Let's be logical about this. Is running away really the best idea?

  Katharina was painfully aware of the obvious risks. She would be alone in a foreign world where she didn’t know the roads, didn’t know the laws, and didn’t even speak the language. If she escaped, there was every chance she’d be caught and dragged back here, assuming they didn’t have some even worse fate for runaways.

  But from what she could tell, this place was somewhere in an era between the Middle Ages and the early Renaissance. Not that she could claim to be a history expert, but she did know a few things. However, with 'magic' in the mix, or whatever it was that controlled her, it was hard to tell how advanced their technology really was.

  If I just knew how the brand works. And how they talk in that commanding way. It would make it all so much easier.

  Her plan had just been to learn the ways of this place and lay low. But now with this opportunity, to go unsupervised outside of the manor, the possibilities were too tantalizing to let slip from her fingers.

  Even if running away was still too risky, she could at the very least survey the surroundings. Determine something basic about her geographic location. There was still the off chance that this was some secluded cult in the Midwest… though she didn’t really believe that.

  Just a few steps outside this manor, that's all I'm asking for.

  Walking toward Furrow-Brows' lesson, they were already in the gloomy hallway, so the time for contemplation was ebbing out. She would have to get in there and make herself be sent out to run laps.

  Over the last few days, Katharina had learned a thing or two about the brand. When she annoyed the instructor, intentionally or not, she could feel it ever so slightly in the brand.

  Also, if she listened closely, she could sometimes feel the consequence of an action she was about to take. Most of the time, the feeling was negligible, but if she was about to do something incredibly stupid, even if the instructor wasn't looking, it would let her know with a spine-burning warning.

  She went around the room, touching different objects, listening for any sign from the brand that an object was not to be picked up.

  The angel figure from last week didn't do much; she could just feel the usual hum of prickling in her shoulder. But going near the big vase, the one 'Runner' almost broke, gave a hot sensation. I'm sure we can do better than this.

  She kept walking, letting her finger glide over the clutter, while the other girls found their spots in the room. Time was running short. But that was when she suddenly felt a sharp stab as her fingers caressed the cold cheek of an old clay doll.

  Perfect, there is something about this hideous doll.

  I hope he squirms when it falls to the floor.

  As she picked up the doll, she shot a glance at Furrow-Brows and saw that he was glaring at her; he, too, must have felt her offence. With all her might, she clenched her jaw and suppressed the urge to let go while she felt the pain spreading like a crystal growing rapidly.

  Lifting the doll in front of her, she started to wonder how to naturally fake her arms growing tired. But it didn’t matter as she only managed to stand there for a few seconds before the man came shouting incoherently at her, smacking her with the feathery end of his choice weapon, the duster.

  She was sent out the door like a schoolgirl on her way to detention, only to feel the brand’s tug guiding her into a run.

  This was it, her plan was taking form. She made her way down the hallway in a slight jog, outpacing the pull of the brand. Every turn she took toward the foyer felt so good. This is it! My chance, I just have to get out, and wait until no one is looking, then I'll make a run for it.

  Running laps around the manor was an absurd punishment of endurance for the crime of picking the wrong piece of clutter. But at the moment she stepped through the front door, Katharina couldn't be more thrilled about the absurdity of this place.

  Even if she only got to scout the area, she would make every second of today count. So, screw that old man and his downward curling eyebrows.

  The manor was large, and she knew that from her walks to the fields, which had taken her through a number of gardens.

  A lap covered just a portion of the inner grounds. She started at the main entrance, jogging past the long facade of the building before turning onto the neat paths that cut through rose gardens and apple orchards, where the scent of dry blossoms hung pungent in the air.

  She passed a training ground she had never seen, where people and horses leapt over obstacles, clouds of dust rising from the dry earth. No one paid her any mind as she ran along the perimeter, their shouts and the thud of hooves blurring into the pounding of her feet.

  She ran past the stables where she had spent the first two weeks at the manor. And for just a short while, not more than a hundred meters, she got to enjoy the cool shade of a small forest before heading back in the direction of the main entrance, completing her lap, and starting anew.

  Alright, this lap, I'll break free. The little forest is perfect. I'll just have to save my energy until I get there.

  About what felt like twenty minutes later, she reached the forest for the second time, and she could feel herself tensing up with anticipation. The brand was reacting accordingly, burning hotter with each thought of escape that crossed her mind.

  Halfway through the forest, there was a crossroads, and taking the left turn would bring her back to the manor. So this time, she was determined to turn right.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  As she approached the crossroads, she readied herself. Just turn right.

  But just like how GPS can get confused when you don't follow the route, it took a minute for Katharina to realize that she didn't turn right. She turned left, like the brand wanted her to.

  What the heck happened?

  I could have sworn I turned right.

  But up ahead, she saw the forest edge, and beyond it a familiar silhouette of a large manor bathed in bright sunlight.

  This wasn't right, figuratively or literally. She was supposed to be on her way to survey her options, find out how she could escape. Not run another lap.

  Don't panic.

  No one is gonna think it's weird that you keep running.

  You can just turn right on the next lap.

  As she passed the training ground for the third time, she could feel her unathleticism choking her as her breath had gotten shaper and more rapid. Damn, I'll have to slow down once I reach the forest.

  And that was exactly what she did when she reached the forest again, she slowed her pace as much as the brand would allow without the pain becoming unbearable, and in a brisk walk, she approached the crossroad.

