Madame who?

I knew everything was too good to be true. Sorrow has regained it's power in my life, and has come at me with full force! I have nothing now! My identity is gone! And my child--he is of that which will forever mark him with death! He is black and will forever be marked with the cruel fate of slavery! And I know it is true! I look at him now, and at my little servant boy who stands beside me. There is no denying it! And Armand, oh my once loving husband, who now looks at me with the devil in his eyes, places the blame on me! BUT I AM NOT BLACK! Oh I pleaded with Mama to tell me truly. "O mama!" I said. "Say it is not true! Tell them I am not black!"

Only but to be received. "Come home," she wrote, "where you are loved."

She will not give me truth, and love is gone away from me. I feel as though I may die. My heart withers away on my chest, barely clutching on to the stem that roots me to the ground, lest I be blown away at last by that final wind. I feel that wind has already been blown away...

"Do you want me to go?" I asked.

"Yes, I want you to go," he said.

And that was it. So now I sit, holding my babe a little while longer, gazing out at the fields. They have already started taking away my belongings, and the child's (I suspect to burn them). Let those ashes blow away as his love for me has.

I have no will to live.
There is no love in this house.
This man never loved me.
These hands, are those of a slave.
This child is destined for death.
And I will save him.