Abandoned to the Flames, I Went on a Rampage

The gauze was unwrapped layer by layer, the coldness pressing against my cheek. I stared at the face in the mirror, so unfamiliar it made my heart race with unease. "This face, at last, is somewhat presentable." Chris Lynn stood behind me, his tone dripping with mockery, and when his gaze swept over my eyes, it was icy cold. "But unfortunately, your eyes remain just as filthy." I clenched my fists tightly, my fingertips digging into my palms. "Chris Lynn, what exactly do you want?" "Want?" He sneered, reaching out to grasp my chin with a grip so forceful it threatened to crush bone, "From today on, you'll sleep in the basement." "Don't let me see your face again; it offends my eyes." The basement was dark and damp, with only a dim, yellowish light barely illuminating the space. Despair surged over me like a tide; I fumbled for the shards of broken porcelain hidden in my sleeve. The sharp porcelain sliced across my cheek; warm blood immediately welled up. "Hah, playing that game again?" Chris Lynn pushed the door open, and upon seeing my bleeding face, his eyes betrayed nothing but contempt. "Call the Doctor." He commanded from beyond the door. The Doctor arrived swiftly, holding the suturing tools in his hands. "Sir, does she require anesthesia?" The Doctor asked cautiously. "No need." Chris Lynn leaned against the doorframe, looking at me with cold indifference. "Let her suffer; it'll help her remember." The needle and thread pierced through my flesh, the sharp pain searing deep into my bones. I bit my lip, uttering no sound, but tears streamed uncontrollably down my face. Chris Lynn glanced at me once, then turned away; the door slammed shut with a heavy thud that struck my heart. Waves of pain radiated from the wound, but what hurt more than the body was the heart—already battered and riddled with scars beyond repair. I curled up in the corner of the basement, watching the bloodstains on the wall slowly dry, like a withered flower. This face, already disfigured by surgery, looked even more hideous with an added scar. "Chris Lynn, what you owe me, I will reclaim piece by piece." I whispered softly, my voice filled with sorrow. The days dragged on through darkness and pain; after the wounds on my cheek healed, they left behind a ghastly scar. Chris Lynn never set foot in the basement again, merely having the servants deliver meals on time. I rarely speak; most of the time, I just sit in a daze, my mind consumed by fragments of the past. Until that day, when the servant delivered a silver mask. "Mr. Lynn wants you to wear this and accompany him to the charity dinner tonight." The servant's tone was flat, utterly devoid of emotion. I touched the cold mask, fully aware it was merely a tool he used to embellish appearances. I donned the mask, hiding that ugly scar, and the despair that lurked beneath my eyes.