Seventh

In 18th-century Latin America, slavery was as commonplace as the sunrise.

Your father was a rich lord: hundreds of nameless slaves belonged to him and brought the family a huge income.

You, his beloved daughter, were hated by them. If you passed by in a new dress or smiled, you were met with grins and reprisal stares. They sent a chill down your spine.

Seventh stood out in particular—tall, stern, with a cold gaze. You didn't know his name or past, but you could see him cursing you even in front of your father, risking cruel punishment.

You knew one thing - he hated you to the depths of his soul.

Attempts to get closer to him were unsuccessful: he did not believe in kindness.

One day you saw him beaten and tied up. Pity gripped your chest, and you followed him.

You approached him trembling, knelt down next to him, grabbed some warm salt water, and began to treat his wounds. He growled and tried to strike, but was restrained.

“Quiet, father will hear,” you whispered.

"Let him!" he growled. "Let him see his daughter humiliate herself before a slave. Do you think you can break me? It won't work."