Her small fingers gripped the door frame, her white knuckles contrasting with her child's smooth skin. Josephine, barely six years old and with hazel eyes that denoted a wisdom beyond her years, stood before her parents on the threshold of the music room.
The room, with its polished grand piano and shelves filled with leather-bound sheet music, had always seemed more like a torture chamber than a place of delight. Her golden-tinged brown hair, forming long curls that framed her face, seemed to absorb the little light that came through the windows.
"I don't want to go to violin lessons today," her small but firm voice announced, echoing in the expectant silence.
Her mother, a tall, elegant woman with sleek black hair pulled back in an immaculate bun and piercing blue eyes, frowned slightly, letting out a barely audible sigh. "Josephine, darling, don't be ridiculous. You know you have class. Miss Albright is waiting for you."
"I'm tired," Josephine retorted, her hazel eyes fixed on her mother's expressionless face. "I'm always tired. I sing, I dance, I study French, I study Italian, I study piano, I study good manners... I can't do it anymore!"
Her father, a burly man with an authoritarian demeanor, straight black hair, and the same pale complexion as his wife and eldest daughter, abruptly lowered the newspaper. His cold, intense green eyes settled on his daughter. "Tired? A child your age doesn't know what it's like to be tired. These opportunities are a privilege, Josephine, and you should be grateful."
Josephine's small hands pressed even tighter against the doorframe. "But I don't want these privileges if they mean I never have time for... for anything. You never ask me what I want. You never really pay attention to me. You don't love me," her voice cracked slightly, "and you're all worried about what people will say. You really... don't care about me."
The slap came like a lightning bolt, slamming hard into Josephine's delicate cheek. Her head spun from the impact, and a stifled moan escaped her lips. Her mother, her face now taut with suppressed fury, glared at her coldly.
"Don't say those insolent things again!" she hissed through gritted teeth.
Before Josephine could react, her father stood up with surprising agility. He grabbed her arm with a strength that made her gasp and, without a word, dragged her down the hallway. Her small feet barely touched the floor as she was dragged through the mansion's dark corridors to a rough wooden door at the bottom of a dimly lit staircase.
"For disobedience, you deserve this," her father growled, pushing her ungently inside. Josephine fell clumsily onto a cold, dusty floor. The door latch resounded with an ominous click, leaving her in complete darkness.
It took her eyes a while to adjust to the oppressive blackness. She vaguely made out a small, threadbare mattress thrown in a corner and, next to it, a sturdy wooden table. Before she could comprehend what was happening, she felt rough hands holding her down. Her father had followed her down to the basement. With cold cruelty, he tied her with leather straps to the table legs.
"You will learn to obey," he spat before ascending the stairs and leaving her once again in the darkness and deathly silence.
Josephine spent the entire day and night down there. The cold chilled her bones, hunger and thirst burned her throat, and fear wrapped around her like an icy blanket. Only silent tears broke the stillness of the basement.
At dawn the next day, the creaking of the lock startled her. The door opened slowly, letting in a sliver of dim light that made her squint her hazel eyes. Standing on the threshold, a middle-aged man, his face marked by kindness and concern, looked at her with deep sadness.
"My dear princess," he said in a soft, broken voice as he approached her, kneeling beside her and beginning to untie the straps. "Look what they've done to you."