Amid the raucous indulgence beyond the brothel curtains, a young lady was dragged roughly by her forearm. Her bare feet scraped against the floor as she struggled, but despite her resistance, she was no match for the firm hands that forced her into line beside several other girls her age, who stood in strained silence.
Their wrists were clamped tight with cold, iron cuffs, and gauzy veils blurred their faces into anonymity beneath the dim lantern glow. Their white dresses, sheer and intentionally revealing in most parts, were cut and tailored to expose more than they hid. No explanation was needed for why they had been arranged here.
From beyond the curtains came the roar of drunken noblemen lost in revelry, as performers filled the air with their bright and practiced melodies. Laughter burst loudly, voices rose in boastful competition, and goblets struck wood with a sharp and careless clatter. Each crash of sound made the girls flinch. They stood shoulder to shoulder, trembling despite their efforts to remain still, their fears hanging thick and unspoken in the perfumed air.
They each instinctively took a step back as they felt the warden approach.
"Ungrateful little wretches," the broad-shouldered warden muttered, pacing slowly in front of them. His boots scraped against the floor as he looked them over, one by one, like a butcher inspecting livestocks and not people of his own kind. He stopped and jabbed a thick finger toward the line.
"Listen carefully. When you go out there, you smile. I don't care how you feel– you smile when they look at you. You laugh when they expect it. You do exactly what you're told, and you do it without hesitation," he instructed.
The warden then tilted his head slightly. "And if you don't, you already know what happens, don't you? I always find new ways to make an example out of someone, so I suggest you behave. This is your life now. Accept it, and you'll suffer less for it in the future."
His gaze lingered on each of them in turn, ensuring his message had settled deep, before he shoved through the curtains and disappeared into the background.
In his absence, one of the girls slowly lifted her veil just enough to wipe the tears threatening to fall from her eyes. She sniffed, comforting herself in a hoarse whisper. "Don't cry. If the make-up smudges, Madame will notice."
Among the nine girls stood Kyva, a fragile-looking figure who dared to lift her veil as well. The girl had been here long enough to understand that crying changed nothing. After surviving many auctions all her life, she had come to realize that her predicament this time around was completely different.
She just turned nineteen, and was about to be auctioned as a sex slave.
After failing in her last attempt at freedom, the Madame of the establishment decided to punish her by offering her up as a replacement sex slave.
But was she scared? Yes.
Did she want to cry? Absolutely.
Kyva forced herself to breathe slowly, steadying her thoughts. Panic would only cloud her judgment, and she could not afford that tonight.
She moved away from the curtains to observe the others. Their number, however, left Kyva broken. There were at least twenty to thirty of them who had been trafficked, and she needed no one to tell her the outcome of the remaining girls. Even she too, in her desperation, had tried to end her life as her last resort at escape.
But unfortunately, she woke up.
The memory still left a bitter taste in her mouth, and her first punishment had been the brand of hot iron against her skin. It was done so that even if she escaped, they'd find her no matter what.
After that, they dragged her away and dressed her for tonight. She flexed her shoulders a little, wincing softly as it still throbbed from where the iron had kissed.
Steadying herself, she lifted the edge of the curtain again, careful not to draw attention. The fabric shifted just enough for her to see a little bit.
Kyva noticed that they were actually positioned on the stage behind the main hall, hidden from the view of the gathered nobles. The men beyond were absorbed in the performance, their attention fixed on the musicians and entertainers who moved gracefully beneath the warm glow of the lantern light. She used the opportunity to study them more carefully.
From rich fabrics, polished boots, rings that gleamed in the light, down to the easy arrogance in their posture, she could tell that these people were no ordinary men. From her understanding, these were men accustomed to power– men who expected obedience simply because they existed.
Her stomach tightened.
It felt impossibly possible to spot anyone in the crowd whom she would have considered reasonable enough to appeal to. Even if there was someone decent in the crowd who could help her, why would they willingly choose to be here?
Kyva let the curtain fall shut again, the noise of their laughter muffled but no less threatening.
A shiver ran through her, and she wrapped her arms around herself, forcing it to stop.
Meanwhile, beyond the curtains, the musicians and entertainers stopped performing as a woman in orange dress ascended the stage. She clapped her hands twice to draw attention, and the sound cut cleanly through the murmur.
Her crimson lips curved into a faint, knowing smile as all eyes were fixed on her, and she stood with effortless confidence. She lifted one delicate hand, savoring the attention before she spoke.
"Gentlemen, I trust the evening's performance has been to your liking."
A few men whistled and cheered in response. Others smiled, but none spoke.
The madame's smile deepened, just slightly as she continued, "Because tonight, we have prepared something… special."
The men seated leaned toward one another, exchanging curious glances and quiet speculation. Whatever it was, they expected to enjoy it, and they always did.
The Madame never disappoints.
"We have acquired some truly exquisite additions for our establishment," she announced. "These girls are young, untouched… carefully selected to suit your most refined tastes. But," she added, letting the pause linger, "as I said– untouched. Deflowering one comes with a price far higher than you might expect."
She gave a playful, deliberate wink, and the men responded immediately with more whistles and murmurs of approval, their eyes glinting with anticipation.
In preparation, the courtesans moved swiftly behind her, drawing back the heavy curtains to reveal their newest 'livestock'. The nine girls standing at the edge of the stage were suddenly exposed to the hungry crowd, their veiled faces barely hiding the fear and tension that radiated off them.
Kyva's stomach knotted imperceptibly, her nerves coiling so tightly she bit down on her bottom lip to steady herself. Her heartbeat thudded relentlessly in her ears.
Even beneath the veil, she could sense the madam's presence like a shadow pressing against her shoulder. Unable to resist peeking, she watched as the Madame reached out, lifting the veil of one girl with a practiced flourish and presenting her fully to the expectant crowd. She listed her 'merits' with that same cold, confident authority, while the girl stared nervously at the ogling men.
Kyva couldn't help but curse internally.
If the poison she had swallowed earlier had done its job, she wouldn't be in this awful predicament. She would be dead by now, drifting upward to the heavens to reunite with her mother.
But to her own shock and disappointment, she had awakened to this.
'Should I collapse and feign illness? Or make a run for it? I should be able to slip away from the guards… no?' she thought frantically.
Despite the options, none of it felt safe. She knew what these people were capable of, and it frightened her.
Kyva realized with grim clarity that escape wouldn't come from luck, but from a carefully calculated risk, taken at the right moment when opportunity and desperation collided.
And that moment… was approaching faster than she liked.
If she didn't act soon, the crowd, the madame, and the inevitable hands of those men would decide her fate for her.