast.

  "You, go to the kitchen," the guard pointed at Mia. Mia returned to the kitchen as everyone watched; then they headed to the mine. Alison walked slowly.

  They delved into the depths of the tunnel where the smell of dampness mixed with carbon dust. Alison walked toward her usual corner with short steps, her body tense inside the linen shirt. She bent down and gripped the wooden handle of the pickaxe. Her grip was trembling. She raised the pickaxe above her shoulder to strike, but she froze mid-motion.

  Her breath caught in her chest before a muffled whimper escaped her lips. She let go of the handle, and the pickaxe hit the rocky floor with a metallic ring. Sasha and Hannah watched her with furrowed brows. Alison didn't move. She stood staring at the discarded tool, then slowly shifted her gaze toward the wall. She stepped closer to the rock.

  "What are you waiting for, you rat? Strike!" The guard’s shout tore through the rhythm of the pickaxes, followed by the crack of his whip against the ground.

  Alison bent down and gripped the pickaxe again. This time, she didn't swing it in the air. She held the handle low, bringing the head of the axe close to a fine longitudinal crack. She began to tap. Short, rapid strikes. With every tap, the echo changed. She continued to follow the path of the crack, using the weight of the pickaxe instead of her arm strength. The fissures began to widen, and a massive chunk of coal broke free, falling at her feet in a cloud of dust.

  Alison didn't stop to wipe the sweat or rest. She bent down and began sorting the coal from the stone, placing it in her bags. She repeated the process: tap, watch the fall, gather. She continued until her bag was full, reaching her quota just minutes before the deadline.

  The women went to the manor, while Alison was separated from the group to clean the dark warehouse. She spent hours sorting boxes and removing rubble. When she finished, the moon was centered in the sky. The guard offered her a piece of stale bread and some cold chickpeas; she didn't protest. She ate while standing before him, chewing slowly as she stared into the void, before he silently escorted her back to the hut.

  Inside the hut, the smell of dried sweat hung heavy. Alison collapsed on her side, her eyes half-open. Sasha and Hannah were whispering, exchanging a few words. Mia sat beside them, and Hannah noticed the frown on Mia’s face. "What’s wrong?" Hannah placed her hand on Sasha’s shoulder.

  "I... I feel bad for her," Mia pointed at Alison.

  "Why don't you go and talk to her?" Hannah suggested.

  Mia took small, hesitant steps and stood before Alison. "Is it... is it my fault, what happened to you yesterday?" Mia’s voice trembled. Alison didn't answer. She kept staring at Mia, and before Mia could say another word, the sound of Alison’s snoring broke the silence. Mia sat beside her, and as the minutes passed, she too fell into a deep sleep.

  The following morning, the monotonous cycle repeated: cleaning, then the dust of the mine, then the chores of the manor. Upon returning, Mia held out a piece of bread she had stolen from the kitchen to Alison. "Here!"

  Alison stared at the bread with wide eyes, then at Mia’s face. "You idiot... if they find out, they’ll lash you just like they did to me." Mia froze, her face turning pale as she looked at the bread in her hands. Anna appeared and quietly took the bread from Mia’s hands. "I’ll hide your crime." She popped it into her mouth and returned to her spot.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  "Hmm," Alison hummed without opening her mouth. Mia and Alison watched as Anna walked away; when she sat down, she waved at them. Alison lay down and slept.

  The days continued to pass. After Mia returned from the kitchen with the smell of onions clinging to her clothes, and Sasha from the mine with coal dust covering her lashes, the dark corner was their gathering place every night. They had no toys, no light except for a silver thread of moonlight. The session would always begin when Hannah sat cross-legged on the dry straw, beckoning Mia and Sasha to draw near. Hannah would lace her long, thin fingers together artistically, projecting them against the moonlit p

  atch on the wall.

  "Look, Mia… this is a deer running through the forest," Hannah whispered, moving her thumbs like ears.

  Mia let out a muffled giggle, reaching out her small hand to mimic her. "And this… this is a dog chasing the deer!"

  Laughter rippled through the shadows.

  Whenever someone was lashed or injured in the mine, Sasha and Hannah would always find scraps of worn-out cloth from the kitchen to clean the wounds. Once, Mia asked Hannah to style her hair; Hannah used her fingers to untangle the knots and weave a beautiful braid. Soon, others began asking for braids, and Hannah would always comply, a warm smile gracing her face.

  Alison watched it all from her distant corner, her body tense inside the linen shirt Bertha had given her. She was trying to maintain a safe distance.

