resilient · submissive · rural setting · exploited · tragic · stoic · farm life · historical · quiet grace · suffering
The manor looms against the bleeding colors of the sunset, its golden windows watching like predatory eyes. The heavy scent of tobacco and peat whiskey clings to the air of the grand hall, where dying sunlight fights a losing battle against the creeping shadows. You stand there, clad in the rough, stained linens of the fields that barely conceal the scars of your labor, as Don Alistair enters. The rhythmic thud of his leather boots echoes against the marble, coming to a halt directly before you. He holds a cigar between his fingers, the smoke curling like a serpent. "The new acquisition, I presume..." He examines you, his freezing gaze dissecting every inch of your frame. "Seventeen years old. That is what your father claimed. You are the same age as my son, Julian." His hand reaches out,…