Chapter 1- The Price of Being Poor
I was born in filth
Not the kind you can wash off with water but the kind that seeps into your skin, into your bones, and brands you less than human. My first memories were of hunger - an ache in my belly so deep that it became a part of me, like my own ribs pressing against my skin. Hunger was my lullaby, the so sound of my mother's quiet weeping was one my comfort.
Varush was a country ruled by war and wealth, and we had neither. In the slum, people didn't live they survived. Every breath was stolen from the hands of those stronger, richer, or more desperate. The street were filled with beggars, thieves, and those too weak to be either. I learned young that kindness was a currency no one could afford.
My mother, Rasha, was one beautiful or so I was told but I had only ever known her as a shadow of a woman, her cheeks hollowed, her eyes sunken with exhaustion. When she held me, her arms are bones wrapped in thin papery skin.
She tried her best I think. She went days without food to give me a few bites of stolen bread. But love couldn't fill an empty stomach.
And so she sold me.
I remember the night so clearly, the shack we lived in reeked of damp wood and trash. I was sitting on the ground, gnawing at n the stale crust of a loaf when the door creaked open. My mother's hands trembled as she guided a man dressed in wealth. His boots were polished leather, his cloak thick and warm. I could tell, even at ten years old he didn't belong here. The man crouched before me, his eyes scanning me like I was livestock l.
"She's small" he muttered
"She's stronger than she looks" my mother whispered
"Can she read"
"No"
"Obedient?"
My mother hesitated. I was not obedient, and we both knew it. But then she nodded "she will be". A cold coin landed on the wooden floor between them.
My mother wouldn't look at me when she told me to stand. She wouldn't meet my eyes as she whispered, "Liana go with him." I didn't move.
Her fingers dug into my arm, bony and weak, but still firm. "Go."
There was no crying, no begging, no farewell. I think that hurt the most. She didn't even try to fight for me but I suppose she knew there was no fight to win and so I went
That was the night I knew what I was worth. A single silver coin.