Anjali's eyes had grown dark over the weeks.

It started small. A lingering glance at Thakurji when he passed through the courtyard. A tightening of her jaw when Siya's moans drifted through the corridors at night. The young servant would stand frozen in the hallway, fingers white-knuckled around her cleaning cloth, listening to the wet slap of flesh and the throaty screams of her mistress being fucked into oblivion.