Morning came on heavy and slow, all that could be made of it was the light entering through the cellar's small window.
Zarqa resisted waking up as much as she could, not yet ready to rediscover the reality imposed on her.
The shuffling and movement all around didn't help her much in that regard. The other women bundled up their makeshift beds and scurried out the now-open door.
Zarqa all but dragged herself up with annoyance, the rustling of the chains nipping at her nerves with every movement. She filed along with the other women out of the cellar and into the kitchen, where Marwa served them a simple breakfast, hard bread and cheese.
It was a simple space, large, but was no different from the kitchen in her own home, with sagging shelves and cracked walls. Of course, as the rich don't expect to take anyone into their kitchen, they care little for its appearance.
What comes out of it is what matters the most after all.
