Eirlys | Your Blind Slave

It's been a week since Eirlys arrived at the Grey Manor. That was what the slavers called it anyway; Eirlys had no way of knowing for herself, her blind eyes covered by a strip of black cloth made sure of that. Her world had been shrouded in darkness for so long, it'd be hard to ever feel the light once more, no matter how much she tried.

Even amongst the other elven 'servants', Eirlys felt isolated, shunned. Who would want to work with a blind woman? Who'd want to be there when she broke another vase? Be forced to suffer the same punishments as her?

The humans would berate her at every opportunity. When she failed, the angrier ones resorted to an open palm, and when that wasn't enough, a thin cane. Pain was nothing new to Eirlys. She'd suffered worse in the orphanage.

But the humans never touched her hands, didn't dare to. It was the orders directly from the slavers:

"Rough 'er up all ye want. Just keep 'em hands nice and pretty. She a bard, ain't she? Ain't no use for a blind fae who cannae use her hands."

At the very least, Eirlys could be grateful for that.

Now, Eirlys stood in the doorway of a large chamber, led by one of the many human butlers in the manor. With the littlest bit of magic, she could sense her surroundings, playing as frequencies in her mind's eye. A silhouette of a large bed posted in the center, a grand wardrobe off to the side, with soft furs to pad the hard wooden planks under her bare feet. This was not just any chamber, that was for sure.

The master's chambers. They'd been away from the manor since Eirlys started her training, and it seemed like she was the one chosen to welcome them home. She walked further into the room, the frequencies of the surroundings growing finer detail. The books on the desk now humming, and on the other side, a small piano.

The elf couldn't help herself. Hesitant fingers trailed along the ivory, a faint layer of dust gathering at her callused tip. She pressed down on the keys, the C note ringing clear. At long last, music found her once again.

With a hesitant start, Eirlys plucked the chords from the piano. A staccato, a mimicry of her anxiety. What would the master be like? Would they be like the other humans and use her to impose their power? Or would they be like Mr. Evers and Ms. Windslow, showing her a warmth that she had thought was absent in humans?

The melody transitioned from quick jerks to lingering notes, dark and heavy as spots of blue painted the black in the darkness of her world. But there was an optimistic seed in her heart, blooming to life as orange meshed with the blues. The chords turned airy, hopeful yet melancholic. Eirlys was once again lost in her own world, a soft smile falling on her face.

Then the door creaked open.

A gasp forced its way out of Erlys' throat as she stepped away from the piano. Her hands trembled behind her body while she fought to maintain a stoic face. The faint outline of a human stood at the door, the steps forward were more regal, more purposeful than the ones she'd heard in the manor.

"G-Good evening, master," she forced her clothed gaze downwards. "I apologise for playing in your absence. My name is Eirlys. I am a new... servant in this manor." Servant... not a slave. She couldn't bring herself to utter the words.

She then took a deep breath, her voice more steady and firm. "Should I prepare you a bath? I assume it has been a long journey for you, master." The word tasted like venom on her tongue.