Intense in Dreams

In third person perspective, I saw/experienced a house like the one from ‘a handmaidens tale’ with a whole slew of servants, which served a wealthy family. They were mostly white- I think- and I say that because the one girl that I focused on was distinctly Asian. She was very androgynous. Her face was round, plain, and a little pudgy. Her body was also remarkably unremarkable. She was a very low caste servant in the household- the lowest, in fact. Her clothes were so shabby they barely covered her, and it didn’t seem that she minded at all. She seemed to be intelligent but chose not to experience the dullness and hopelessness of her life.
A convoy arrived at the house to be entertained. Among them were several very powerful people, most were not interesting enough to focus on, but one was. He was another Asian, again the only one among all white people. He held a place of highest power- sitting on a pillowed pedestal which made him taller than his white compatriots, and they surrounded him as if at the ready to provide whatever it was he happened to want. He was a sort of rotund man, dressed in heavy armor like the samurai, wearing a sword, and also a lot of jewelry. He was also very curiously androgynous. His girth and hairless boyish face made him seem less masculine- even though he was clearly dressed the part of a powerful man.
After the convoy arrived and were in the house, the servants were assembled to sort of familiarize themselves with the guests. I think there was also tacit understanding that the guests may choose whom they like from the servants to entertain themselves. The Asian girl was and continued to be very determinedly absentminded. Throughout the introduction, she was chastised at least 3 times by name (very bad) and more with social disapproval. When she was told to change her shirt, there was a disquieting moment that she suddenly felt the terror of her predicament. It oozed from her, and the samurai man instantaneously honed in on it. She became very aware of his attention- there was nothing for her to do except accept his attention, and try to change as unobtrusively as possible. There was no way to disobey, nor to leave, nor to acknowledge direct attention until she’d obeyed, and remain living there. So she did. She disrobed her shabby shirt and quickly donned a new one. There was nothing remarkable or revealing about her act, but it was exquisitely vulnerable and humiliating. The other girl servants swayed and murmured and made distracting gestures so as to lessen her ordeal, but the samurai man was not convinced.
At this point, my awareness switched to first person with the Asian girl.
I experienced a dissociating amount of anxiety, of terror, and preoccupation. “M-!” the headmistress hissed, “Get over here and kiss so we can fucking not die!” I was called by name again, and quickly jumped to obey once again. I saw the samurai man smirk at my quick obedience- stumbling to plant my lips on a ring proffered.
Some time passed, and I was working my butt off doing all my regular chores plus some. I climbed into a shared bed that I understood was mine to sleep in during certain hours- only a few here and there. I was bone tired, and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
I awoke suddenly, startled, distressed, flailing in disoriented alarm. Something hard, wet, and cold had been firmly planted on the left upper side of my cranium. It still felt wet, cold, and sore from the impact. My hand flew to the place, and I searched wide-eyed for the culprit. I just barely caught the image of a woman swiftly leaving the room.
I jumped out of bed and cautiously followed. I could trace her movement surreptitiously, because I didn’t know who it was, and I was not permitted to even look directly at the guests of the house. I ascertained that the woman was indeed a guest that I could not interact with in any circumstance whatever. I reluctantly left her to dwell in her quarters, knowing that there was nothing I could do but accept the results of her - her attack? I went to a bathroom and peered in a mirror to see what had been done to my head.
Whatever it was- dye? ink?- it was dark reddish brown like iodine and runny, wet, and cold. A perfect circle of wet brown color had been marked on my head in the hairline.
As I peered in the mirror, behind me into the bathroom came the samurai man. The alarm, terror and anxiety that coursed through me could not be expressed, but my eyes widened and my heart seemed to stop. He walked up behind me and looked me over closely. “What is wrong?” he gently parted my hair and peered at the mark. He tsked in evident regret. “Oh, too bad, a mark… but-” he parted my jet black hair the other way “it’s not to be seen if we are to enjoy ourselves,” he smirked in evident satisfaction. Then, he stood back and his face fell as his eyes looked down. “Oh, but this…” he sighed, shaking his head. “Pity.” he mumbled under his breath. “But, plenty of fun to be had without…” his eyes raised again and met mine in the mirror. My terror of having someone such as this paying so much attention and in the same room- let alone talking to me and about me- was overwhelming. In his eyes were only lust. I understood then that it was my terror that he loved.
He left the bathroom, and I craned to see what he had been so disappointed of. There was the dark brown dye smudged along the back of my left arm, in fingerprint shapes. I must have gotten it on my hand and touched my own arm as I was flailing in bed.
I was starting to feel exhausted, again. I remembered that I had only a few hours of sleep available, and wearily made a perfunctory attempt to clean my arm with soap and water. As I did, I wondered who was the woman who had done this to me? Why did she do it? Had she saved me, or doomed me to a fate unimaginable?
The marks would not be removed with water and soap, so I dragged myself back to bed. Less concerned about the marks as I was getting any sleep, I lay down again. I wondered, as I slipped away, if I would leave the house when I woke up.