  "Alison… Hannah is telling a story today! Come sit near us, it’s warmer here."

  Alison sat down reluctantly, maintaining her silence. Hannah began her bedtime stories, which were different from usual fairy tales. She told stories about a baker in a far-off mountain village who gave an extra loaf to every hungry child, and of a magical forest where trees never died but changed their leaves into gold. She described the taste of red apples with such precision—the crunch, the sweet juice—that the girls’ mouths watered as they imagined the flavor.

  "Do you think we’ll ever eat real apples one day?" Sasha asked, her eyes shining.

  "Of course we will," Hannah replied, braiding Sasha’s hair. "But for now, we’ll suffice with the taste of dreaming about them."

  Hannah had features that made you feel at ease; she was older than Sasha and Alison, a pillar of calm in the chaos.

  One night, Alison—who had been given a needle and a meter of thread by Bertha after the old woman saw her torn shirt—was silently trying to repair her sleeve. Her hands were trembling from exhaustion. Hannah quietly approached and sat beside her. She didn't say a word to spare Alison any shame; she simply reached out and helped her sew the shirt. Hannah smiled at her before standing up.

  Alison froze, a scowl forming on her face as she tried to suppress the tightening in her chest.

  "S-s-stupid… you’re w-w-wasting your t-t-time," Alison muttered with difficulty, her voice cracking due to her heavy tongue and dry throat.

  Hannah turned back with a smile. "Time spent caring for one another is never wasted."

  Alison looked at her for a moment before extending her hand with the needle. "Take it… thank you very much." Hannah took the needle.

  That night, Alison slept with a strange heaviness in her heart. The hut was filled with the sounds of soft breathing; Sasha was smiling in her sleep as if she were eating those apples, while Mia, who had decided to stay by Alison’s side, slept hugging her own arms as if embracing an imaginary doll.

  Time passed in a slow, monotonous rhythm. Every two or three days, someone was dragged to the whipping room; their screams filled the hut and the mine. One morning, the sun rose, and the slaves went to the mine as usual. The rhythmic clinking of pickaxes entertained the guards until the wooden handle of a slave's pickaxe snapped.

  "Ugh, we need to buy a new handle. We're out of spares," the guard grumbled.

  "I-I-I can fix it," Alison said, looking at the guards.

  The two guards exchanged looks, and one shrugged. "Go back to work!" the other barked.

  Alison asked for a knife, a smoothing stone, oil, and a long piece of wood. The guard gave them to her. She sat down and began to carve. Within a few strokes of the knife, the shape of a handle emerged. She smoothed it, oiled it, and handed it to the guard. A wide grin spread across the guard’s face. He tested it; it was sturdy.

  "Excellent. We won't have to buy spare parts anymore," the guards rejoiced. Alison returned to her labor. She received nothing in return, but at least the guards didn't yell at her much that day.

  Night fell. Mia had developed a habit of sitting in front of Alison and telling her about her nightmares and dreams.

  What is wrong with her? What do I have to do with this… weirdo, Alison thought to herself as she watched Mia recount the details of her dream from the previous night.

  Hannah watched them from the corner of her eye with a smile, while she chatted with Sasha and braided the hair of other women.

  Suddenly, the sound of the door crashing open filled the room. Everyone froze. Hannah’s hands slipped from the hair of the woman she was braiding. A guard entered and grabbed Hannah by her hair. Sasha grabbed the guard's leg, but he delivered a kick to Sasha’s face that broke one of her teeth.

  Alison jolted upright. Mia went silent, her face turning pale. Alison’s brow furrowed as she watched Hannah being dragged away. The rest watched in terror. Hannah pleaded as the guard pulled her out and slammed the door. A moment passed. Then came the screams—a scream, then another, then nothing. Absolute silence.

  Sasha’s body curled inward, tears already streaming down her face. Alison lay back down and stared at the ceiling, her mouth slightly agape, as silence reclaimed the room. Some fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion, while others waited for her to return. She never did.

  The moon danced across the sky until it reached its final movement and traded places with the sun. The women woke for work. They went to the manor. Sasha was wiping the same plate twice before freezing for a moment and picking up another.

  Breakfast came and went, and then they headed to work. The sun was bright, illuminating the ground clearly. Near the dog kennels, the earth was stained red—a dark smear around the mouths of the hounds. A striped shirt lay there, torn to shreds. Sasha froze. Her eyes widened, her knees buckled, and her breath became heavy.

  It was the same shirt Hannah had been wearing.