Fourth Epoch, Pre-Savior Era...
"It's so dark..."
"My head, it felt as if a cold pole had been stabbed through my skull..."
"What is this smell? Whatever perfume was used on me had a strong melon scent, which contributed to my throbbing headache."
The girl looked around, squinting her eyes, and besides her were numerous maidens dressed similarly to dolls in gothic clothing.
It was deliberate, meant to entice an entire crowd.
"They look... disoriented…"
She tried striking up a conversation with one of the nearest girls, noticing how picture-perfect this particular person was. But oddly enough, she couldn't speak properly...
"She's been drugged? Though I seem to be fine," the girl mused. She could feel the unknown substance in her system, but she seemed to resist it.
"This isn't good at all."
A disturbing realization was sprouting, one she hoped to be false, but reality was unfair and unforgiving.
"First and foremost, where am I?" Her view was a blur. She focused in the dark and noticed that she was behind iron bars. It wasn't the most comforting realization, and some girls began to panic, understanding the steel's implications.
"What's with all that noise?" Beyond her were voices of cheering, and something far more sinister.
If she focused her attention, she could hear the word: "Sold!"
"An Auction?!"
If one were to add everything up, it only leads to one grim conclusion.
"I'm dressed in gothic clothing, with the looks akin to mansion maids of a royal's manor."
With a heavy breath, she uttered:
"I'm... A slave..."
A dress that's a mockery of her misery, terror was rising, yet she refused to ache for it; she instinctively started to assess her situation... For an escape...
The crimson curtains were abruptly lifted...
Beyond the iron bars, she witnessed a velvet hall, which hummed with the voices of various aristocrats, accompanied by the clicking of their crystal-clear glasses filled with luxurious red wine.
In the middle, a spotlight shows a decorated platform with red carpets, the perfect place to be viewed by the predatory eyes of nobility.
"I'm dreaming, right?" she mused to herself, unable to accept the reality before her.
She wishes to end up in a guillotine, even if she was not sentenced to death, one can still tell that her dignity was the only thing being executed.
"Next—" A rough voice, the tone of a smoker; it couldn't be more obvious with his lungs on the verge of collapsing. He was a bald man with leathery skin and eyes devoid of regard for human life.
With his keys, he opened the cage and scanned the numerous girls within this confinement. His gaze landed on her, the most exotic-looking one.
"Move," he said, and the girl was snatched by the arm. He wasn't gentle in the way he handled her, but she complied.
"I have no memory of ever learning obedience. It vexes me that it felt natural, as if I was trained to do so."
But to the bald man's surprise, this girl was far more aware and conscious, not stumbling in her steps despite being drugged.
He didn't think much of it...
She was guided towards the platform, and ultimately, she stood in front of an enthusiastic crowd. The noise and the pressure were suffocating, but the girl wasn't quite comfortable with showing weakness, so she stood her ground.
"Allow me to present—an S-Grade product, Silvie!" The voice of the auctioneer boomed; he was clad in brocade, and his tone was an earache.
"What a crude vocal," Silvie mocked.
"Slender and ivory skin, irises comparable to precious gems, her hair, tainted with the purity of an unblemished white flower, to the collectors in the audience, her origins! A mystery!"
To be reduced to an object of art, Silvie felt heartbroken but amused at the same time, instinctively, she conjured a pitied expression which caught the full attention of the crowd.
"Shame on all of you..."
The hall was ecstatic, she could see the hunger in their eyes, one man already leaned forward, his gaze mirrored a pervert's impulsive possession, and some winked, it only fueled the disgust in her heart.
Silvie will remember their faces...
"Fifty crowns!"
"One hundred!"
"Two hundred! Four hundred!"
Silvie's pitied expression remained, the hounds of lust reeking from the air, it didn't bother her as much to her surprise, as whoever gets their hands on her.
"How would I end them?" Her demeanor was the selling point; the other slaves were terrified and vulnerable, but her detachment was enticing to the crowd.
"I look so different from the rest. Where did I even come from?"
One thing plagued her mind: the mystery of how she ended up in such a place, and the question of whether she had parents or not.
Ouch—
The same migraine lingered, as she tried to recall.
"...If I had a mother and a father, then they failed, what kind of parents would let their daughter end up a slave..."
"...Who gave me the name... Silvie?"
But the bid flew fast, each one louder, more desperate than the last.
"Five hundred!"
"Six hundred for her!"
Silvie remained disinterested in the growing interest in her; her hopes of being shackled to a kind master were some miracle she had already let go.
Although she does yearn for a master who possesses at least a melodic voice.
"If there's no escape here."
"I'll find it in a hole I'll carve in the heart of a somber man."
The bids were deafening. Silvie could've sworn her ears were ringing.
"Seven hundred!"
"Eight hundred!"
A man's voice shook the entire room:
"One thousand crowns!"
The hall was silent, not because of the absurd amount of money that was bid, it's of who it's coming from.
All eyes in the hall turned on him; he was in front of Silvie's view, A VIP.
He wore a sophisticated suit, hair and eyes coal-dark, the contours of his face were defined, he lounged with slaves at his feet, a woman pouring wine at his side, a cigar smoldering between his fingers.
Perhaps royalty, but the intent in his eyes is anything but noble.
He is no savior.
The people yelled his name, Karlen Magnus.
A royal blood, known for having slaves of various races, a collector with an insatiable hunger for novelty.
Silvie looked him straight in the eyes with great disinterest, but in doing so, Karlen Magnus seemed to want her even more.
"What do I need to do to not end up with you?" She broke eye contact to focus on finding a sharp object. She wasn't in handcuffs or chained, and on this platform, the nearest was the auctioneer with his microphone.
