Bent out of shape (freewrite)

The iron is hot against the nape of her neck and she twists and she screams and she prays that the pain will go away, but it doesn't go away. It never worked that way. She wishes she could break free from the iron grip that's holding her so, so tight. She'd like to be free and released somewhere, even into non-existence.
The girl can not be free, as the men around her know. She's far too beautiful to be let go. It was almost luck, when she wondered unto their farm, all those...How long has it been? A day, a week, five months? Under the spell of this most precious, most innocent-looking lass, they can't remember. The hours blend into each other, creating a long never-ending day.
But she can remember. Clara remembers every hour, every minute. Every strong pair of hands holding her down, every scream she's uttered and all the nights she's cried away, in a daze of horror, that was too painful to allow her to fall asleep, yet not enough so to stop her from dreaming. All the hours she's spent lying in the hay and the dirt and the blood, like an animal.
But Clara never treated animals that way, not even when she was the master, when she was in charge.

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Once, she would've tried to reassure herself that she still is in charge, but those days are long past. You could say her spirit has been broken, only it hasn't. It's just bent out of shape.
And the branding iron is hot against her neck once more, bringing her back to the present moment, to the excruciating pain of now and she screams and writhes once more. And the men smirk at her and laugh.
She is theirs, now.

One day, she hopes she'll run her hand over those scars and think of how she survived.
She hopes...

Prompt word: brand. This was written for the 5 Minute Freewrite Challenge, hosted by the wonderful @mariannewest.