The Day Of My Death ~Engelstalig~

I remember the day I died. I was told it’s one of those days you will never be able to forget, and it’s true. Because I’ve grown centuries older, but I can still recall what happened.
Of course, as every story goes, the day started out as normal, but ended differently.
I awoke along with the sun and got up from my cold bed of hay, located on the floor. I knew my master was expecting breakfast soon so I got up and put on my thin fabric dress. It was too cold for the winter days, but I never received warmer clothing than the clothes I had on.
Even with my ten years of age, I never complained about being tired or sore anymore, I knew better.
It was a lesson I had learned quickly three winters ago when my father had to sell me. We had been poor for as long as I knew what “being poor” meant. And when my mother got pregnant again there just wasn’t any money to take care of the baby.
And so they sold me.
I was sold to a wealthy man that promised to take good care of me. Of course he lied. When he asked me to make him dinner that night and I told him that I didn’t know how to and that I was tired, he beat me.
Not just once, not even twice. I was beaten thoroughly. But as all my memories of my past life, this one has faded as well.
The day of my death was a cold one, and when I had made my master breakfast I was told to clean the path that lead to the house. I had snowed overnight, and the guests that my master was going to receive that afternoon would not want to walk through the snow.
So I walked outside with a broom and started pushing the snow around, clearing a path to the door. My hands were frozen when I returned inside and I had lost the feeling in my feet an hour ago. I decided to sit in front of the fire to warm them up before I made lunch.
My master found me sitting in front of the fireplace and grew angry suddenly, telling me I did not work hard enough and that he was sorry he even bought me. I stumbled an apology as he dragged me outside, grabbing my thin dress and towing me across the ground.
I asked him what I did wrong, but only got a slap in my face as an answer, I felt blood trickle down my lips and started crying. Something he didn’t take too well either because he slapped me again.
I silenced at that second hit and tried to walk along with him as he dragged me to a cliff next to the house.
We lived near the sea, the house standing just away from the edge of a cliff. I never liked it, I was always afraid that the rocks would break and the house would come crashing down along with them. I was afraid of heights, so when I noticed the place he was dragging me to I started to struggle, and even when he hit me again and again I didn’t stop struggling.
‘Please! I did not do anything! I have cleaned the path to your house, I wanted to warm my hands, forgive me’ I struggled to speak through split lips.
My words were not acknowledged and he pulled me up to look at him. ‘Your parents have passed away. Their village was burned down by barbarians,’ my master spoke to me.
I listened to his words speechlessly, back then I was wondering if he was lying, but he was not.
‘And now that they have died, I cannot use you anymore to blackmail them into sending me more money, you are useless to me’ he continued, and that’s when it dawned on me.
My poor parents, who had to, but didn’t want to, sell their daughter to take care of a yet unborn baby. Blackmailed into sending money they didn’t have.
My master was truly a cruel man. A very, very cruel man.
That was my only thought as he hurled me over the edge of the cliff.
The water was cold, even colder than the snow. As all the people that time, I did not know how to swim. People back then only sunk. And sunk is what I did as well.
Foot by foot my body floated down into the dark depths of the sea. It wasn’t long before I died.