  In her mind, she chanted. right, right, right.., and as she followed the path, she felt her feet moving her in a smooth curve, turning like a train on tracks straight onto the left path. She felt ridiculous as she speedwalked along the forest path exactly like the brand wanted, a sole power walker on a mission that wasn't her own. Frustrated with the inability to control her own body, and scared that her plan was crumbling, she sped back up to a slow jog because third time is the charm.

  Shit, I can't be stuck out here running until I'm called back in.

  I'll have to turn next round, if I'm gonna have enough time.

  'Runner' had only run seven or eight laps, and Katharina was sweatily making good work of her fourth; she had already been out there for more than an hour at least, and it was getting ridiculous.

  Finally, she just stood unmoving in the middle of the crossroads. Looking at the direction she wanted to go, while feeling her feet slowly inching toward the opposite direction. She was so close; if she could just take that next step.

  "Come on, you can do it."

  "Just one little step."

  A bitter giggle carried in her words, as her own encouragement fell on deaf ears. And she knew that if she lifted her feet now, they would not go right; they would obediently trot straight back to the manor.

  "FUUUUUUCCK!!!"

  Her scream made the birds in the branches above take flight, and their panicked cooing echoed in the small forest. Why can I scream but not turn? Tears were welling up in her eyes as she, for the third time, ran back toward the manor.

  By noon, Katharina's hair was so drenched with sweat that it clung to her neck. Her feet dragged beneath her. She hadn't gotten any closer to turning right since her fourth round, and now she was too tired to even try.

  As she ran, she was heaving for air. Her tongue was dry and raspy, like sandpaper, and it scraped against her palate with every gasp she took. The people she met on her path made way for her, as though she were royalty or a filthy beggar not to be touched. She was so thirsty, but no one offered, and even when she ran past the water troughs by the stables, she couldn't stop; she just kept running.

  The hot sun was creating waves in the air, or was it just the nausea blurring her vision? She felt like throwing up, sweat dripping into her mouth, mixing saltiness with the ever-growing taste of iron.

  Her legs were shaking hard. But the punishment’s pull, anchored like a barbed arrow in her shoulder, dragged her forward, step by step. Little black dots had started appearing before her vision, and they seemed to be growing larger with each step, before consuming everything, leaving only the rushing of her own pulse in her ears, until the rough ground caught her like a welcoming pillow.

  The first thing that came back was the pain. She felt a sharp burning pain of someone rubbing their knuckles against her sternum, the force grinding into her skin.

  Then came sound. Someone far away was calling her name, and they had an accent. She could hear them coming closer, but the pain was so ferocious she couldn't keep her train of thought. Who the fuck was rubbing their grubby hands against her chest? It hurt like hell.

  “The fuck do you think you’re doing?” she snapped, voice hoarse, her eyes snapping open.

  At first, she saw nothing but a black void. Slowly, though, the world around her returned. Standing above her, she saw Marek’s face, shadowed against the sunlight, his eyes filled with concern as he looked down at her, a small wooden cup in his hand.

  For a moment, he looked like a guardian angel, descending from the heavens to save her from this misery. He held the cup to her lips, and the lukewarm liquid felt like the freshest spring. And as she swallowed, she felt her body relax.

  That was when the pull came.

  It started as a twitch in her shoulder, then yanked, sharp and relentless, the barbed arrow was back. Her knees scraped the gravel as she stumbled upright, the cup clattering from Marek’s hand.

  She looked at Marek, panic in her eyes.

  But it didn’t matter. The brand pulled, and her body obeyed, dragging her back into the heat, into the rhythm of her punishment.

  Make it stop, please.

  I'm sorry I picked the ugly doll.

  I promise, I'll never do it again.

  She could no longer run, but simply stumbled her way through the laps. Unable to stop, no matter how hard she wishes it. When was this punishment supposed to end? Wasn't she going back to the lesson like the other girl?

  No matter how confused and exhausted Katharina was, she just kept stumbling forward. If felt like she had been left out here to run herself to death.

  When dusk finally came and Katharina's feet turned toward the steps of the main entrance, she felt the release of the commanding brand. She sank to the steps, pressing her forehead against the cool stone, the last light of the day pooling across the gravel she had circled endlessly.

  There was no way she was getting back up on her own, but she didn't have to lie there for long before two guards came to scoop up her limp body from lying unsightly in front of the main entrance. They dragged her all the way to her room, letting her hang limp between them, her feet catching every bump and step on the way to the upper floor. They let her fall right in front of her room with a heavy thump, leaving her to claw her way back into bed.

  As Katharina lay in bed that night, the day had seemed so comically absurd that she could hardly believe it had actually taken place; only the seething pain in her limbs told her otherwise, and if anyone had told her it had just been a silly fever dream, she would not have batted an eye.

  But the fever dreams were only just beginning.

  That night, she kept waking in tears, and whenever sleep found her, a nightmare of her running endlessly toward her family home that never got closer, her mother's endless calling beckoning her to 'come home' would play over and over.

  When morning finally came, it wasn’t salvation. At best, it offered the brief escape of breakfast before the real nightmare of the waking took hold of her.

  She knew that from now on, she would wake up like that every day, convinced that she was finally free of the terrible nightmares, only to realize she was still here.

  Trapped in a body that carried her to the next lessons, the next unpredictable punishments, and bowing to commands she couldn't yet understand.

  She hated it, all of it, every single second. As days grew to weeks, she found that what she hated most were the nightmares that kept her up at night, leaving her tired and numb, wandering through the day a passenger in her own body.

  Only the echoing memories of her mom's smile and her boyfriend's laugh kept her anchored in the person she used to be.