Perhaps she could bash herself with that to ruin her face? "Going once," the auctioneer calls.
She was considering it.
"Going twice." Silvie was about to move for the microphone, ready to bash herself with it. The risk of the bald man stopping her was great, but she didn't care, until…
A voice, mature and grand, rises from the shadows:
"Two thousand crowns~"
The hall falls silent once more.
A woman stands above all, draped in velvet, her hair the same color as dusk, her eyes glowing with benevolence, complemented by her dark glasses...
In that instant, Silvie knows only this:
"If I am to be owned… I wouldn't mind if it's by her."
A contention between two wealthy individuals ensued, and Silvie favored the mature-looking woman, who was the answer to her deep-rooted forlornness.
But a sinister turmoil cloaked the hall, the suffocation of who would end up being her master left the girl in disquiet.
"That woman... She's a fleeting hope, a mystery I might dare to trust..."
"It is vexing that I don't possess a single ounce of control in my life, always decided by the false generosity of strangers..."
The turmoil only reached its boiling point:
"Two thousand five hundred crowns," as Karlen Magnus smirked, bidding a fortune.
Silvie's face contorted with irritation, she looked at the woman in velvet clothing, with her irises in languid pleading, wanting her as master.
The woman smiled, then delivered:
"Three thousand crowns~"
Silvie felt relieved, but she knew it wasn't over. Her ears braced themselves for the foul mouth that would come from Magnus.
"Three thousand five hundred crowns!"
Magnus looked at Silvie with a covetous gaze. To him, she was just one of many flowers to be plucked. But the man didn't know Silvie was imagining using a champagne bottle to bash his head in.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we've got ourselves a rivalry! May the lady in a velvet dress match the fortune of Sir Magnus?!"
Out of all the aristocrats in the venue, only the two of them would dare to lavish in this trade; the other nobles were entertained by their opposition.
All of them anticipate the decision of the lady in a velvet dress.
Will she match the decadence of Magnus? Or would she forfeit? The woman was contemplating her options.
But for a moment, not a single decision was made.
"Going once," the auctioneer began the countdown.
Silvie felt a wretched feeling; she wouldn't blame the maiden in the velvet dress for forfeiting this trade, for it was far too expensive.
"Going twice!"
Until... "Am I about to cry?" She couldn't believe it. The auctioneer halted as the entire room witnessed Silvie's reddening eyes.
"She's adorable!"
"What a darling!"
"How Innocent!"
Silvie's heart sank; her dread was reduced to a simple subject of allure, and their dehumanizing remarks left a bitter taste in her mouth.
A single tear slipped down her cheek, quickly masked as she cast a sidelong glance, unwilling to let it be seen.
The entire hall was left in amazement by her circumstances; to some, it only fueled their desire to possess her.
To them, sorrow was a charm.
"Three thousand six hundred!"
"Three thousand seven hundred!"
"Three thousand eight hundred!"
"Three thousand nine hundred!"
And the loudest, the one with the bruised ego, stood abruptly from his seat, scaring his slaves, and he shouted with a desperate tone.
"FOUR THOUSAND CROWNS!"
The auctioneer couldn't believe what he was hearing. He wore the brightest, biggest smile on his face, and even the entire hall was impressed. Karlen's adamancy was something to behold.
"Going once!"
"Going twice!"
"Maybe in another life... I was free..." Silvie closed her eyes, waiting for a specific melodic voice, wondering if it would ever come again.
"Sold! to Karlen Magnus!"
But reality... It is full of twists and turns. As before, the auctioneer declared her finality, and a laugh came from above where the lady in velvet stood.
She was a blinding presence, her laughter rang out boldly like a witch with her evil scheme, yet she never lost an ounce of elegance.
"Little girl! Do not be afraid!" She spoke aloud, her voice was a spark of hope.
Then she dropped:
"Five thousand crowns~" The auctioneer's jaw... Dropped...
A faint smile tugged at Silvie's lips. She refused to succumb to resignation. With a sharp swipe at her tears, she leveled Magnus a look of revulsion.
"YOU'RE DISGUSTING!" she screamed while ominously pointing a finger at him.
Magnus was infuriated as he slammed his desk, shattering it. A glass of red wine toppled and fell, intimidating the audience and the nearby slaves.
"Who do you think you are?!" His angered gaze met the maiden in velvet.
"It's beneath me to engage with anyone inferior~" The lady wasn't bothered in the slightest, her finger condescendingly resting on her jaw.
Everyone was in shock; this was perhaps a first in the history of slave trading. With that amount of money, one could live comfortably for decades.
"I won't forget your face…" Magnus promised, clutching his head in frustration over his lack of finances.
"What a child." The lady let out a soft smile.
"I doubt anyone can forget my face~"
"Going once!!" The auctioneer resumed the final countdown once again, ever more enthusiastic.
"Going twice!!"
Silvie's heart had never raced so fast, hoping that Magnus would remain completely silent.
But the man merely stood there, his presence acknowledged by various other aristocrats. Some avoided his attention, as if he were a venerated figure.
She closed her eyes, waiting for her fate.
Then she heard it.
"SOLD TO THE LADY IN VELVET CLOTHING!"
Magnus would remember this day, the day a rare slave slipped through his fingers. He blamed it all on the woman with massive self-confidence and ego.
Silvie couldn't believe it.
She felt tears of joy falling down her cheeks as relief washed over her like a tide.
"Who is this woman, this extravagant benefactor? What could she possibly be, to afford such novelty?!"
All attention turned to the lady, anticipating her answer.
"Who are you?" Silvie mused.
"Evelyn," she said in a captivating tone.
"A humble painter." Her voice was that of an angel shrouded in melancholic mysteries.
The fateful meeting of velvet and white.
Chapter End.