Duty-bound. Shackled 'round her small bare ankles. Not everything is so literal. Her slavery isn't on paper. Her master doesn't wield a whip. (Unless they're in the bedroom.) His face is those of all men who came before -- he looks just like his father. Her face is bland, and her eyes are wide and tearful, like all the victims who came before. This sacred institution is a sham. There's no democracy here. 100 years later, the story will be different, but these fields, those walls, will never forget what they saw.
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