"Girl when you are finished with the wash, tend to His bedclothing.." always that, Kara's own world, locked away within the Knight's Keep. Warlord, past his prime, the purchase of slave flesh to naught but warm his bed. Something pretty for his pillows, his own inabilty to use the flesh, not spoken of. Better that way.
Kara's birth to slaves, owned from birth, raised in that perfected innocence within servants chambers of the Knight's keep. Trained to serve, nothing else. Untouched of course, for that was her placement. Purity to usher the one who ruled the Keep to his slumber where battles he would fight in nightmares older then time, would awaken him, cheeks wet with the tears of times long past, finally feeling pain. Her duty as she came into womanhood, to play her flute, cast him back into gentle slumber with lullaby. Sooth him, as a good pet would. Always trained for such, had it not been his will for her. The others bore his anger, his rage at his impotence. Not her, she was sheltered from his anger, for her very presence soothed. Used against the others, that was. She would watch them coming from their time, bloodied, hurt. Always thought they must have angered him some how, was he not fair and just to her? The same who gave her little gifts, kissed her forehead as she napped at his side. His little Kara. "Nevermind their gazes, Kara, they are bitter things and you mine little angel, you will never be as such. Never be as them. Come sing for Master.." His will, always never her own. She had never known freedom so why should she miss such?
Beautiful perfection, her manners of slaveflesh, her heart of almost aching purity. Sweeter cast, as she would tend to duties given, never realizing the jealous gazes of Sisters within the chain. Complete her tasks, spend her time on knees beside his bed, telling stories or simply listening. Providing peace to the flesh that rebelled against him, to the hand of death that gripped to tightly, time stealing the very body of him, before mind was gone.
She was with him, when he passed, her song singing him to the next land. Crueler that night when sisters cast her out of Keep.
"Virgin" they spit. "Unworthy to even rouse him" Cast out she was, from home, from his side. Sent by rider to the deeper realm, into the town of Nath, with only the coin he had given her once for spending money. Planned to buy Him gifts, to make him smile, now all she had in the world possessed within. Unknowing of the very town she had come from, for what were such names to His angel? Stranger the very knowledges she did have, useless to a homeless cast out slave upon the wintered streets of the Heart of the Empire. Unknowing the dangers that waited, the bruise upon shoulder gifted from the flute, thrown out after her, as useless now as she was. Fear for the first time known to her. Innocence an overwhelming thing. Surely they would return for her. Surely someone would know, would send for her.