Snippet #1853286

Kathy, as silently as she could, creaked open the door. Only she was entrusted with a key, and she was threatened with death if she gave it to any other slave. She had barely made it out the door and locked it behind her when she almost bumped into someone. No – something.
“Pardon me, lord,” she muttered, bowing low.
“Just watch where you're going, filth,” the vampire sneered, and pushed me out of the way.
“Yes, sir. Sorry sir.” Kathy quickly bowed once more and made her way to the kitchen. Noises of pots and pans filled her ears, and she opened the door to face another slave, whose name had slipped her mind. Kathy was only allowed to speak to a few select slaves, and this girl wasn't one. Kathy didn't dare say anything; you never know who might be listening. Instead, she gave a slight nod and it was returned by the other girl.
Kathy's stomach tightened when she saw what the girl was preparing. Human sausage. Kathy did everything she could not to throw up as she made her way past her to the dining room.
Then, she did the job that many would rather die than do.
The stone steps echoed her footsteps, each matching the pace of her heart. The smell of infection and cries of hunger and pain where close to overwhelming. She lowered her head, and felt ashamed of what she was about to do, even if she had no choice.
A certain section held slightly better prisoners. Kathy received several glared from the prisoners and one ever muttered “traitor,” as she walked past.
The keys were heavy in her hand, and she reached the cell.
It held a woman, in her mid-twenties, and a child, a boy, only four years old it looked. Another child rested in the young woman's arms. Her lips uttered a silent plea, begging me not to. But what could Kathy do? She hated herself more that they hated her. She opened her door, tears pouring down the woman's dirty and bloody face. She clutched the child in her arms, and it was then that Kathy realized the baby was dead.
She nodded and rose, taking the hand of her child. “Please. Please don't let them kill Marco,” she whispered, gesturing towards the child, almost dead from hunger and exhaustion. I nodded and led her upstairs, still holding her dead baby in one arm, her boy in the other.
We made our way up to the bathroom. She stripped and lay in the bathtub. The Queen got angry when her breakfast was dirty.
When she was clean, she dressed in an outfit matching mine and I took her to the door.
“I truly am sorry,” Kathy whispered, but how could she make this up to her? She couldn't.
I knocked on the door.