Then she wondered if she could be able to see Her when She came, wondered how far off She was now. Not very far, it felt. She had heard about the powe... of the dead to drive away all mortal courage, had scoffed at that, having no morbid horror of the dead herself. You could always tell when the dead were touching you, that sudden chill, the goosebumps, the way the hair on your scalp felt electrically charged. But this was a different sort of terror. To wait, wait, wait, perhaps for the rest of. “Your not even marked.” the girl squeaked in surprise.Tracey knew what she was referring to, as per her own orders each slave was marked on her behind with a number. It was etched onto the girls right buttock with a burning stick, the heat and the charred wood leaving a distinct mark. It wasn't permanent but it lasted a month, Tracey knew that permanently marking a girl was a matter of choice among slave owners. Some wanted to put a big bold brand on the girl marking her as hos property while. More

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