***

I died, but time still flew.

How ridiculously obvious that sounded. My death definitely would not stop time, though for some reason, I ended up scrubbing the already pristine-looking marble floor instead.

"Oy, do your job properly." The lady in white kicked my brush away, yet ironically made me clean harder. If you want my job done properly, would brushing with my bare hands be better? Very ironic, really... not that I could complain.

This was Clara, an old matron who bossed around using her seniority. Her name was too cute for her, so I dubbed her Vinegar, much more fitting with her perpetually grumpy face.

"Understood." I replied meekly as I fix the mess of scattered droplets. This was the rule of thumb around here, be docile and you live a relatively peaceful life.

Vinegar let me off with a humph, and a final touch of tossing hair. I abhorred that show-off behavior of hers because overflowing dandruff always sprayed under. I could only steel my will in keeping movements frozen.. After few moments, I finally gave in and breathed, hoping that all the debris of previous encounter had settled enough to be inhaled...

Marble cleaner, errand girl, bottom of the pyramid. This was me. A twenty year old college student who lived a rather short life only to find myself as slave. How nice was that?

Five years since my unfortunate accident, I have thought a lot about many things.

Some of which were, why I could still think? What happened? What now?

Without much option and having reality in my face, I concluded that I did die and got reincarnated, or something of the sort.

That this world was not the one I previously knew.

That this world was one of swords and magic.

That I was powerless to change my fate.

Really, how frustrating. What, just what, was my retained memories for?!

When you lose everything, there was supposed to be a clean slate for you to start over with. Imagine, there was no mistakes and all to torment me, just all these possibilities of what I could do with otherworldly memories. But no, my fate dictate my starting slate be one of the worst kind, slave at birth. Was this the prize of being ahead of people my age? I felt toyed and have someone laughing behind my back, for some reason.

Sometimes, I wished I should have just lost everything when my vision went dark right with my life, my memories included. So that nothing would be haunting me with regret every single time I had to lower my head for reasons that were unreasonable. So that, I won't be greedy for things I once took for granted. So that, I don't long for things I never experienced in this life.

...But then again, without my previous life's memories, all I would have were memories of this world, a nonstop work-eat-sleep cycle. A life so empty, I would rather bask in the bittersweet past that would never be. It became my only relief in this dreary life.

For short, I was torn whether having memories of previous life was worth it when I couldn't even life a finger to get of my everyday monotone existence.

As for the worlds in general, this one was not so cheerful either. After my entrance, which was birth, I did not even had the chance to look at my birth mother as I got handed to some cloaked woman who whisked me away to a mansion, this place called Orphanage, yet piggery was what I saw.

Stupid parents sold their children here in this world, where newborns grew as perfect slaves. Knowing nothing besides serving, they were also indoctrinated to not ask for more. Thoughts like blind obedience, and insect-worth of existence was ingrained to their bones. It was all they ever knew. To put it in a picture, this Orphanage could be painted as an underground slave factory. Every year, all five year olds were called out to be presented in front of 'visitors'. We would be asked to do things, the same thing we had been rehearsing since we could walk. Clean. More disturbingly, did I mention we were all girls?

Next month, it would my batch's turn. My age-mates were all excited, hoping they would get 'adopted' by rich and kind parents. With all their expecting eyes and giggling remarks, it was obvious they do not even know the definition of slaves.

We shouldn't, yet I knew.

And still, I would be sold. Just knowing things does not give me power to change anything. I was as powerless like everyone else in the Orphanage. Clara could pretend all high and mighty, but that was the end of it because, the bottom line was, she was also a slave like me, less than human in every equation and infinitely nothing more.

I sighed. This must be the effect of stress that never ended, developing inferiority complex which caused depressing pessimism. So, before self-deprecation further deepen my grave, I shook all negative thoughts aside and pasted a practiced smile on my lips.

---

"Now, behave nicely. Delicious food await good girls!"

"""Yes, Lady Moran."""

This was the day. A group of little girls have wonderfully lined up in an organized line. Everyone was tidied up with clean white dress that dangled silly frills at its hem. They all exuded a beam of purity, radiating from their innocent eyes. Excitement could almost be felt pulsing in this shack of room, and, of course, I had inconspicuously mixed in. With my wide eyes and toothy grin, I was confidently resembling a cute puppy waiting for bones to fetch.

After a few more fuss, Moran, together with Vinegar and their like, ushered us towards the newly furnished vintage door. The gates to my future minutely creaked, until an exuberant hall boomed down my eyes. This was the first time I got to enter this room, and I must say that at least fifty percent of renovation budget was generously spared in this relatively small space. Sparkling chandeliers, red carpets, flashy candelabras, and giant ivory statue of the goddess Khrys were displayed flamboyantly. Around the room were people that donned luxurious clothes, easily catching the eye despite the distance and unpleasantly round bellies that it covered. Most of them were men, around forties, and were really overweight. These was not exactly bad, but the way their eyes settled down on these pure angels were simply goosebump-inducing.

We filed in, then settled to a neat circle before our visitors. There was no long table occupying most of the room, instead, there was just comfy chairs and sofas around the edges, highlighting our little group in the middle of the hall. My smile started to get strained as I consciously took on their stares. Some were heavily lidded with lust. Some were calculating expiry dates. One was colder still, with blank face that reminded me of the void of death I kept buried.

Personally, I actually wanted to be picked by those pigs. Their type was usually synonymous to stupid, so my chances of escape was the highest with them. The calculating type were the root of the word slave-driver, capable of milking you even when only blood dripped, though I guess you could bribe them with elite service to make your life easier. The last type would be least desirable. They were hard to predict as their intentions were never clear. Like a lottery, their type covers a wide range of heaven and hell, and I rather not risk my freedom for either.

As I played various scenarios and counter-measures in my head while diligently sweeping the floor, someone broke the show with a grunt. With a pointing finger and steady eyes, he spoke, "I want her mine."

***