Ayala Short Stories

It was true. Several of the maidens and their families left the compound as soon as the food supply became scarce. Her Master had not been outside of the home in months as his appearance became increasingly unrecognizable—even to her. It made her sad to see the man she’d grown to admire succumb to such an unexplainable illness and tragedies that surpassed human limitations.
Ayala always thought that one day she would marry herself a man much like her Master… someone rich, handsome, and who took care of his wife in a grand and regal manner. The man she’d spend the rest of her life with would be able to afford the elegant apparel she’d adorn…just like her Mistress. She would even assist him in his business affairs—as much as she could. Mostly, she would run an
It was her Mistress, clutching her wrap—shielding herself from the cool night air.
“May we talk,” her Mistress asked?
Reaching for her own cloak and wrapping herself inside, she watched her mother exit the room.
Immediately jumping out of bed and falling to her knees, she pressed her eye against the tiny hole that had been in the door for as long as she could remember. She stared hard at the two ladies as they sat on the steps just outside their living quarters. The intense look on her mother’s face while she examined the reddened blistered area seeming to cover her Mistress’ forearm, spoke of the rare instance she’d ever seen her worry.
“Let me get you something to put on that,” she said. “It’s a nasty burn and you have to take care of it.” When she opened the door to their room, she laid as still as possible pretending to be asleep. She’d almost been caught—her mother coming back into their room like that. As soon as she left again, she slipped out of bed and listened in on the conversation the women found themselves engaged in.
“Why couldn’t I have died too,” her Mistress asked—crying out in pain as her mother tended to the