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“There’s one hiding here, sir!” the dark elf growls.
My heart races as the door slowly opens, and I turn to see the evil eyes staring at me.
“Quite the looker, catch a pretty price this one, keep your dirty hands off her, hear me,” another hisses as he reaches out his hand and strokes my hair.
“Please..” my words fall on deaf ears.
“Ain’t you a doll, sweetie,” His voice echoes through all my years.
I look up, and I hope to see it, the little pavo that comes now again and preaches itself upon the floor of the building opposite. If I sat still, I could hear its song drift to me, its tones would tingle my muscles, and sometimes, I would dance to the tune of the little pavo.
But today, it has not come. Perhaps, much like myself, its destiny now lies elsewhere. However, my friend, the pavo, has a choice; my destiny lies in the hands of the highest bidder.
I breathe onto the window and draw a little shape of myself. I watch as I disappear from view, consumed by the glass and traveling through to the outside into the freedom of the street.
Oh, why do I torment myself with such foolish notions? My fate is as sealed as the door that keeps in here—it only opened when I had to attend my lessons on how to please a dark elf, my future master.
They treat me well. Under any other circumstances, this would be a paradise. My beauty must be persevered at all costs, my body must be smooth, my hair must be perfectly styled, and my face must be only treated with the finest ointments and creams. My scent must be that of a queen.
Yet, it is no life at all. I watched every moment, and I can feel their eyes even on me now. For I am their prize, my worth must be maintained, my perfection sold.
My life before is but fragments, but I do remember it hard. I remember being hungry and always being cold.
“Is there more Mamma?” I look at her, but her face is a blur.
“I’m sorry, my dear, there is not. Perhaps you sleep?” My Mother tells me.
“I’m cold,” I say.
“Pappa will be home soon with some wood for the fire. We’ll get you all warm beside it. Hold on, Jasmine, hold on, my pet,” I sense the sadness in my Mother's voice.
They are just faded pictures that come to me in dreams, my family. I wonder if they think of me or if I am just a memory that’s best forgotten because the pain of my being gone is too much to bear.
I play out the scene in bed at night, wrapped in the warmth of pending sleep. Sometimes, I escape in a fire that burns down this auction house; sometimes, it is a man who sees my pain and dares a rescue that ferries me away. But it always ends the same: I find them, my family, my friends, and life begins again for me.
I don’t care if I am cold or hungry. Happiness is found elsewhere, in the eyes and arms of those who love you, not in dark elves who plan to buy you.
Tomorrow, I will be twenty, and tomorrow I will be sold. As I leave my window as the light begins to fade for the last time, I know there will be no fire tonight or daring rescue. Dark elves are the cruelest of them all, and I am a doll, their plaything.
That frightens me because, at least here, I know. I know that I will wake up. I know I will be treated well, fed, and occasionally given fresh air in the small courtyard with the artificial grass that hurts my feet.
Who will buy me, and what will they be like? What am I to expect of this dark elf, and worse still, what will he expect of me?
They like their fetishes and perversions, and my sole purpose will be to fulfill those dark desires. And the images flash in my head of chains, whips, and pain. Worse still, throw to a mass of sweat-covered elves who will use me one after the other.
I fall onto the bed and bury my bed in the sheets until the visions of sexual torture and perversion fade. I turn, lie on my back, and play my game of following the twirls and swirls on the ceiling, trying to reach the end.
The hours have ticked slowly by. My room has gradually faded to black, and I have chosen not to light my lamp but be guided by the moonlight as it rises above the buildings outside and sneaks through my window to signal a day and my birthday.
What if he is kind? An old rich elf who is just looking for some company around his massive palace of a house—a lonely sort with a library and no thoughts of taking me roughly over the kitchen sink. Could there be such a dark elf?
Games in the garden on a sunny afternoon, dinner parties where he shows me off and expects nothing else. He helps me seek out my family and buys them a house. But then, one day, his son comes to visit a dark elf of the darker kind. Would I be expected to please him? Indulge his wicked fantasies?
There is no hope. Every avenue I travel leads me to a cold, empty room of misery.
As the moonlight creeps through my window, I pass into my twentieth year frightened and alone and pray the dawn does not come.
“Rise!” I hear the door of my room open suddenly, and the voice of the head elf servant jolts me from my sleep. I must have passed over before light. I did not dream last night.
