I picked up an iron candlestick, and raised my duster to clean it's bottom. Suddenly, I felt a startling vibration in my neck, complete with a small tone. Did I accidentally touch an exposed wire? Fearful, I dropped the candlestick to grab my neck, the source of the shock. As the candlestick hit the ground with a thud, the other girls turned to look at me. Two of them giggled at each other, but one of them quietly came over to me and said in a whisper, "That's a pager in your collar. It means that mistress is summoning you to the upstairs office. You'd best hurry, so you don't get in trouble." Relieved, I thanked her and hurried, well, hobbled, really, to mistress's office.
My name is Amber, and I have light blue eyes and I'm of a medium build, with neck-length, straight pink hair.
As you can probably tell, I'm slightly new at this. As is customary for most first-born children this day and age, I was sold into the underground slave market on my 18th birthday. It is a quiet, unspoken un