When Akan rose silently from his seat, Robellia, not understanding his intention, staggered to her feet and followed. Everything she had endured had conditioned her. Giving Akan a hesitant look, she leaned over the table and lifted her hips, signalling him to finish quickly and let her go.

Akan stared at her for a moment, then abruptly left the dining room without a word.

Whatever thoughts were running through Akan’s mind, they were beyond Robellia’s control. Left behind, she glanced at the m*n standing around, who seemed equally unsure of what to do without orders. She hesitated before reaching for the food on the table. Despite the presence of so many people, the dining hall was eerily quiet, as if it were a funeral parlour.

As she stuffed chunks of potato into her mouth, tears silently rolled down her cheeks, leaving fresh marks on her face. Robellia, whose heart felt hollow, wasn’t even aware that she was crying. With her emotions dulled to nothing, she continued to eat – today, for some reason, no one stopped her, no matter how much she consumed. So she kept on eating, bite after bite.

Robellia thought to herself that nothing really mattered anymore. She wished she could fall asleep after this meal, full and satisfied, and never wake up again. For a fleeting moment, she longed for Lady Suther, a figure who had once felt like a lifeline.

But the festering wound in her soul showed no signs of healing. It only grew worse, festering endlessly.

—

In the end, it was hunger that plagued Robellia the most. But even that seemed to have faded. She no longer waited for Akan out of desperation to stave off starvation. Instead, she began to hope that lying motionless for two or three days without food might bring her a strange kind of peace. Maybe, she thought, this quiet emptiness could become her escape.

In the end, there was nothing Robellia could do. Whether she resisted or tortured herself, the suffering always came back to her. So she decided to surrender completely and accept the numbness. By cutting herself off from everything, she found a semblance of peace in her mind. She thought that by now Akan must be satisfied that she had become completely submissive. She didn’t expect forgiveness – she just hoped that his vengeance had run its course.

But for some reason, another kind of torment began. From a certain day on, a man was always left in her bedroom, day or night. The m*n changed daily, and though each was cruel in his own way, they could not shake Robellia.

Whether forced to have sudden intercourse or beaten with a cane in her sleep, Robellia responded with quiet compliance. Instead of crying or screaming, she simply curled up in silence.

The man guarding her room today was different. He wasn’t cruel – he was childish. He repeatedly patted her head as she lay still in bed, or deliberately tripped her when she went to bathe. When she fell to the floor, sprawled out and unresponsive, he climbed on top of her. That much, at least, was predictable. She wasn’t surprised any more.

Robellia merely winced as the man forced himself into her dry entrance, making no effort to resist. She let him do as he pleased, her body swaying lifelessly with his movements. As soon as he had finished and released her, she got up and slipped into the bathtub. Even the icy water no longer bothered her. It was as if her whole being was frozen; she didn’t even feel the cold.

The man lingered near the tub, seemingly dissatisfied. Suddenly he began to urinate into the water she was sitting in. Robellia was momentarily stunned by the vile and childish act, but she didn’t react. She just stared at the yellow stream until it stopped.

She couldn’t stay in the dirty water. Without even washing herself with soap, Robellia climbed out of the tub. She thought she understood now why Akan didn’t care if she was dirty or not – what did it matter if dirt stuck to an already dirty body? She didn’t want to think about it any more.

Without drying herself, she lay back on the bed, her damp body soaking the sheets. She wished desperately that a fever would set in and put an end to her misery.

The sound of the door opening echoed through the room, but Robellia didn’t bother to open her eyes. There was no need to check whether it was Akan or someone else. It made no difference – whoever it was would only hit or hurt her.

“Robellia.”

At the sound of Akan’s voice, Robellia finally sat up. Better to obey than to be beaten and hurt.

Akan’s gaze lingered on Robellia, who was no longer ashamed to be n*ked in broad daylight. Her complete lack of reaction unsettled him, though he couldn’t explain why. The silence, once tolerable, now irritated him in ways he couldn’t understand. In a strange whim, Akan had made a bet with the m*n assigned to “guard” her: whoever could make Robellia cry or scream would win.

“No one has managed to win the prize, it seems.”

One of the m*n shrugged his shoulders.

Robellia couldn’t quite make out all of Akan’s brief comment, but she did understand one thing: it had something to do with the strange torment she had recently been subjected to. Not that it mattered. What could she do, powerless as she was, caught between life and death?

Akan, on the other hand, was enraged by Robellia’s newfound calm. Compared to the hell he had endured, he felt he had shown her mercy – more than she deserved. Yet she had the audacity to escape into her own fragile semblance of peace. It was unbearable. Her small, fleeting reprieve had to be shattered.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Akan traced a finger along the red welts on Robellia’s pale chest. His touch slid along the soft curve of her flesh, causing Robellia to tilt her head slightly, as if questioning his intent. His fingers moved lower, following the line of her sternum, over her prominent ribs and down to her sunken belly, now thinner than ever.

“I’d say it’s about time you carried a child. What do you think?”

Crack.

The fragile mask Robellia had worn shattered. Her dull, vacant eyes flew open in shock. Undeterred, Akan’s hand continued to trace circles over her abdomen, as if he truly imagined a child growing inside.

Akan tilted his head towards Robellia and spoke softly, his voice low and deliberate.

“I have changed my mind. From now on you will be fed properly and no one will torture you. All to ensure that you give birth to the child safely.”

Robellia’s breathing became uneven. Her once-empty eyes began to glisten, filling with moisture. Akan grinned crookedly, his tone dripping with venom as he continued.

“There’s plenty of time. You could do three or four, I’d imagine.”

He already knew what Robellia feared most: the prospect of pregnancy. She feared it as much as the other enslaved women Akan had met.

A slave’s child is born a slave. To the slave traders, enslaved women were no different from golden geese – imprisoned and forced to bear offspring until their dying breath.

Akan’s tongue flicked over his upper lip as he leaned closer. What he really wanted to devour wasn’t Robellia’s body, but the living terror that now filled her eyes, sharper and more satisfying than anything else.